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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2608d0a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54937 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54937) diff --git a/old/54937-0.txt b/old/54937-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 12ea730..0000000 --- a/old/54937-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5975 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Athelings; vol. 2/3, by Margaret Oliphant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Athelings; vol. 2/3 - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: June 19, 2017 [EBook #54937] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 2/3 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - OR - THE THREE GIFTS - - BY MARGARET OLIPHANT - - “I’ the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit - The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them, - In simple and low things, to prince it much - Beyond the trick of others.” - CYMBELINE - - IN THREE VOLUMES - - VOL. II. - - WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS - EDINBURGH AND LONDON - MDCCCLVII - - ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE. - - - - - THE ATHELINGS - - BOOK II.--THE OLD WOOD LODGE - - - - - THE ATHELINGS. - - - - -BOOK II--CHAPTER I. - -THE WILLOWS. - - -The Willows was a large low house, with no architectural pretensions, -but bright as villa could be upon the sunniest side of the Thames. The -lawn sloped to the river, and ended in a deep fringe and border of -willows, sweeping into the water; while half-way across the stream lay a -little fairy island, half enveloped in the same silvery foliage, but -with bowers and depths of leaves within, through which some stray -sunbeam was always gleaming. The flower-beds on the lawn were in a flush -with roses; the crystal roof of a large conservatory glistened in the -sun. Flowers and sunshine, fragrance and stillness, the dew on the -grass, and the morning light upon the river--no marvel that to eyes so -young and inexperienced, this Richmond villa looked like a paradise on -earth. - -It was early morning--very early, when nobody seemed awake but -themselves in the great house; and Agnes and Marian came down stairs -softly, and, half afraid of doing wrong, stole out upon the lawn. The -sun had just begun to gather those blobs of dew from the roses, but all -over the grass lay jewels, bedded deep in the close-shorn sod, and -shining in the early light. An occasional puff of wind came crisp across -the river, and turned to the sun the silvery side of all those drooping -willow-leaves, and the willows themselves swayed and sighed towards the -water, and the water came up upon them now and then with a playful -plunge and flow. The two girls said nothing to each other as they -wandered along the foot of the slope, looking over to the island, where -already the sun had penetrated to his nest of trees. All this simple -beauty, which was not remarkable to the fashionable guests of Mrs -Edgerley, went to the very heart of these simple children of Bellevue. -It moved them to involuntary delight--joy which could give no reason, -for they thought there had never been such a beautiful summer morning, -or such a scene. - -And by-and-by they began to talk of last night--last night, their first -night at the Willows, their first entrance into the home life of “the -great.” They had no moral maxims at their finger-ends, touching the -vanity of riches, nor had the private opinion entertained by Papa and -Mamma, that “the country” paid for the folly of “the aristocracy,” and -that the science of Government was a mere piece of craft for the benefit -of “the privileged classes,” done any harm at all to the unpolitical -imaginations of Agnes and Marian. They were scarcely at their ease yet, -and were a great deal more timid than was comfortable; yet they took -very naturally to this fairy life, and found an unfailing fund of wonder -and admiration in it. They admired everything indeed, had a certain awe -and veneration for everybody, and could not sufficiently admire the -apparent accomplishments and real grace of their new associates. - -“Agnes!--I wonder if there is anything I could learn?” said Marian, -rather timidly; “everybody here can do something; it is very different -from doing a little of everything, like Miss Tavistock at Bellevue--and -we used to think her accomplished!--but do you think there is anything I -could learn?” - -“And me!” said Agnes, somewhat disconsolately. - -“You? no, indeed, you do not need it,” said Marian, with a little pride. -“You can do what none of them can do;--but they can talk about -everything these people, and every one of them can do something. There -is that Sir Langham--you would think he was only a young gentleman--but -Mrs Edgerley says he makes beautiful sketches. We did not understand -people like these when we were at home.” - -“What do you think of Sir Langham, May?” asked Agnes seriously. - -“Think of him? oh, he is very pleasant,” said Marian, with a smile and a -slight blush: “but never mind Sir Langham; do you think there is -anything I could learn?” - -“I do not know,” said Agnes; “perhaps you could sing. I think you might -sing, if you would only take courage and try.” - -“Sing! oh no, no!”; said Marian; “no one could venture to sing after the -young lady--did you hear her name, Agnes?--who sang last night. She did -not speak to any one, she was more by herself than we were. I wonder who -she could be.” - -“Mrs Edgerley called her Rachel,” said Agnes. “I did not hear any other -name. I think it must be the same that Mrs Edgerley told mamma about; -you remember she said----” - -“I am here,” said a low voice suddenly, close beside them. The girls -started back, exceedingly confused and ashamed. They had not perceived a -sort of little bower, woven among the willows, from which now hastily -appeared the third person who spoke. She was a little older than Agnes, -very slight and girlish in her person--very dark of complexion, with a -magnificent mass of black hair, and large liquid dark eyes. Nothing else -about her was remarkable; her features were small and delicate, her -cheeks colourless, her very lips pale; but her eyes, which were not of a -slumbrous lustre, but full of light, rapid, earnest, and irregular, -lighted up her dark pallid face with singular power and attractiveness. -She turned upon them quickly as they stood distressed and irresolute -before her. - -“I did not mean to interrupt you,” said this new-comer; “but you were -about to speak of me, and I thought it only honest to give you notice -that I was here.” - -“Thank you,” said Agnes with humility. “We are strangers, and did not -know--we scarcely know any one here; and we thought you were nearly -about our own age, and perhaps would help us--” Here Agnes stopped -short; she was not skilled in making overtures of friendship. - -“No, indeed no,” cried their new acquaintance, hurriedly. “I never make -friends. I could be of no use. I am only a dependent, scarcely so good -as that. I am nothing here.” - -“And neither are we,” said Agnes, following shyly the step which this -strange girl took away from them. “We never were in a house like this -before. We do not belong to great people. Mrs Edgerley asked us to -come, because we met her at Mr Burlington’s, and she has been very kind, -but we know no one. Pray, do not go away.” - -The thoughtful eyes brightened into a sudden gleam. “We are called -Atheling,” said Marian, interposing in her turn. “My sister is Agnes, -and I am Marian--and you Miss----” - -“My name is Rachel,” said their new friend, with a sudden and violent -blush, making all her face crimson. “I have no other--call me so, and I -will like it. You think I am of your age; but I am not like you--you do -not know half so much as I know.” - -“No--that is very likely,” said Agnes, somewhat puzzled; “but I think -you do not mean education,” said the young author immediately, seeing -Marian somewhat disposed to resent on her behalf this broad assertion. -“You mean distress and sorrow. But we have had a great deal of grief at -home. We have lost dear little children, one after another. We are not -ignorant of grief.” - -Rachel looked at them with strange observation, wonder, and uncertainty. -“But you are ignorant of me--and I am ignorant of you,” she said slowly, -pausing between her words. “I suppose you mean just what you say, do -you? and I am not much used to that. Do you know what I am here -for?--only to sing and amuse the people--and you still want to make -friends with me!” - -“Mrs Edgerley said you were to be a singer, but you did not like it,” -said Marian; “and I think you are very right.” - -“Did she say so?--and what more?” said Rachel, smiling faintly. “I want -to hear now, though I did not when I heard your voices first.” - -“She said you were a connection of the family,” said Agnes. - -The blood rushed again to the young stranger’s brow. “Ah! I understand,” -she said; “she implied--yes. I know how she would do. And you will still -be friends with _me_?” - -At that moment it suddenly flashed upon the recollection of both the -girls that Mamma had disapproved of this prospective acquaintance. They -both blushed with instant consciousness, and neither of them spoke. In -an instant Rachel became frozen into a haughtiness far exceeding -anything within the power of Mrs Edgerley. Little and slight as she was, -her girlish frame rose to the dignity of a young queen. Before Agnes -could say a word, she had left them with a slight and lofty bow. Without -haste, but with singular rapidity, she crossed the dewy lawn, and went -into the house, acknowledging, with a stately inclination of her head, -some one who passed her. The girls were so entirely absorbed, watching -her progress, that they did not perceive who this other person was. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -AN EMBARRASSING COMPANION. - - -“Strange creature!” said Sir Langham Portland, who had joined the girls -almost before they were aware; “Odd girl! If Lucifer had a sister, I -should know where to find her; but a perfect siren so far as music is -concerned. Did you hear her sing last night--that thing of -Beethoven’s--what is the name of it? Do you like Beethoven, though? -_She_, I suppose, worships him.” - -“We know very little about music,” said Marian. She thought it proper to -make known the fact, but blushed in spite of herself, and was much -ashamed of her own ignorance. Marian was quite distressed and impatient -to find herself so much behind every one else. - -“Oh!” said Sir Langham--which meant that the handsome guardsman was a -good deal flattered by the blush, and did not care at all for the want -of information--in fact, he was cogitating within himself, being no -great master of the art of conversation, what to speak of next. - -“I am afraid Miss--Rachel was not pleased,” said Agnes; “we disturbed -her here. I am afraid she will think we were rude.” - -“Eh!” said Sir Langham, with a look of astonishment. “Oh, don’t trouble -yourself--she’s accustomed to that. Pretty place this. Suppose a fellow -on the island over there, what a capital sketch he could make;--with two -figures instead of three, the effect would be perfect!” - -“We were two figures before you came,” said Marian, turning half away, -and with a smile. - -“Ah! quite a different suggestion,” said Sir Langham. “Your two figures -were all white and angelical--maiden meditation--mine would be--Elysium. -Happy sketcher! happier hero!--and you could not suppose a more -appropriate scene.” - -But Agnes and Marian were much too shy and timid to answer this as they -might have answered Harry Oswald under the same circumstances. Agnes -half interrupted him, being somewhat in haste to change the -conversation. “You are an artist yourself?” said Agnes. - -“No,” said Sir Langham; “not at all,--no more than everybody else is. I -have no doubt you know a hundred people better at it than I.” - -“I do not think, counting every one,” said Marian, “that we know a -hundred, or the half of a hundred, people altogether; and none of them -make sketches. Mrs Edgerley said yours were quite remarkable.” - -“A great many things are quite remarkable with Mrs Edgerley,” said Sir -Langham through his mustache. “But what an amazing circle yours must be! -One must do something with one’s spare time. That old fellow is the -hardest rascal to kill of any I know--don’t you find him so?” - -“No--not when we are at home,” said Marian. - -“Ah! in the country, I suppose; and you are Lady Bountifuls, and attend -to all the village,” said Sir Langham. He had quite made up his mind -that these young girls, who were not fashionable nor remarkable in any -way, save for the wonderful beauty of the youngest, were daughters of -some squire in Banburyshire, whom it was Lord Winterbourne’s interest to -do a service to. - -“No, indeed, we have not any village--we are not Lady Bountifuls; but we -do a great many things at home,” said Marian. Something restrained them -both, however, from their heroic purpose of declaring at once their -“rank in life;” they shrank, with natural delicacy, from saying anything -about themselves to this interrogator, and were by no means clear that -it would be right to tell Sir Langham Portland that they lived in -Bellevue. - -“May we go through the conservatory, I wonder?” said Agnes;--the elder -sister, remembering the parting charge of her mother, began to be -somewhat uneasy about their handsome companion--he might possibly fall -in love with Marian--that was not so very dreadful a hypothesis,--for -Agnes was human, and did not object to see the natural enemies of -womankind taken captive, subjugated, or even entirely slain. But Marian -might fall in love with _him_! That was an appalling thought; two -distinct lines of anxiety began to appear in Agnes’s forehead; and the -imagination of the young genius instantly called before her the most -touching and pathetic picture, of a secret love and a broken heart. - -“Marian, we may go into the conservatory,” repeated Agnes; and she took -her sister’s hand and led her to where the Scotch gardener was opening -the windows of that fairy palace. Sir Langham still gave them his -attendance, following Marian as she passed through the ranks of flowers, -and echoing her delight. Sir Langham was rather relieved to find them at -last in enthusiasm about something. This familiar and well-known feature -of young ladyhood set him much more at his ease. - -And the gardener, with benign generosity, gathered some flowers for his -young visitors. They thanked him with such thoroughly grateful thanks, -and were so respectful of his superior knowledge, that this worthy -functionary brightened under their influence. Sir Langham followed -surprised and amused. He thought Marian’s simple ignorance of all those -delicate splendid exotic flowers, as pretty as he would have thought her -acquaintance with them had she been better instructed; and when one of -her flowers fell from her hand, lifted it up with the air of a paladin, -and placed it in his breast. Marian, though she had turned aside, _saw_ -him do it by some mysterious perception--not of the eye--and blushed -with a secret tremor, half of pleasure, half of amusement. Agnes -regarded it a great deal more seriously. Agnes immediately discovered -that it was time to go in. She was quite indifferent, we are grieved to -say, to the fate of Sir Langham, and thought nothing of disturbing the -peace of that susceptible young gentleman; but her protection and -guardianship of Marian was a much more serious affair. Their windows -were in the end of the house, and commanded no view--so Mrs Edgerley, -with a hundred regrets, was grieved to tell them--but these windows -looked over an orchard and a clump of chestnuts, where birds sang and -dew fell, and the girls were perfectly contented with the prospect; they -had three rooms--a dressing-room, and two pretty bedchambers--into all -of which the morning sun threw a sidelong glance as he passed; and they -had been extremely delighted with their pretty apartments last night. - -“Well!” said Agnes, as they arranged their flowers and put them in -water, “everything is very pretty, May, but I almost wish we were at -home.” - -“Why?” said Marian; but the beautiful sister had so much perception of -the case, that she did not look up, nor show any particular surprise. - -“Why?--because--because people don’t understand what we are, nor who we -belong to, nor how different---- Marian, you know quite well what is the -cause!” - -“But suppose people don’t want to know?” said Marian, who was -provokingly calm and at her ease; “we cannot go about telling -everybody--no one cares. Suppose we were to tell Sir Langham, Agnes? He -would think we meant that he has to come to Bellevue; and I am sure you -would not like to see him there!” - -This was a very conclusive argument, but Agnes had made up her mind to -be annoyed. - -“And there was Rachel,” said Agnes, “I wonder why just at that moment we -should have thought of mamma--and now I am sure she will not speak to us -again.” - -“Mamma did not think it quite proper,” said Marian doubtfully;--“I am -sure I cannot tell why--but we were very near making up friendship -without thinking; perhaps it is better as it is.” - -“It is never proper to hurt any one’s feelings--and she is lonely and -neglected and by herself,” said Agnes. “Mamma cannot be displeased when -I tell her; and I will try all I can to-day to meet with Rachel again. I -think Rachel would think better of our house than of the Willows. Though -it is a beautiful place, it is not kindly; it never could look like -home.” - -“Oh, nonsense! if we had it to ourselves, and they were all here!” cried -Marian. That indeed was a paradisaical conception. Agnes’s uneasy mood -could not stand against such an idea, and she arranged her hair with -renewed spirits, having quite given up for the moment all desire for -going home. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -SOCIETY. - - -But Rachel did not join the party either in their drives, their walks, -or their conversations. She was not to be seen during the whole day, -either out of doors or in, and did not even make her appearance at the -dinner-table; and Agnes could not so much as hear any allusion made to -her except once, when Mrs Edgerley promised a new arrival, “some really -good music,” and launched forth in praise of an extraordinary little -genius, whom nothing could excuse for concealing her gift from the -world. But if Rachel did not appear, Sir Langham did, following Marian -with his eyes when he could not follow in person, and hovering about the -young beauty like a man bewitched. The homage of such a cavalier was not -to be despised; in spite of herself, the smile and the blush brightened -upon the sweet face of Marian--she was pleased--she was amused--she was -grateful to Sir Langham--and besides had a certain mischievous pleasure -in her power over him, and loved to exercise the sway of despotism. -Marian new little about coquetry, though she had read with attention Mrs -Edgerley’s novel on the subject; but, notwithstanding, had “a way” of -her own, and some little practice in tantalising poor Harry Oswald, who -was by no means so superb a plaything as the handsome guardsman. The -excitement and novelty of her position--the attentions paid to her--the -pretty things around her--even her own dress, which never before had -been so handsome, brightened, with a variable and sweet illumination, -the beauty which needed no aggravating circumstance. Poor Sir Langham -gave himself up helpless and unresisting, and already, in his honest but -somewhat slow imagination, made formal declarations to the -supposititious Banburyshire Squire. - -Agnes meanwhile sat by Marian’s side, rather silent, eagerly watching -for the appearance of Rachel--for now it was evening, and the really -good music could not be long deferred, if it was to come to-night. Agnes -was not neglected, though she had no Sir Langham to watch her movements. -Mrs Edgerley herself came to the young genius now and then to introduce -some one who was “dying to know the author of _Hope Hazlewood_;” and -half disconcerted, half amused, Agnes began to feel herself entering -upon the enjoyment of her reputation. No one could possibly suppose -anything more different from the fanciful and delicate fame which -charms the young poetic mind with imaginary glories, than these -drawing-room compliments and protestations of interest and delight, to -which, at first with a deep blush and overpowering embarrassment, and -by-and-by with an uneasy consciousness of something ridiculous, the -young author sat still and listened. The two sisters kept always close -together, and had not courage enough to move from the corner in which -they had first established themselves. Agnes, for the moment, had become -the reigning whim in the brain of Mrs Edgerley. She came to her side now -and then to whisper a few words of caressing encouragement, or to point -out to her somebody of note; and when she left her young guest, Mrs -Edgerley flew at once to the aforesaid somebody to call his or her -attention to the pair of sisters, one of whom had _such_ genius, and the -other _such_ beauty. Marian, occupied with her own concerns, took all -this very quietly. Agnes grew annoyed, uneasy, displeased; she did not -remember that she had once been mortified at the neglect of her pretty -hostess, nor that Mrs Edgerley’s admiration was as evanescent as her -neglect. She began to think everybody was laughing at her claims to -distinction, and that she amused the people, sitting here uneasily -receiving compliments, immovable in her chair--and she was extremely -grateful to Mr Agar, her former acquaintance, when he came, looking -amused and paying no compliments, to talk to her, and to screen her from -observation. Mr Agar had been watching her uneasiness, her -embarrassment, her self-annoyance. He was quite pleased with the -“study;” it pleased him as much as a _Watteau_, or a cabinet of old -china; and what could connoisseur say more? - -“You must confide your annoyance to me. I am your oldest acquaintance,” -said Mr Agar. “What has happened? Has your pretty sister been -naughty--eh? or are all the people _so_ much delighted with your book?” - -“Yes,” said Agnes, holding down her head a little, with a momentary -shame that her two troubles should have been so easily found out. - -“And why should they not be delighted?” said the ancient beau. “You -would have liked me a great deal better had I been the same, when I -first saw you; do you not like it now?” - -“No,” said Agnes. - -“Yes; no. Your eyes do not talk in monosyllables,” said the old -gentleman, “eh? What has poor Sir Langham done to merit that flash of -dissatisfaction? and I wonder what is the meaning of all these anxious -glances towards the door?” - -“I was looking for--for the young lady they call Rachel,” said Agnes. -“Do you know who she is, sir?--can you tell me? I am afraid she thought -we were rude this morning, when we met her; and I wish very much to see -her to-night.” - -“Ah! I know nothing of the young lady, but a good deal of the voice,” -said Mr Agar; “a fine soprano,--a good deal of expression, and plenty of -fire. Yes, she needs nothing but cultivation to make a great success.” - -“I think, sir,” said Agnes, suddenly breaking in upon this speech, “if -you would speak to Mrs Edgerley for her, perhaps they would not teaze -her about being a singer. She hates it. I know she does; and it would be -very good of you to help her, for she has no friends.” - -Mr Agar looked at the young pleader with a smile of surprised amusement. -“And why should I interfere on her behalf? and why should she not be a -singer? and how do you suppose I could persuade myself to do such an -injury to Art?” - -“She dislikes it very much,” said Agnes. “She is a woman--a girl--a -delicate mind; it would be very cruel to bring her before the world; and -indeed I am sure if you would speak to Mrs Edgerley--” - -“My dear young lady,” cried Mr Agar, with a momentary shrug of his -eyebrows, and look of comic distress, “you entirely mistake my _rôle_. I -am not a knight-errant for the rescue of distressed princesses. I am a -humble servant of the beautiful; and a young lady’s tremors are really -not cause enough to induce me to resign a fine soprano. No. I bow before -my fair enslavers,” said the ancient Corydon, with a reverential -obeisance, which belonged, like his words, to another century; “but my -true and only mistress is Art.” - -Agnes was silenced in a moment; but whether by this declaration, or by -the entrance of Rachel, who suddenly appeared, gliding in at a -side-door, could not be determined. Rachel came in, so quickly, and with -such a gliding motion, that anybody less intently on the watch could not -have discovered the moment of her appearance. She was soon at the piano, -and heard immediately; but she came there in a miraculous manner to all -the other observers, as if she had dropped from heaven. - -And while the connoisseur stood apart to listen undisturbed, and Mrs -Edgerley’s guests were suddenly stayed in their flutter of talk and -mutual criticism by the “really good music” which their hostess had -promised them, Agnes sat listening, moved and anxious,--not to the song, -but to the singer. She thought the music--pathetic, complaining, and -resentful--instead of being a renowned _chef-d’œuvre_ of a famous -composer, was the natural outcry of this lonely girl. She thought she -could hear the solitary heart, the neglected life, making its appeal -indignant and sorrowful to some higher ear than all these careless -listeners. She bent unconsciously towards the singer, forgetting all her -mother’s rules of manners, and, leaning forward, supported her rapt and -earnest face with her hand. Mrs Edgerley paused to point out to some one -the sweet enthusiasm, the delightful impressionable nature of her -charming young friend; but to tell the truth, Agnes was not thinking at -all of the music. It seemed to her a strange impassioned monologue,--a -thing of which she was the sole hearer,--an irrepressible burst of -confidence, addressed to the only one here present who cared to receive -the same. - -When it was over she raised herself almost painfully from her listening -posture; _she_ did not join in any of the warm expressions of delight -which burst from her neighbours; and with extreme impatience Agnes -listened to the cool criticism of Mr Agar, who was delivering his -opinion very near her. Her heart ached as she saw the musician turn -haughtily aside, and heard her say, “I am here when you want me again;” -and Rachel withdrew to a sofa in a corner, and, shading her delicate -small face entirely with her hand, took up a book and read, or pretended -to read. Agnes looked on with eager interest, while several people, one -after another, approached the singer to offer her some of the usual -compliments, and retreated immediately, disconcerted by their reception. -Leaning back in her corner, with her book held obstinately before her, -and the small pale hand shading the delicate face, it was impossible to -intrude upon Rachel. Agnes sat watching her, quite absorbed and -sad--thinking in her own quick creative mind, many a proud thought for -Rachel--and fancying she could read in that unvarying and statue-like -attitude a world of tumultuous feelings. She was so much occupied that -she took no notice of Sir Langham; and even Marian, though she appealed -to her twenty times, did not get more than a single word in reply. - -“Is she not the most wonderful little genius?” cried Mrs Edgerley, -making one of her sudden descents upon Agnes. “I tell everybody she is -next to you--quite next to you in talent. I expect she will make quite a -_furor_ next season when she makes her _début_.” - -“But she dislikes it so much,” said Agnes. - -“What, music? Oh, you mean coming out: poor child, she does not know -what is for her own advantage,” said Mrs Edgerley. “My love, in _her_ -circumstances, people have no right to consult their feelings; and a -successful singer may live quite a fairy life. Music is so -entrancing--these sort of people make fortunes immediately, and then, of -course, she could retire, and be as private as she pleased. Oh, yes, I -am sure she will be delighted to gratify you, Mr Agar: she will sing -again.” - -It scarcely required a word from Mrs Edgerley--scarcely a sign. Rachel -seemed to know by intuition when she was wanted, and, putting down her -book, went to the piano again;--perhaps Agnes was not so attentive this -time, for she felt herself suddenly roused a few minutes after by a -sudden tremor in the magnificent voice--a sudden shake and tremble, -having the same effect upon the singing which a start would have upon -the frame. Agnes looked round eagerly to see the cause--there was no -cause apparent--and no change whatever in the company, save for the pale -spasmodic face of Lord Winterbourne, newly arrived, and saluting his -daughter at the door. - -Was it this? Agnes could not wait to inquire, for immediately the music -rose and swelled into such a magnificent burst and overflow that every -one held his breath. To the excited ear of Agnes, it sounded like a -glorious challenge and defiance, irrestrainable and involuntary; and ere -the listeners had ceased to wonder, the music was over, and the singer -gone. - -“A sudden effect--our young performer is not without dramatic talent,” -said Mr Agar. Agnes said nothing; but she searched in the corner of the -sofa with her eyes, watched the side-door, and stole sidelong looks at -Lord Winterbourne. He never seemed at his ease, this uncomfortable -nobleman; he had a discomfited look to-night, like a man defeated, and -Agnes could not help thinking of Charlie, with his sudden enmity, and -the old acquaintance of her father, and all the chances connected with -Aunt Bridget’s bequest; for the time, in her momentary impulse of -dislike and repulsion, she thought her noble neighbour, ex-minister and -peer of the realm as he was, was not a match for the big boy. - -“Agnes, somebody says Lord Winterbourne is her father--Rachel’s -father--and she cannot bear him. Was that what Mrs Edgerley meant?” -whispered Marian in her ear with a look of sorrow. “Did you hear her -voice tremble--did you see how she went away? They say she is his -daughter--oh, Agnes, can it be true?” - -But Agnes did not know, and could not answer: if it was true, then it -was very certain that Rachel must be right; and that there were depths -and mysteries and miseries of life, of which, in spite of all their -innocent acquaintance with sorrow, these simple girls had scarcely -heard, and never knew. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MAKING FRIENDS. - - -The next morning, and the next again, Agnes and Marian vainly sought the -little bower of willows looking for Rachel. Once they saw her escape -hastily out of the shrubbery as they returned from their search, and -knew by that means that she wished to avoid them; but though they heard -her sing every night, they made no advance in their friendship, for that -was the only time in which Rachel was visible, and then she defied all -intrusion upon her haughty solitude. Mr Agar himself wisely kept aloof -from the young singer. The old gentleman did not choose to subject -himself to the chance of a repulse. - -But if Rachel avoided them, Sir Langham certainly did not. This -enterprising youth, having discovered their first early walk, took care -to be in the way when they repeated it, and on the fourth morning, -without saying anything to each other, the sisters unanimously decided -to remain within the safe shelter of their own apartments. From a -corner of their window they could see Sir Langham in vexation and -impatience traversing the slope of the lawn, and pulling off the long -ashy willow-leaves to toss them into the river. Marian laughed to -herself without giving a reason, and Agnes was very glad they had -remained in the house; but the elder sister, reasoning with elaborate -wisdom, made up her mind to ask no further questions about Sir Langham, -how Marian liked him, or what she thought of his attentions. Agnes -thought too many inquiries might “put something into her head.” - -Proceeding upon this astute line of policy, Agnes took no notice -whatever of all the assiduities of the handsome guardsman, not even his -good-natured and brotherly attentions to herself. They were only to -remain a fortnight at the Willows--very little harm, surely, could be -done in that time, and they had but a slender chance of meeting again. -So the elder sister, in spite of her charge of Marian, quieted her -conscience and her fears--and in the mean time the two girls, with -thorough and cordial simplicity, took pleasure in their holiday, finding -everybody kind to them, and excusing with natural humbleness any chance -symptom of neglect. - -They had been a week at the Willows, and every day had used every means -in their power to see Rachel again, when one morning, suddenly, without -plot or premeditation, Agnes encountered her in a long passage which -ran from the hall to the morning-room of Mrs Edgerley. There was a long -window at the end of this passage, against which the small rapid figure, -clothed in a dark close-fitting dress, without the smallest relief of -ornament, stood out strangely, outlined and surrounded by the light. -Agnes had some flowers in her hand, the gift of her acquaintance the -gardener. She fancied that Rachel glanced at them wistfully, and she was -eager of the opportunity. “They are newly gathered--will you take some?” -said Agnes, holding out her hands to her. The young stranger paused, and -looked for an instant distrustfully at her and the flowers. Agnes hoped -nothing better than to be dismissed with a haughty word of thanks; but -while Rachel lingered, the door of the morning-room was opened, and an -approaching footstep struck upon the tiled floor. The young singer did -not look behind her, did not pause to see who it was, but recognising -the step, as it seemed, with a sudden start and tremor, suddenly laid -her hand on Agnes’s arm, and drew her hurriedly in within a door which -she flung open. As soon as they were in, Rachel closed the door with -haste and force, and stood close by it with evident agitation and -excitement. “I beg your pardon--but hush, do not speak till he is past,” -she said in a whisper. Agnes, much discomposed and troubled, went to -the window, as people generally do in embarrassment, and looked out -vacantly for a moment upon the kitchen-garden and the servants’ -“offices,” the only prospect visible from it. She could not help sharing -a little the excitement of her companion, as she thought upon her own -singular position here, and listened with an involuntary thrill to the -slow step of the unknown person from whom they had fled, pacing along -the long cool corridor to pass this door. - -But he did not pass the door; he made a moment’s pause at it, and then -entered, coming full upon Rachel as she stood, agitated and defiant, -close upon the threshold. Agnes scarcely looked round, yet she could see -it was Lord Winterbourne. - -“Good morning, Rachel. I trust you get on well here,” said the new-comer -in a soft and stealthy tone: “is this your sitting-room? Ah, bare -enough, I see. Your are in splendid voice, I am glad to hear; some one -is coming to-night, I understand, whose good opinion is important. You -must take care to do yourself full justice. Are you well, child?” - -He had approached close to her, and bestowed a cold kiss upon the brow -which burned under his touch. “Perfectly well,” said Rachel, drawing -back with a voice unusually harsh and clear. Her agitation and -excitement had for the moment driven all the music from her tones. - -“And your brother is quite well, and all going on in the usual way at -Winterbourne,” continued the stranger. “I expect to have the house very -full in a few weeks, and you must arrange with the housekeeper where to -bestow yourselves. _You_, of course, I shall want frequently. As for -Louis, I suppose he does nothing but fish and mope as usual. I have no -desire to see more than I can help of _him_.” - -“There is no fear; his desire is as strong as yours,” cried Rachel -suddenly, her face varying from the most violent flush to a sudden -passionate paleness. Lord Winterbourne answered by his cold smile of -ridicule. - -“I know his amiable temper,” he said. “Now, remember what I have said -about to-night. Do yourself justice. It will be for your advantage. -Good-by. Remember me to Louis.” - -The door opened again, and he was gone. Rachel closed it almost -violently, and threw herself upon a chair. “We owe him no duty--none. I -will not believe it,” cried Rachel. “No--no--no--I do not belong to him! -Louis is not his!” - -All this time, in the greatest distress and embarrassment, Agnes stood -by the window, grieved to be an unwilling listener, and reluctant to -remind Rachel of her presence by going away. But Rachel had not -forgotten that she was there. With a sudden effort this strange solitary -girl composed herself and came up to Agnes. “Do you know Lord -Winterbourne?” she said quickly; “have you heard of him before you came -here?” - -“I think---- but, indeed, I may be mistaken,” said Agnes timidly; “I -think papa once knew him long ago.” - -“And did he think him a good man?” said Rachel. - -This was a very embarrassing question. Agnes turned away, retreated -uneasily, blushed, and hesitated. “He never speaks of him; I cannot -tell,” said Agnes. - -“Do you know,” said Rachel, eagerly, “they say he is my father--Louis’s -father; but we do not believe it, neither I nor he.” - -To this singular statement Agnes made no answer, save by a look of -surprise and inquiry; the frightful uncertainty of such a position as -this was beyond the innocent comprehension of Agnes Atheling. She looked -with a blank and painful surprise into her young companion’s face. - -“And I will not sing to-night; I will not, because he bade me!” said -Rachel. “Is it my fault that I can sing? but I am to be punished for it; -they make me come to amuse them; and they want me to be a public singer. -I should not care,” cried the poor girl suddenly, in a violent burst of -tears, passing from her passion and excitement to her natural -character--“I would not mind it for myself, if it were not for Louis. I -would do anything they bade me myself; I do not care, nothing matters to -me; but Louis--Louis! he thinks it is disgrace, and it would break his -heart!” - -“Is that your brother?” said Agnes, bending over her, and endeavouring -to soothe her excitement. Rachel made no immediate answer. - -“He has disgrace enough already, poor boy,” said Rachel. “We are -nobody’s children; or we are Lord Winterbourne’s; and he who might be a -king’s son--and he has not even a name! Yes, he is my brother, my poor -Louis: we are twins; and we have nobody but each other in the whole -world.” - -“If he is as old as you,” said Agnes, who was only accustomed to the -usages of humble houses, and knew nothing of the traditions of a noble -race, “you should not stay at Winterbourne: a man can always work--you -ought not to stay.” - -“Do you think so?” cried Rachel eagerly. “Louis says so always, and I -beg and plead with him. When he was only eighteen he ran away: he went -and enlisted for a soldier--a common man--and was away a year, and then -they bought him off, and promised to get him a commission; and I made -him promise to me--perhaps it was selfish, for I could not live when he -was gone--I made him promise not to go away again. And there he is at -Winterbourne. I know you never saw any one like him; and now all these -heartless people are going there, and Lord Winterbourne is afraid of -him, and never will have him seen, and the whole time I will be sick to -the very heart lest he should go away.” - -“But I think he ought to go away,” said Agnes gravely. - -Her new friend looked up in her face with an earnest and trembling -scrutiny. This poor girl had a great deal more passion and vehemence in -her character than had ever been called for in Agnes, but, an -uninstructed and ill-trained child, knew nothing of the primitive -independence, and had never been taught to think of right and wrong. - -“We have a little house there,” said Agnes, with a sudden thought. “Do -you know the Old Wood Lodge? Papa’s old aunt left it to him, and they -say it is very near the Hall.” - -At the name Rachel started suddenly, rose up at once with one of her -quick inconsiderate movements, and, throwing her arms round Agnes, -kissed her cheek. “I knew I ought to know you,” said Rachel, “and yet I -did not think of the name. Dear old Miss Bridget, she loved Louis. I am -sure she loved him; and we know every room in the house, and every leaf -on the trees. If you come there, we will see you every day.” - -“We are coming there--and my mother,” said Agnes. “I know you will be -pleased to see mamma,” said the good girl, her face brightening, and her -eyes filling in spite of herself; “every one thinks she is like their -own mother--and when you come to us you will think you are at home.” - -“We never had any mother,” said Rachel, sadly; “we never had any home; -we do not know what it is. Look, this is my home here.” - -Agnes looked round the large bare apartment, in which the only article -of furniture worth notice was an old piano, and which looked only upon -the little square of kitchen-garden and the servants’ rooms. It was -somewhat larger than both the parlours in Bellevue, and for a best room -would have rejoiced Mrs Atheling’s ambitious heart; but Agnes was -already a little wiser than she had been in Islington, and it chilled -her heart to compare this lonely and dreary apartment with all the -surrounding luxuries, which Rachel saw and did not share. - -“Come up with me and see Marian,” said Agnes, putting her arm through -her companion’s; “you are not to avoid us now any more; we are all to be -friends after to-day.” - -And Rachel, who did not know what friendship was, yielded, thinking of -Louis. Had she been wrong throughout in keeping him, by her entreaties, -so long at Winterbourne? A vision of a home, all to themselves, burst -once in a great delight upon the mind of Rachel. If Louis would only -consent to it! With such a motive before her as that, the poor girl -fancied she “would not mind” being a singer after all. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -CONFIDENTIAL. - - -When the first ice was broken, Rachel became perfectly confidential with -her new friends--_perfectly_ confidential--far more so than they, -accustomed to the domestic privateness of humble English life, could -understand. This poor girl had no restraint upon her for family pride or -family honour; no compensation in family sympathy; and her listeners, -who had very little skill in the study of character, though one of them -had written a novel, were extremely puzzled with a kind of doubleness, -perfectly innocent and unconscious, which made Rachel’s thoughts and -words at different moments like the words and the thoughts of two -different people. At one time she was herself, humble, timid, and -content to do anything which any authority bade her do; but in a moment -she remembered Louis; and the change was instantaneous--she became -proud, stately, obdurate, even defiant. She was no longer herself, but -the shadow and representative of her brother; and in this view Rachel -resisted and defied every influence, anchoring her own wavering will -upon Louis, and refusing, with unreasonable and unreasoning obstinacy, -all injunctions and all persuasions coming from those to whom her -brother was opposed. She seemed, indeed, to have neither plan nor -thought for herself: Louis was her inspiration. _She_ seemed to have -been born for no other purpose but to follow, to love, and to serve this -brother, who to her was all the world. As she sat on the pretty chintz -sofa in that sunny little dressing-room where Agnes and Marian passed -the morning, running rapidly over the environs of the Old Wood Lodge, -and telling them about their future neighbours, they were amazed and -amused to find the total absence of personal opinion, and almost of -personal liking, in their new acquaintance. She had but one standard, to -which she referred everything, and that was Louis. They saw the very -landscape, not as it was, but as it appeared to this wonderful brother. -They became acquainted with the village and its inhabitants through the -medium of Louis’s favourites and Louis’s aversions. They were young -enough and simple enough themselves to be perfectly ready to invest any -unknown ideal person with all the gifts of fancy; and Louis immediately -leaped forth from the unknown world, a presence and an authority to them -both. - -“The Rector lives in the Old Wood House,” said Rachel, for the first -time pausing, and looking somewhat confused in her rapid summary. “I am -sure I do not know what to think--but Louis does not like him. I suppose -you will not like him; and yet,”--here a little faint colour came upon -the young speaker’s pale face--“sometimes I have fancied he would have -been a friend if we had let him; and he is quite sure to like you.” - -Saying this, she turned a somewhat wistful look upon Agnes--blushing -more perceptibly, but with no sunshine or brightness in her blush. -“Yes,” said Rachel slowly, “he will like you--he will do for you; and -you,” she added, turning with sudden eagerness to Marian, “you are for -Louis--remember! You are not to think of any one else till you see -Louis. You never saw any one like him; he is like a prince to look at, -and I know he is a great genius. Your sister shall have the Rector, and -Louis shall be for you.” - -All this Rachel said hurriedly, but with the most perfect gravity, even -with a tinge of sadness--grieved, as they could perceive, that her -brother did not like the Rector, but making no resistance against a doom -so unquestionable as the dislike of Louis: but her timid heart was -somehow touched upon the subject; she became thoughtful, and lingered -over it with a kind of melancholy pleasure. “Perhaps Louis might come -to like him if he was connected with _you_,” said Rachel meditatively; -and the faint colour wavered and flickered on her face, and at last -passed away with a low but very audible sigh. - -“But they are all Riverses,” she continued, in her usual rapid way. “The -Rector of Winterbourne is always a Rivers--it is the family living; and -if Lord Winterbourne’s son should die, I suppose Mr Lionel would be the -heir. His sister lives with him, quite an old lady: and then there is -another Miss Rivers, who lives far off, at Abingford all the way. Did -you ever hear of Miss Anastasia? But she does not call herself -Miss--only the Honourable Anastasia Rivers. Old Miss Bridget was once -her governess. Lord Winterbourne will never permit her to see us; but I -almost think Louis would like to be friends with her, only he will not -take the trouble. They are not at all friends with her at Winterbourne.” - -“Is she a relation?” said Agnes. The girls by this time were so much -interested in the family story that they did not notice this admirable -reason for the inclination of Louis towards this old lady unknown. - -“She is the old lord’s only child,” said Rachel. “The old lord was Lord -Winterbourne’s brother, and he died abroad, and no one knew anything -about him for a long time before he died. We want very much to hear -about him; indeed, I ought not to tell you--but Louis thinks perhaps he -knew something about us. Louis will not believe we are Lord -Winterbourne’s children; and though we are poor disgraced children any -way, and though he hates the very name of Rivers, I think he would -almost rather we belonged to the old lord; for he says,” added Rachel -with great seriousness, “that one cannot hate one’s father, if he is -dead.” - -The girls drew back a little, half in horror; but though she spoke in -this rebellious fashion, there was no consciousness of wrong in Rachel’s -innocent and quiet face. - -“And we have so many troubles,” burst forth the poor girl suddenly. “And -I sometimes sit and cry all day, and pray to God to be dead. And when -anybody is kind to me,” she continued, some sudden remembrance moving -her to an outburst of tears, and raising the colour once more upon her -colourless cheek, “I am so weak and so foolish, and would do anything -they tell me. _I_ do not care, I am sure, what I do--it does not matter -to me; but Louis--no, certainly, I will not sing to-night.” - -“I wish very much,” said Agnes, with an earnestness and courage which -somewhat startled Marian--“I wish very much you could come home with us -to our little house in Bellevue.” - -“Yes,” said Marian doubtfully; but the younger sister, though she -shared the generous impulse, could not help a secret glance at Agnes--an -emphatic reminder of Mamma. - -“No, I must make no friends,” said Rachel, rising under the inspiration -of Louis’s will and injunctions. “It is very kind of you, but I must not -do it. Oh, but remember you are to come to Winterbourne, and I will try -to bring Louis to see you; and I am sure you know a great deal better, -and could talk to him different from me. Do you know,” she continued -solemnly, “they never have given me any education at all, except to -sing? I have never been taught anything, nor indeed Louis either, which -is much worse than me--only he is a great genius, and can teach himself. -The Rector wanted to help him; that is why I am always sure, if Louis -would let him, he would be a friend.” - -And again a faint half-distinguishable blush came upon Rachel’s face. -No, it meant nothing, though Agnes and Marian canvassed and interpreted -after their own fashion this delicate suffusion; it only meant that the -timid gentle heart might have been touched had there been room for more -than Louis; but Louis was supreme, and filled up all. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THREE FRIENDS. - - -That night, faithful to her purpose, Rachel did not appear in the -drawing-room. How far her firmness would have supported her, had she -been left to herself, it is impossible to tell; but she was not left to -herself. “Mrs Edgerley came, saying just the same things as Lord -Winterbourne,” said Rachel, “and I knew I should be firm. Louis cannot -endure Mrs Edgerley.” She said this with the most entire unconsciousness -that she revealed the whole motive and strength of her resistance in the -words. Rachel, indeed, was perfectly unaware of the entire subjection in -which she kept even her thoughts and her affections to her brother; but -she could not help a little anxiety and a little nervousness as to -whether “Louis would like” her new acquaintances. She herself brightened -wonderfully under the influence of these companions--expanded out of her -dull and irritable solitude, and with girlish eagerness forecast their -fortunes, seizing at once, in idea, upon Marian as the destined bride -of Louis, and with a voluntary self-sacrifice making over, with a sigh -and a secret thrill of pride, the only person who had ever wakened any -interest in her own most sisterly bosom, to Agnes. She pleased herself -greatly with these visions, and built them on a foundation still more -brittle than that of Alnaschar--for it was possible that all her -pleasant dreams might be thrown into the dust in a moment, if--dreadful -possibility!--“Louis did not like” these first friends of poor Rachel’s -youth. - -And when she brightened under this genial influence, and softened out of -the haughtiness and solitary state which, indeed, was quite foreign to -her character, Rachel became a very attractive little person. Even the -sudden change in her sentiments and bearing when she returned to her old -feeling of representing Louis, added a charm. Her large eyes troubled -and melting, her pale small features which were very fine and regular, -though so far from striking, her noble little head and small pretty -figure, attracted in the highest degree the admiration of her new -friends. Marian, who rather suspected that she herself was rather -pretty, could not sufficiently admire the grace and refinement of -Rachel; and Agnes, though candidly admitting that there was “scarcely -any one” so beautiful as Marian, notwithstanding bestowed a very equal -share of her regard upon the attractions of their companion. And the -trio fell immediately into all the warmth of girlish friendship. The -Athelings went to visit Rachel in her great bare study, and Rachel came -to visit them in their pretty little dressing-room; and whether in that -sun-bright gay enclosure, or within the sombre and undecorated walls of -the room which looked out on the kitchen-garden, a painter would have -been puzzled to choose which was the better scene. They were so pretty a -group anywhere--so animated--so full of eager life and intelligence--so -much disposed to communicate everything that occurred to them, that -Rachel’s room brightened under the charm of their presence as she -herself had done. And this new acquaintanceship made a somewhat singular -revolution in the drawing-room--where the young musician, after her -singing, was instantly joined by her two friends. She was extremely -reserved and shy of every one else, and even of them occasionally, under -the eyes of Mrs Edgerley; but she was no longer the little tragical -princess who buried herself in the book and the corner, and neither -heard nor saw anything going around her. And the fact that they had some -one whose position was even more doubtful and uneasy than their own, to -give heart and courage to, animated Agnes and Marian, as nothing else -could have done. They recovered their natural spirits, and were no -longer overawed by the great people surrounding them; they had so much -care for Rachel that they forgot to be self-conscious, or to trouble -themselves with inquiries touching their own manners and deportment, and -what other people thought of the same; and on the whole, though their -simplicity was not quite so amusing as at first, “other people” began to -have a kindness for the fresh young faces, always so honest, cloudless, -and sincere. - -But Agnes’s “reputation” had died away, and left very little trace -behind it. Mrs Edgerley had found other lions, and at the present moment -held in delusion an unfortunate young poet, who was much more like to be -harmed by the momentary idolatry than Agnes. The people who had been -dying to know the author of _Hope Hazlewood_, had all found out that the -shy young genius did not talk in character--had no gift of conversation, -and, indeed, did nothing at all to keep up her fame; and if Agnes -chanced to feel a momentary mortification at the prompt desertion of all -her admirers, she wisely kept the pang to herself, and said nothing -about it. They were not neglected--for the accomplished authoress of -_Coquetry_ and the _Beau Monde_ had some kindness at her heart after -all, and had always a smile to spare for her young guests when they came -in her way; they were permitted to roam freely about the gardens and the -conservatory; they were by no means hindered in their acquaintance with -Rachel, whom Mrs Edgerley was really much disposed to bring out and -patronise; and one of them, the genius or the beauty, as best suited her -other companions, was not unfrequently honoured with a place in Mrs -Edgerley’s barouche--a pretty shy lay figure in that rustling, radiant, -perfumy _bouquet_ of fine ladies, who talked over her head about things -and people perfectly unknown to the silent auditor, and impressed her -with a vague idea that this elegant and easy gossip was brilliant -“conversation,” though it did not quite sound, after all, like that -grand unattainable conversation to be found in books. After this -fashion, liking their novel life wonderfully well, and already making a -home of that sunny little dressing-room, they drew gradually towards the -end of their fortnight. As yet nothing at all marvellous had happened to -them, and even Agnes seemed to have forgotten the absolute necessity of -letting everybody know that they “did not belong to great people,” but -instead of a rural Hall, or Grange of renown, lived only in Number Ten, -Bellevue. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A TERRIBLE EVENT. - - -For Agnes, we are grieved to confess, had fallen into all the sudden -fervour of a most warm and enthusiastic girlish friendship. She forgot -to watch over her sister, though Mrs Atheling’s letters did not fail to -remind her of her duty; she forgot to ward off the constant regards of -Sir Langham. She began to be perfectly indifferent and careless of the -superb sentinel who mounted guard upon Marian every night. For the time, -Agnes was entirely occupied with Rachel, and with the new world so full -of a charmed unknown life, which seemed to open upon them all in this -Old Wood Lodge; she spent hours dreaming of some discovery which might -change the position of the unfortunate brother and sister; she took up -with warmth and earnestness their dislike to Lord Winterbourne. If it -sometimes occurred to her what a frightful sentiment this was on the -part of children to their father, she corrected herself suddenly, and -declared in her own mind, with heart and energy, that he could not be -their father--that there was no resemblance between them. But this, it -must be confessed, was a puzzling subject, and offered continual ground -for speculation; for princes and princesses, stolen away in their -childhood, were extremely fictitious personages, even to an imagination -which had written a novel; and Agnes could not help a thrill of -apprehension when she thought of Louis and Marian, of the little romance -which Rachel had made up between them, and how her own honourable father -and mother would look upon this unhappy scion of a noble house--this -poor boy who had no name. - -This future, so full of strange and exciting possibilities, attracted -with an irresistible power the imaginative mind of Agnes. She went -through it chapter by chapter--through earnest dialogues, overpowering -emotions, many a varying and exciting scene. The Old Wood Lodge, the Old -Wood House, the Hall, the Rector, the old Miss Rivers, the unknown hero, -Louis--these made a little private world of persons and places to the -vivid imagination of the young dreamer. They floated down even upon Mrs -Edgerley’s drawing-room, extinguishing its gay lights, its pretty faces, -and its hum of conversation; but with still more effect filled all her -mind and meditations, as she rested, half reclining, upon the pretty -chintz sofa in the pretty dressing-room, in the sweet summer noon with -which this sweet repose was so harmonious and suitable. The window was -open, and the soft wind blowing in fluttered all the leaves of that book -upon the little table, which the sunshine, entering too, brightened into -a dazzling whiteness with all its rims and threads of gold. A fragrant -breath came up from the garden, a hum of soft sound from all the drowsy -world out of doors. Agnes, in the corner of the sofa, laying back her -head among its pretty cushions, with the smile of fancy on her lips, and -the meditative inward light shining in her eyes, playing her foot idly -on the carpet, playing her fingers idly among a little knot of flowers -which lay at her side, and which, in this sweet indolence, she had not -yet taken the trouble to arrange in the little vase--was as complete a -picture of maiden meditation--of those charmed fancies, sweet and -fearless, which belong to her age and kind, as painter or poet could -desire to see. - -When Marian suddenly broke in upon the retirement of her sister, -disturbed, fluttered, a little afraid, but with no appearance of -painfulness, though there was a certain distress in her excitement. -Marian’s eyes were downcast, abashed, and dewy, her colour unusually -bright, her lips apart, her heart beating high. She came into the -little quiet room with a sudden burst, as if she had fled from some one; -but when she came within the door, paused as suddenly, put up her hands -to her face, blushed an overpowering blush, and dropped at once with the -shyest, prettiest movement in the world, into a low chair which stood -behind the door. Agnes, waking slowly out of her own bright mist of -fancy, saw all this with a faint wonder--noticing scarcely anything more -than that Marian surely grew prettier every day, and indeed had never -looked so beautiful all her life. - -“May! you look quite----” lovely, Agnes was about to say; but she paused -in consideration of her sister’s feelings, and said “frightened” -instead. - -“Oh, no wonder! Agnes, something has happened,” said Marian. She began -to look even more frightened as she spoke; yet the pretty saucy lip -moved a little into something that resembled suppressed and silent -laughter. In spite, however, of this one evidence of a secret mixture of -amusement, Marian was extremely grave and visibly afraid. - -“What has happened? Is it about Rachel?” asked Agnes, instantly -referring Marian’s agitation to the subject of her own thoughts. - -“About Rachel! you are always thinking about Rachel,” said Marian, with -a momentary sparkle of indignation. “It is something a great deal more -important; it is--oh, Agnes! Sir Langham has been speaking to me----” - -Agnes raised herself immediately with a start of eagerness and surprise, -accusing herself. She had forgotten all about this close and pressing -danger--she had neglected her guardianship--she looked with an appalled -and pitying look upon her beautiful sister. In Agnes’s eyes, it was -perfectly visible already that here was an end of Marian’s -happiness--that she had bestowed her heart upon Sir Langham, and that -accordingly this heart had nothing to do but to break. - -“What did he say?” asked Agnes solemnly. - -“He said---- oh, I am sure you know very well what he was sure to say,” -cried Marian, holding down her head, and tying knots in her little -handkerchief; “he said--he liked me--and wanted to know if I would -consent. But it does not matter what he said,” said Marian, sinking her -voice very low, and redoubling the knots upon the cambric; “it is not my -fault, indeed, Agnes. I did not think he would have done it; I thought -it was all like Harry Oswald; and you never said a word. What was I to -do?” - -“What did _you_ say?” asked Agnes again, with breathless anxiety, -feeling the reproach, but making no answer to it. - -“I said nothing: it was in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and she came in -almost before he was done speaking; and I was so very glad, and ran -away. What could I do?” said again the beautiful culprit, becoming a -little more at her ease; but during all this time she never lifted her -eyes to her sister’s face. - -“What _will_ you say, then? Marian, you make me very anxious; do not -trifle with me,” said Agnes. - -“It is you who are trifling,” retorted the young offender; “for you know -if you had told the people at once, as you said you would--but I don’t -mean to be foolish either,” said Marian, rising suddenly, and throwing -herself half into her sister’s arms; “and now, Agnes, you must go and -tell him--indeed you must--and say that we never intended to deceive -anybody, and meant no harm.” - -“_I_ must tell him!” said Agnes, with momentary dismay; and then the -elder sister put her arm round the beautiful head which leaned on her -shoulder, in a caressing and sympathetic tenderness. “Yes, May,” said -Agnes sadly, “I will do anything you wish--I will say whatever you wish. -We ought not to have come here, where you were sure to meet with all -these perils. Marian! for my mother’s sake you must try to keep up your -heart when we get home.” - -The answer Marian made to this solemn appeal was to raise her eyes, full -of wondering and mischievous brightness, and to draw herself immediately -from Agnes’s embrace with a low laugh of excitement. “Keep up my heart! -What do you mean?” said Marian; but she immediately hastened to her own -particular sleeping-room, and, lost within its mazy muslin curtains, -waited for no explanation. Agnes, disturbed and grave, and much -overpowered by her own responsibility, did not know what to think. -Present appearances were not much in favour of the breaking of Marian’s -heart. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -AN EXPLANATION. - - -“But what am I to say?” - -To this most difficult question Agnes could not find any satisfactory -answer. Marian, though so nearly concerned in it, gave her no assistance -whatever. Marian went wandering about the three little rooms, flitting -from one to another with unmistakable restlessness, humming inconsistent -snatches of song, sometimes a little disposed to cry, sometimes moved to -smiles, extremely variable, and full of a sweet and pleasant agitation. -Agnes followed her fairy movements with grave eyes, extremely watchful -and anxious--was she grieved?--was she pleased? was she really in love? - -But Marian made no sign. She would not intrust her sister with any -message from herself. She was almost disposed to be out of temper when -Agnes questioned her. “You know very well what must be said,” said -Marian; “you have only to tell him who we are--and I suppose that will -be quite enough for Sir Langham. Do you not think so, Agnes?” - -“I think it all depends upon how he feels--and how _you_ feel,” said the -anxious sister; but Marian turned away with a smile and made no reply. -To tell the truth, she could not at all have explained her own -sentiments. She was very considerably flattered by the homage of the -handsome guardsman, and fluttered no less by the magnificent and -marvellous idea of being a ladyship. There was nothing very much on her -part to prevent this beautiful Marian Atheling from becoming as pretty a -Lady Portland, and by-and-by, as affectionate a one, as even the -delighted imagination of Sir Langham could conceive. But Marian was -still entirely fancy free--not at all disinclined to be persuaded into -love with Sir Langham, but at present completely innocent of any serious -emotions--pleased, excited, in the sweetest flutter of girlish -expectation, amusement, and triumph--but nothing more. - -And from that corner of the window from which they could gain a sidelong -glance at the lawn and partial view of the shrubbery, Sir Langham was -now to be descried wandering about as restlessly as Marian, pulling off -stray twigs and handfuls of leaves in the most ruthless fashion, and -scattering them on his path. Marian drew Agnes suddenly and silently to -the window, and pointed out the impatient figure loitering about among -the trees. Agnes looked at him with dismay. “Am I to go now--to go out -and seek him?--is it proper?” said Agnes, somewhat horrified at the -thought. Marian took up the open book from the table, and drew the low -chair into the sunshine. “In the evening everybody will be there,” said -Marian, as she began to read, or to pretend to read. Agnes paused for a -moment in the most painful doubt and perplexity. “I suppose, indeed, it -had better be done at once,” she said to herself, taking up her bonnet -with very unenviable feelings. Poor Agnes! her heart beat louder and -louder, as she tied the strings with trembling fingers, and prepared to -go. There was Marian bending down over the book on her knees, sitting in -the sunshine with the full summer light burning upon her hair, and one -cheek flushed with the pressure of her supporting hand. She glanced up -eagerly, but she said nothing; and Agnes, very pale and extremely -doubtful, went upon her strange errand. It was the most perplexing and -uncomfortable business in the world--and was it proper? But she -reassured herself a little as she went down stairs--if any one should -see her going out to seek Sir Langham! “I will tell Mrs Edgerley the -reason,” thought Agnes--she supposed at least no one could have any -difficulty in understanding _that_. - -So she hastened along the garden paths, very shyly, looking quite pale, -and with a palpitating heart. Sir Langham knew nothing of her approach -till he turned round suddenly on hearing the shy hesitating rapid step -behind. He thought it was Marian for a moment, and made one eager step -forward; then he paused, half expecting, half indignant. Agnes, -breathless and hurried, gave him no time to address her--she burst into -her little speech with all the eager temerity of fear. - -“If you please, Sir Langham, I have something to say to you,” said -Agnes. “You must have been deceived in us--you do not know who we are. -We do not belong to great people--we have never before been in a house -like Mrs Edgerley’s. I came to tell you at once, for we did not think it -honest that you should not know.” - -“Know--know what?” cried Sir Langham. Never guardsman before was filled -with such illimitable amaze. - -Agnes had recovered her self-possession to some extent. “I mean, sir,” -she said earnestly, her face flushing as she spoke, “that we wish you to -know who we belong to, and that we are not of your rank, nor like the -people here. My father is in the City, and we live at Islington, in -Bellevue. We are able to live as we desire to live,” said Agnes with a -little natural pride, standing very erect, and blushing more deeply -than ever, “but we are what people at the Willows would call _poor_.” - -Her amazed companion stood gazing at her with a blank face of wonder. -“Eh?” said Sir Langham. He could not for his life make it out. - -“I suppose you do not understand me,” said Agnes, who began now to be -more at her ease than Sir Langham was, “but what I have said is quite -true. My father is an honourable man, whom we have all a right to be -proud of, but he has only--only a very little income every year. I meant -to have told every one at first, for we did not want to deceive--but -there was no opportunity, and whenever Marian told me, we made up our -minds that you ought to know. I mean,” said Agnes proudly, with a -strange momentary impression that she was taller than Sir Langham, who -stood before her biting the head of his cane, with a look of the -blankest discomfiture--“I mean that we forget altogether what you said -to my sister, and understand that you have been deceived.” - -She was somewhat premature, however, in her contempt. Sir Langham, -overpowered with the most complete amazement, had _yet_, at all events, -no desire whatever that Marian should forget what he had said to her. -“Stop,” said the guardsman, with his voice somewhat husky; “do you mean -that your father is not a friend of Lord Winterbourne’s? He is a squire -in Banburyshire--I know all about it--or how could you be here?” - -“He is not a squire in Banburyshire; he is in an office in the City--and -they asked us here because I had written a book,” said Agnes, with a -little sadness and great humility. “My father is not a friend of Lord -Winterbourne’s; but yet I think he knew him long ago.” - -At these last words Sir Langham brightened a little. “Miss Atheling, I -don’t want to believe you,” said the honest guardsman; “I’ll ask Lord -Winterbourne.” - -“Lord Winterbourne knows nothing of us,” said Agnes, with an involuntary -shudder of dislike; “and now I have told you, Sir Langham, and there is -nothing more to say.” - -As she turned to leave him, the dismayed lover awoke out of his blank -astonishment. “Nothing more--not a word--not a message; what did she -say?” cried Sir Langham, reddening to his hair, and casting a wistful -look at the house where Marian was. He followed her sister with an -appealing gesture, yet paused in the midst of it. The unfortunate -guardsman had never been in circumstances so utterly perplexing; he -could not, would not, give up his love--and yet! - -“Marian said nothing--nothing more than I have been obliged to say,” -said Agnes. She turned away now, and left him with a proud and rapid -step, inspired with injured pride and involuntary resentment. Agnes did -not quite know what she had expected of Sir Langham, but it surely was -something different from this. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -AN EXPERIMENT. - - -But there was a wonderful difference between this high-minded and -impetuous girl, as she crossed the lawn with a hasty foot, which almost -scorned to sink into its velvet softness, and the disturbed and -bewildered individual who remained behind her in the bowery path where -this interview had taken place. Sir Langham Portland had no very bigoted -regard for birth, and no avaricious love of money. He was a very good -fellow after his kind, as Sir Langhams go, and would not have done a -dishonourable thing, with full knowledge of it, for the three kingdoms; -but Sir Langham was a guardsman, a man of fashion, a man of the world; -he was not so blinded by passion as to be quite oblivious of what -befalls a man who marries a pretty face; he was not wealthy enough or -great enough to indulge such a whim with impunity, and the beauty which -was enough to elevate a Banburyshire Hall, was not sufficient to gild -over the unmentionable enormity of a house in Islington and a father in -the City. Fathers in the City who are made of gold may be sufficiently -tolerable, but a City papa who was _poor_, and had “only a very small -income every year,” as Agnes said, was an unimaginable monster, scarcely -realisable to the brilliant intellect of Sir Langham. This unfortunate -young gentleman wandered about Mrs Edgerley’s bit of shrubbery, tearing -off leaves and twigs on every side of him, musing much in his perturbed -and cloudy understanding, and totally unable to make it out. Let nobody -suppose he had given up Marian; that would have made a settlement of the -question. But Sir Langham was not disposed to give up his beauty, and -not disposed to make a _mésalliance_; and between the terror of losing -her and the terror of everybody’s sneer and compassion if he gained her, -the unhappy lover vibrated painfully, quite unable to come to any -decision, or make up his mighty mind one way or the other. He stripped -off the leaves of the helpless bushes, but it did him no service; he -twisted his mustache, but there was no enlightenment to be gained from -that interesting appendage; he collected all his dazzled wits to the -consideration of what sort of creature a man might be who was in an -office in the City. Finally, a very brilliant and original idea struck -upon the heavy intelligence of Sir Langham. He turned briskly out of the -byways of the shrubbery, and said to himself with animation, “I’ll go -and see!” - -When Agnes entered again the little dressing-room where her beautiful -sister still bent over her book, Marian glanced up at her inquiringly, -and finding no information elicited by that, waited a little, then rose, -and came shyly to her side. “I only want to know,” said Marian, “not -because I care; but what did he say?” - -“He was surprised,” said Agnes proudly, turning her head away; and Agnes -would say nothing more, though Marian lingered by her, and tried various -hints and measures of persuasion. Agnes was extremely stately, and, as -Marian said, “just a little cross,” all day. It was rather too bad to be -cross, if she was so, to the innocent mischief-maker, who might be the -principal sufferer. But Agnes had made up her mind to suffer no talk -about Sir Langham; she had quite given him up, and judged him with the -most uncompromising harshness. “Yes!” cried Agnes (to herself), with -lofty and poetic indignation, “this I suppose is what these fashionable -people call love!” - -She was wrong, as might have been expected; for that poor honest Sir -Langham, galloping through the dusty roads in the blazing heat of an -August afternoon, was quite as genuine in this proof of his affection -as many a knight of romance. It was quite a serious matter to this poor -young man of fashion, before whose tantalised and tortured imagination -some small imp of an attendant Cupid perpetually held up the sweetest -fancy-portrait of that sweetest of fair faces. This visionary tormentor -tugged at his very heart-strings as the white summer dust rose up in a -cloud, marking his progress along the whole long line of the Richmond -road. He was not going to slay the dragon, the enemy of his -princess--that would have been easy work. He was, unfortunate Sir -Langham! bound on a despairing enterprise to find out the house which -was not a hall in Banburyshire, to make acquaintance, if possible, with -the papa who was in the City, and to see “if it would do.” - -He knew as little, in reality, about the life which Agnes and Marian -lived at home, and about their father’s house and all its homely -economics and quiet happiness, as if he had been a New Zealand chief -instead of a guardsman--and galloped along as gravely as if he were -going to a funeral, with, all the way, that wicked little imp of a -Cupidon tugging at his heart. - -Mrs Atheling was alone with her two babies, sighing a little, and full -of weariness for the return of the girls; but Susan, better instructed -this time, ushered the magnificent visitor into the best room. He stood -gazing upon it in blank amazement; upon the haircloth sofa, and the -folded leaf of the big old mahogany table in the corner; and the -coloured glass candlesticks and flower-vases on the mantel-shelf. Mrs -Atheling, who was a little fluttered, and the rosy boy, who clung to her -skirts, and, spite of her audible entreaties in the passage, would not -suffer her to enter without him, rather increased the consternation of -Sir Langham. She was comely; she had a soft voice; a manner quite -unpretending and simple, as good in its natural quietness as the highest -breeding; yet Sir Langham, at sight of her, heaved from the depths of -his capacious bosom a mighty sigh. It would not do; that little wretch -of a Cupid, what a wrench it gave him as he tried to cast it out! If it -had been a disorderly house or a slatternly mother, Sir Langham might -have taken some faint comfort from the thought of rescuing his beautiful -Marian from a family unworthy of her; but even to his hazy understanding -it became instantly perceptible that this was a home not to be parted -with, and a mother much beloved. Marian, a prince might have been glad -to marry; but Sir Langham could not screw his fortitude to the pitch of -marrying all that little, tidy, well-ordered house in Bellevue. - -So he made a great bungle of his visit, and invented a story about being -in town on business, and calling to carry the Miss Athelings’ messages -for home; and made the best he could of so bad a business by a very -expeditious retreat. Anything that he did say was about Agnes; and the -mother, though a little puzzled and startled by the visit, was content -to set it down to the popularity of her young genius. “I suppose he -wanted to see what kind of people she belonged to,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a smile of satisfaction, as she looked round her best room, and -drew back with her into the other parlour the rosy little rogues who -held on by her gown. She was perfectly correct in her supposition; but, -alas! how far astray in the issue of the same. - -Sir Langham went to his club--went to the opera--could not rest -anywhere, and floundered about like a man bewitched. It would not do--it -would not do; but the merciless little Cupid hung on by his -heart-strings, and would not be off for all the biddings of the -guardsman. He did not return to Richmond; he was heartily ashamed of -himself--heartily sick of all the so-called pleasures with which he -tried to cheat his disappointment. But Sir Langham had a certain kind of -good sense though he was in love, so he applied himself to forgetting -“the whole business,” and made up his mind finally that it would not do. - -The sisters at the Willows, when they found that Sir Langham did not -appear that night, and that no one knew anything of him, made their own -conclusions on the subject, but did not say a word even to each other. -Agnes sat apart silently indignant, and full of a sublime disdain. -Marian, with, a deeper colour than usual on her cheek, was, on the -contrary, a great deal more animated than was her wont, and attracted -everybody’s admiration. Had anybody cared to think of the matter, it -would have been the elder sister, and not the younger, whom the common -imagination could have supposed to have lost a lover; but they went to -rest very early that night, and spent no pleasant hour in the pleasant -gossip which never failed between them. Sir Langham was not to be spoken -of; and Agnes lay awake, wondering what Marian’s feelings were, long -after Marian, forgetting all about her momentary pique and anger, was -fast and sweet asleep. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -GOING HOME. - - -And now it had come to an end--all the novelty, the splendour, and the -excitement of this first visit--and Agnes and Marian were about to go -home. They were very much pleased, and yet a little disappointed--glad -and eager to return to their mother, yet feeling it would have been -something of a compliment to be asked to remain. - -Rachel, who was a great deal more vehement and demonstrative than either -of them, threw herself into their arms with violent tears. “I have been -so happy since ever I knew you,” said Rachel--“so happy, I scarcely -thought it right when I was not with Louis--and I think I could almost -like to be your servant, and go home with you. I could do anything for -you.” - -“Hush!” said Agnes. - -“No; it is quite true,” cried poor Rachel--“_quite_ true. I should like -to be your servant, and live with your mother. Oh! I ought to say,” she -continued, raising herself with a little start and thrill of terror, -“that if we were in a different position, and could meet people like -equals, I should be so glad--so very glad to be friends.” - -“But how odd Rachel would think it to live in Bellevue,” said Marian, -coming to the rescue with a little happy ridicule, which did better than -gravity, “and to see no one, even in the street, but the milkman and the -greengrocer’s boy! for Rachel only thinks of the Willows and -Winterbourne; she does not know in the least how things look in -Bellevue.” - -Rachel was beguiled into a laugh--a very unusual indulgence. “When you -say that, I think it is a very little cottage like one of the cottages -in the village; but you know that is all wrong. Oh, when do you think -you will go to Winterbourne?” - -“We will write and tell you,” said Agnes, “all about it, and how many -are going; for I do not suppose Charlie will come, after all; and you -will write to us--how often? Every other day?” - -Rachel turned very red, then very pale, and looked at them with -considerable dismay. “Write!” she said, with a falter in her voice; -“I--I never thought of that--I never wrote to any one; I daresay I -should do it very badly. Oh no; I shall be sure to find out whenever you -come to the Old Wood Lodge.” - -“But we shall hear nothing of you,” said Agnes. “Why should you not -write to us? I am sure you do to your brother at home.” - -“I do _not_,” said Rachel, once more drawing herself up, and with -flashing eyes. “No one can write letters to us, who have no name.” - -She was not to be moved from this point; she repeated the same words -again and again, though with a very wistful and yielding look in her -face. All for Louis! Her companions were obliged to give up the -question, after all. - -So there was another weeping, sobbing, vehement embrace, and -Rachel disappeared without a word into the big bare room down -stairs--disappeared to fall again, without a struggle, into her former -forlorn life--to yield on her own account, and to struggle with fierce -haughtiness for the credit of Louis--leaving the two sisters very -thoughtful and compassionate, and full of a sudden eager generous -impulse to run away with and take her home. - -“Home--to mamma! It would be like heaven to Rachel,” said Agnes, in a -little enthusiasm, with tears in her eyes. - -“Ay, but it would not be like the Willows,” said the most practical -Marian; and they both looked out with a smile and a sigh upon the -beautiful sunshiny lawn, the river in an ecstasy of light and -brightness, the little island with all its ruffled willow-leaves, and -bethought themselves, finding some amusement in the contrast, of Laurel -House, and Myrtle Cottage, and the close secluded walls of Bellevue. - -Mrs Atheling had sent the Fly for her daughters--the old Islingtonian -fly, with the old white horse, and the coachman with his shiny hat. This -vehicle, which had once been a chariot of the gods, looked somewhat -shabby as it stood in the broad sunshine before the door of the Willows, -accustomed to the fairy coach of Mrs Edgerley. They laughed to -themselves very quietly when they caught their first glimpse of it, yet -in a momentary weakness were half ashamed; for even Agnes’s honest -determination to let everybody know their true “rank in life” was not -troubled by any fear lest this respectable vehicle should be taken for -their own carriage _now_. - -“Going, my love?” cried Mrs Edgerley; “the fatal hour--has it really -come so soon?--You leave us all _desolée_, of course; how _shall_ we -exist to-day? And it was so good of you to come. Remember! we shall be -dying till we have a new tale from the author of _Hope Hazlewood_. I -long to see it. I know it will be charming, or it could not be -yours.--And, my love, you look quite lovely--such roses! I think you -quite the most exquisite little creature in the world. Remember me to -your excellent mamma. Is your carriage waiting? Ah, I am miserable to -part with you. Farewell--that dreadful word--farewell!” - -Again that light perfumy touch waved over one blushing cheek and then -another. Mrs Edgerley continued to wave her hand and make them pretty -signals till they reached the door, whither they hastened as quickly and -as quietly as possible, not desiring any escort; but few were the -privileged people in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and no one cared to do -the girls so much honour. Outside the house their friend the gardener -waited with two bouquets, so rare and beautiful that the timid -recipients of the same, making him their humble thanks, scarcely knew -how to express sufficient gratitude. Some one was arriving as they -departed--some one who, making the discovery of their presence, stalked -towards them, almost stumbling over Agnes, who happened to be nearest to -him. “Going away?” said a dismayed voice at a considerable altitude. Mr -Endicott’s thin head positively vibrated with mortification; he -stretched it towards Marian, who stood before him smiling over her -flowers, and fixed a look of solemn reproach upon her. “I am aware that -beauty and youth flee often from the presence of one who looks upon life -with a studious eye. This disappointment is not without its object. You -are going away?” - -“Yes,” said Marian, laughing, but with a little charitable compassion -for her own particular victim, “and you are just arriving? It is very -odd--you should have come yesterday.” - -“Permit me,” said Mr Endicott moodily;--“no; I am satisfied. This -experience is well--I am glad to know it. To us, Miss Atheling,” said -the solemn Yankee, as he gave his valuable assistance to Agnes--“to us -this play and sport of fortune is but the proper training. Our business -is not to enjoy; we bear these disappointments for the world.” - -He put them into their humble carriage, and bowed at them solemnly. Poor -Mr Endicott! He did not blush, but grew green as he stood looking after -the slow equipage ere he turned to the disenchanted Willows. Though he -was about to visit people of distinction, the American young gentleman, -being in love, did not care to enter upon this new scene of observation -and note-making at this moment; so he turned into the road, and walked -on in the white cloud of dust raised by the wheels of the fly. The dust -itself had a sentiment in it, and belonged to Marian; and Mr Endicott -began the painful manufacture of a sonnet, expressing this “experience,” -on the very spot. - -“But _you_ ought not to laugh at him, Marian, even though other people -do,” said Agnes, with superior virtue. - -“Why not?” said the saucy beauty; “I laughed at Sir Langham--and I am -sure _he_ deserved it,” she added in an under-tone. - -“Marian,” said Agnes, “I think--you have named him yourself, or I should -not have done it--we had better not say anything about Sir Langham to -mamma.” - -“I do not care at all who names him,” said Marian, pouting; but she made -no answer to the serious proposition: so it became tacitly agreed -between them that nothing was to be said of the superb runaway lover -when they got home. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -HOME. - - -And now they were at home--the Fly dismissed, the trunks unfastened, and -Agnes and Marian sitting with Mamma in the old parlour, as if they had -never been away. Yes, they had been away--both of them had come in with -a little start and exclamation to this familiar room, which somehow had -shrunk out of its proper proportions, and looked strangely dull, -dwarfed, and sombre. It was very strange; they had lived here for years, -and knew every corner of every chair and every table--and they had only -been gone a fortnight--yet what a difference in the well-known room! - -“Somebody has been doing something to the house,” said Marian -involuntarily; and Agnes paused in echoing the sentiment, as she caught -a glimpse of a rising cloud on her mother’s comely brow. - -“Indeed, children, I am grieved to see how soon you have learned to -despise your home,” said Mrs Atheling; and the good mother reddened, and -contracted her forehead. She had watched them with a little jealousy -from their first entrance, and they, to tell the truth, had been visibly -struck with the smallness and the dulness of the family rooms. - -“Despise!” cried Marian, kneeling down, and leaning her beautiful head -and her clasped arms upon her mother’s knee. “Despise!” said Agnes, -putting her arm over Mrs Atheling’s shoulder from behind her chair; “oh, -mamma, you ought to know better!--we who have learned that there are -people in the world who have neither a mother nor a home!” - -“Well, then, what is the matter?” said Mrs Atheling; and she began to -smooth the beautiful falling hair, which came straying over her old -black silk lap, like Danae’s shower of gold. - -“Nothing at all--only the room is a little smaller, and the carpet a -little older than it used to be,” said Agnes; “but, mamma, because we -notice that, you do not think surely that we are less glad to be at -home.” - -“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, still a little piqued; “your great -friend, when he called the other day, did not seem to think there was -anything amiss about the house.” - -“Our great friend!” The girls looked at each other with dismay--who -could it be? - -“His card is on the mantelpiece,” said Mrs Atheling. “He had not very -much to say, but he seemed a pleasant young man--Sir Something--Sir -Langham; but, indeed, my dear, though, of course, I was pleased to see -him, I am not at all sure how far such acquaintances are proper for -you.” - -“He was scarcely _my_ acquaintance, mamma,” said Agnes, sorrowfully -looking down from behind her mother’s chair upon Marian, who had hid her -face in Mrs Atheling’s lap, and made no sign. - -“For our rank in life is so different,” pursued the prudent mother; “and -even though I might have some natural ambition for you, I do not think, -Agnes, that it would really be wishing you well to wish that you should -form connections so far out of the sphere of your own family as _that_.” - -“Mamma, it was not me,” said Agnes again, softly and under her breath. - -“It was no one!” cried Marian, rising up hastily, and suddenly seizing -and clipping into an ornamental cross Sir Langham’s card, which was upon -the mantelpiece. “See, Agnes, it will do to wind silk upon; and nobody -cares the least in the world for Sir Langham. Mamma, he used to be like -Harry Oswald--that is all--and we were very glad when he went away from -the Willows, both Agnes and I.” - -At this statement, made as it was with a blush and a little confusion, -Mrs Atheling herself reddened slightly, and instantly left the subject. -It was easy enough to warn her children of the evils of a possible -connection with people of superior condition; but when such a thing -fluttered really and visibly upon the verge of her horizon, Mrs Atheling -was struck dumb. To see her pretty Marian a lady--a baronet’s wife--the -bride of that superb Sir Langham--it was not in the nature of mortal -mother to hear without emotion of such an extraordinary possibility. The -ambitious imagination kindled at once in the heart of Mrs Atheling: she -held her peace. - -And the girls, to tell the truth, were very considerably excited about -this visit of Sir Langham’s. What did it mean? After a little time they -strayed into the best room, and stood together looking at it with -feelings by no means satisfactory. The family parlour was the family -parlour, and, in spite of all that it lacked, possessed something of -home and kindness which was not to be found in all the luxurious -apartments of the Willows. But, alas! there was nothing but meagre -gentility, blank good order, and unloveliness, in this sacred and -reserved apartment, where Bell and Beau never threw the charm of their -childhood, nor Mrs Atheling dispersed the kindly clippings of her -work-basket. The girls consulted each other with dismayed looks--even -Rachel, if she came, could not stand against the chill of this grim -parlour. Marian pulled the poor haircloth sofa into another position, -and altered with impatience the stiff mahogany chairs. They scarcely -liked to say to each other how entirely changed was their ideal, or how -they shrank from the melancholy state of the best room. “Sir Langham was -here, Agnes,” said Marian; and within her own mind the young beauty -almost added, “No wonder he ran away!” - -“It is home--it is our own house,” said Agnes, getting up for the -occasion a little pride. - -Marian shrugged her pretty shoulders. “But Susan had better bring any -one who calls into the other room.” - -Yes, the other room, when they returned to it, had brightened again -marvellously. Mrs Atheling had put on her new gown, and had a pink -ribbon in her cap. As she sat by the window with her work-basket, she -was pleasanter to look at than a dozen pictures; and the sweetest -Raphael in the world was not so sweet as these two little lovely fairies -playing upon the faded old rug at the feet of Mamma. Not all the -luxuries and all the prettinesses of Mrs Edgerley’s drawingrooms, not -even the river lying in the sunshine, and the ruffled silvery willows -drooping round their little island, were a fit balance to this dearest -little group, the mother and the children, who made beautiful beyond all -telling the sombre face of home. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -A NEW ERA. - - -It came to be rather an exciting business to Agnes and Marian making -their report of what had happened at the Willows--for it was difficult -to distract Mamma’s attention from Sir Langham, and Papa was almost -angrily interested in everything which touched upon Lord Winterbourne. -Rachel, of course, was a very prominent figure in their picture; but Mrs -Atheling was still extremely doubtful, and questioned much whether it -was proper to permit such an acquaintance to her daughters. She was very -particular in her inquiries concerning this poor girl--much approved of -Rachel’s consciousness of her own equivocal position--thought it “a very -proper feeling,” and received evidence with some solemnity as to her -“manners” and “principles.” The girls described their friend according -to the best of their ability; but as neither of them had any great -insight into character, we will not pretend to say that their audience -were greatly enlightened,--and extremely doubtful was the mind of Mrs -Atheling. “My dear, I might be very sorry for her, but it would not be -proper for me to forget you in my sympathy for her,” said Mamma, gravely -and with dignity. Like so many tender-hearted mothers, Mrs Atheling took -great credit to herself for an imaginary severity, and made up her mind -that she was proof to the assaults of pity--she who at the bottom was -the most credulous of all, when she came to hear a story of distress. - -And Papa, who had been moved at once to forbid their acquaintance with -children of Lord Winterbourne’s, changed his mind, and became very much -interested when he heard of Rachel’s horror of the supposed -relationship. When they came to this part of the story, Mrs Atheling was -scandalised, but Papa was full of pity. He said “Poor child!” softly, -and with emotion; while Charlie pricked his big ear to listen, though no -one was favoured with the sentiments on this subject of the big boy. - -“And about the Rector and the old lady who lives at Abingford--papa, why -did you never tell us about these people?” said Marian; “for I am sure -you must know very well who Aunt Bridget’s neighbours were in the Old -Wood Lodge.” - -“I know nothing about the Riverses,” said Papa hastily--and Mr Atheling -himself, sober-minded man though he was, grew red with an angry -glow--“there was a time when I hated the name,” he added in an impetuous -and rapid undertone, and then he looked up as though he was perfectly -aware of the restraining look of caution which his wife immediately -turned upon him. - -“Such neighbours as are proper for us you will find out when we get -there,” said Mrs Atheling quietly. “Papa has not been at Winterbourne -for twenty years, and we have had too many things to think of since then -to remember people whom we scarcely knew.” - -“Then, I suppose, since papa hated the name once, and Rachel hates it -now, they must be a very wicked family,” said Marian; “but I hope the -Rector is not very bad, for Agnes’s sake.” - -This little piece of malice called for instant explanation, and Marian -was very peremptorily checked by father and mother. “A girl may say a -foolish thing to other girls,” said Mamma, “and I am afraid this Rachel, -poor thing, must have been very badly brought up; but you ought to know -better than to repeat a piece of nonsense like that.” - -“When are we to go, mamma?” said Agnes, coming in to cover the blush, -half of shame and half of displeasure, with which Marian submitted to -this reproof; “it is August now, and soon it will be autumn instead of -summer: we shall be going out of town when all the fashionable people -go--but I would rather it was May.” - -“It cannot be May this year,” said Mrs Atheling, involuntarily -brightening; “but papa is to take a holiday--three weeks; my dears, I do -not think I have been so pleased at anything since Bell and Beau.” - -Since Bell and Beau! what an era that was! And this, too, was a new -beginning, perhaps more momentous, though not such a sweet and great -revulsion, out of the darkness into the light. Mamma’s manner of dating -her joys cast them all back into thought and quietness; and Agnes’s -heart beat high with a secret and mercenary pleasure, exulting like a -miser over her hundred and fifty pounds. At this moment, and at many -another moment when the young author had clean forgotten _Hope -Hazlewood_, the thought came upon her with positive delight of the -little hoard in Papa’s hands, safely laid up in the office, one whole -hundred pounds’ worth of family good and gladness still; for she had not -the same elevated regard for art as her sister’s American admirer--she -was not, by any means, in her own estimation, or in anybody else’s, a -representative woman; and Agnes, who began already to think rather -meanly of _Hope Hazlewood_, and press on with the impatience of genius -towards a higher excellence, had the greatest satisfaction possible in -the earnings of her gentle craft--was it an ignoble delight? - -The next morning the two girls, with prudence and caution, began an -attack upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer touching the best room. At -first Mrs Atheling was entirely horrified at their extravagant ideas. -The best room!--what could be desired that was not already attained in -that most respectable apartment? but the young rebels held their ground. -Mamma put down her work upon her knee, and listened to them quietly. It -was not a good sign--she made no interruption as they spoke of mirrors -and curtains, carpets and ottomans, couches and easy-chairs: she heard -them all to the end with unexampled patience--she only said, “My dears, -when you are done I will tell you what I have to say.” - -What she did say was conclusive upon the subject, though it was met by -many remonstrances. “We are going to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Mrs -Atheling, “and I promise you you shall go into Oxford when we are there, -and get some things to make old Aunt Bridget’s parlour look a little -more like yourselves: but even a hundred pounds, though it is quite a -little fortune, will not last for ever--and to furnish _two_ rooms! My -dears, you do not know any better; but, of course, it is quite -ridiculous, and cannot be done.” - -Thus ended at present their plan for making a little drawing-room out -of the best room; for Mamma’s judgment, though it was decisive, was -reasonable, and they could make no stand against it. They did all they -could do under the circumstances; for the first time, and with -compunction, they secretly instructed Susan against the long-standing -general order of the head of the house. Strangers were no longer to be -ushered into the sacred stranger’s apartment; but before Susan had any -chance of obeying these schismatical orders, Agnes and Marian themselves -were falling into their old familiarity with the old walls and the -sombre furniture, and were no longer disposed to criticise, especially -as all their minds and all their endeavours were at present set upon the -family holiday--the conjoint household visit to the country--the -glorious prospect of taking possession of the Old Wood Lodge. - -In Bellevue, Charlie alone was to be left behind--Charlie, who had not -been long enough in Mr Foggo’s office to ask for a holiday, and who did -not want one very much, if truth must be told; for neither early hours -nor late hours told upon the iron constitution of the big boy. When they -pitied him who must stay behind, the young gentleman said, “Stuff! -Susan, I suppose, can make my coffee as well as any of you,” said -Charlie; but nobody was offended that he limited the advantages of their -society to coffee-making; and even Mrs Atheling, in spite of her -motherly anxieties, left her house and her son with comfortable -confidence. Harm might happen to the house, Susan being in it, who was -by no means so careful as she ought to be of her fire and her candle; -but nobody feared any harm to the heir and hope of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE OLD WOOD LODGE. - - -And it was late in August, a sultry day, oppressive and thundery, when -this little family of travellers made their first entry into the Old -Wood Lodge. - -It stood upon the verge of a wood, and the side of a hill, looking down -into what was not so much a valley as a low amphitheatre, watered by a -maze of rivers, and centred in a famous and wonderful old town. The -trees behind the little house had burning spots of autumn colour here -and there among the masses of green--colour which scarcely bore its due -weight and distinction in the tremulous pale atmosphere which waited for -the storm; and the leaves cowered and shivered together, and one -terrified bird flew wildly in among them, seeking refuge. Under the -shadow of three trees stood the low house of two stories, half stone and -half timber, with one quaint projecting window in the roof, and a -luxuriant little garden round it. But it was impossible to pause, as -the new proprietors intended to have done, to note all the external -features of their little inheritance. They hurried in, eager to be under -shelter before the thunder; and as Mrs Atheling, somewhat timid of it, -hurried over the threshold, the first big drops fell heavily among the -late roses which covered the front of the house. They were all awed by -the coming storm; and they were not acquainted any of them with the -louder crash and fiercer blaze of a thunderstorm in the country. They -came hastily into Miss Bridget’s little parlour, scarcely seeing what -like it was, as the ominous still darkness gathered in the sky, and sat -down, very silently, in corners, all except Mr Atheling, whose duty it -was to be courageous, and who was neither so timid as his wife, nor so -sensitive as his daughters. Then came the storm in earnest--wild -lightning rending the black sky in sheets and streams of flames--fearful -cannonades of thunder, nature’s grand forces besieging some rebellious -city in the skies. Then gleams of light shone wild and ghastly in all -the pallid rivers, and lighted up with an eerie illumination the spires -and pinnacles of the picturesque old town; and the succeeding darkness -pressed down like a positive weight upon the Old Wood Lodge and its new -inmates, who scarcely perceived yet the old furniture of the old -sitting-room, or the trim old maid of Miss Bridget Atheling curtsying -at the door. - -“A strange welcome!” said Papa, hastily retreating from the window, -where he had just been met and half blinded by a sudden flash; and Mamma -gathered her babies under her wings, and called to the girls to come -closer to her, in that one safe corner which was neither near the -window, the fireplace, nor the door. - -Yes, it was a strange welcome--and the mind of Agnes, imaginative and -rapid, threw an eager glance into the future out of that corner of -safety and darkness. A thunderstorm, a convulsion of nature! was there -any fitness in this beginning? They were as innocent a household as ever -came into a countryside; but who could tell what should happen to them -there? - -Some one else seemed to share the natural thought. “I wonder, mamma, if -this is all for us,” whispered Marian, half frightened, half jesting. -“Are we to make a great revolution in Winterbourne? It looks like it, to -see this storm.” - -But Mrs Atheling, who thought it profane to show any levity during a -thunderstorm, checked her pretty daughter with a peremptory “Hush, -child!” and drew her babies closer into her arms. Mrs Atheling’s -thoughts had no leisure to stray to Winterbourne; save for Charlie--and -it was not to be supposed that this same thunder threatened -Bellevue--all her anxieties were here. - -But as the din out of doors calmed down, and even as the girls became -accustomed to it, and were able to share in Papa’s calculations as to -the gradual retreat of the thunder as it rolled farther and farther -away, they began to find out and notice the room within which they had -crowded. It had only one window, and was somewhat dark, the small panes -being over-hung and half obscured by a wild forest of clematis, and -sundry stray branches, still bristling with buds, of that pale monthly -rose with evergreen leaves, which covered half the front of the house. -The fireplace had a rather fantastic grate of clear steel, with bright -brass ornaments, so clear and so resplendent as it only could be made by -the labour of years, and was filled, instead of a fire, with soft green -moss, daintily ornamented with the yellow everlasting flowers. Hannah -did not know that these were _immortelles_, and consecrated to the -memory of the dead. It was only her rural and old-maidenly fashion of -decoration, for the same little rustling posies, dry and unfading, were -in the little flower-glasses on the high mantel-shelf, before the little -old dark-complexioned mirror, with little black-and-white transparencies -set in the slender gilding of its frame, which reflected nothing but a -slope of the roof, and one dark portrait hanging as high up as itself -upon the opposite wall. It put the room oddly out of proportion, this -mirror, attracting the eye to its high strip of light, and deluding the -unwary to many a stumble; and Agnes already sat fixedly looking at it, -and at the dark and wrinkled portrait reflected from the other wall. - -Before the fireplace, where there was no fire, stood a large -old-fashioned easy-chair, with no one in it. Are you very sure there is -no one in it?--for Papa himself has a certain awe of that -strangely-placed seat, which seems to have stood before that same -fireplace for many a year. In the twilight, Agnes, if you were -alone--you, who of all the family are most inclined to a little -visionary superstition, you would find it very hard to keep from -trembling, or to persuade yourself that Miss Bridget was not there, -where she had spent half a lifetime, sitting in that heavy old -easy-chair. - -The carpet was a faded but rich and soft old Turkey carpet, the -furniture was slender and spider-legged, made of old bright mahogany, as -black and as polished as ebony. There was an old cabinet in one corner, -with brass rings and ornaments; and in another an old musical -instrument, of which the girls were not learned enough to know the -precise species, though it belonged to the genus piano. The one small -square table in the middle of the room was covered with a table-cover, -richly embroidered, but the silk was faded, and the bits of gold were -black and dull; and there were other little tables, round and square, -with spiral legs and a tripod of feet, one holding a china jar, one a -big book, and one a case of stuffed birds. On the whole, the room had -somewhat the look of a rather refined and very prim old lady. The things -in it were all of a delicate kind and antique fashion. It was not in the -slightest degree like these fair and fresh young girls, but on the whole -it was a place of which people like those, with a wholesome love of -ancestry, had very good occasion to be proud. - -And at the door stood Hannah, in a black gown and great white apron, -smoothing down the same with her hands, and bobbing a kindly curtsy. -Hannah’s eyes were running over with delight and anxiety to get at Bell -and Beau. She passed over all the rest of the family to yearn over the -little ones. “Eh, bless us!” cried Hannah, as, the thunder over, Mrs -Atheling began to bestir herself--“children in the house!” It was -something almost too ecstatic for her elderly imagination. She -volunteered to carry them both up-stairs with the most eager attention. -“I ain’t so much used to childer,” said Hannah, “but, bless ye, ma’am, I -love ’um all the same;” and with an instinctive knowledge of this love, -Beau condescended to grasp Hannah’s spotless white apron, and Bell to -mount into her arms. Then the whole family procession went up-stairs to -look at the bedrooms--the voices of the girls and the sweet chorus of -the babies making the strangest echoes in the lonely house. Hannah -acknowledged afterwards, that, half with grief for Miss Bridget, and -half for joy of this new life beginning, it would have been a great -relief to her to sit down upon the attic stairs and have “a good cry.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -WITHIN AND WITHOUT. - - -The upper floor of the Old Wood Lodge consisted of three rooms; one as -large as the parlour down stairs, one smaller, and one, looking to the -back, very small indeed. The little one was a lumber-room, and quite -unfurnished; the other two were in perfect accordance with the -sitting-room. The best bedroom contained a bed of state, with very -slender fluted pillars of the same black ebony-like wood, lifting on -high a solemn canopy of that ponderous substance called moreen, and -still to be found in country inns and seaside lodgings--the colour dark -green, with a binding of faded violet. Hangings of the same darkened the -low broad lattice window, and chairs of the same were ranged like ghosts -along the wall. It was rather a funereal apartment, and the eager -investigators were somewhat relieved to find an old-fashioned “tent,” -with hangings of old chintz, gay with gigantic flowers, in the next -room. But the windows!--the broad plain lying low down at their feet, -twinkling to the first faint sun-ray which ventured out after the -storm--the cluster of spires and towers over which the light brightened -and strengthened, striking bold upon the heavy dome which gave a -ponderous central point to the landscape, and splintering into a million -rays from the pinnacles of Magdalen and St Mary’s noble spire, all wet -and gleaming with the thunder rain. What a scene it was!--how the -passing light kindled all the wan waters, and singled out, for a -momentary illumination, one after another of the lesser landmarks of -that world unknown. These gazers were not skilled to distinguish between -Gothic sham and Gothic real, nor knew much of the distinguishing -differences of noble and ignoble architecture. After all, at this -distance, it did not much matter--for one by one, as the sunshine found -them out, they rose up from the gleaming mist, picturesque and various, -like the fairy towers and distant splendours of a morning dream. - -“I told you it was pretty, Agnes,” said Mr Atheling, who felt himself -the exhibitor of the whole scene, and looked on with delight at the -success of his private view. Papa, who was to the manner born, felt -himself applauded in the admiration of his daughters, and carried Beau -upon his shoulder down the creaking narrow staircase, with a certain -pride and exultation, calling the reluctant girls to follow him. For -lo! upon Miss Bridget’s centre table was laid out “such a tea!” as -Hannah in all her remembrance had never produced before. Fresh home-made -cakes, fresh little pats of butter from the nearest farm--cream! and to -crown all, a great china dish full of the last of the strawberries, -blushing behind their fresh wet leaves. Hannah, when she had lingered as -long as her punctilious good-breeding would permit, and long enough to -be very wrathful with Mrs Atheling for intercepting a shower of -strawberries from the plates of Bell and Beau, retired to her kitchen -slowly, and drawing a chair before the fire, though the evening still -was sultry, threw her white apron over her head, and had her deferred -and relieving “cry.” “Bless you, I’ll love ’um all,” said Hannah, with a -succession of sobs, addressing either herself or some unseen familiar, -with whom she was in the habit of holding long conversations. “But it -ain’t Miss Bridget--that’s the truth!” - -The ground was wet, the trees were damp, everything had been deluged -with the shower of the thunderstorm, and Mrs Atheling did not at all -think it prudent that her daughters should go out, though she yielded to -them. They went first through the fertile garden, where Marian thought -“everything” grew--but were obliged to pause in their researches and -somewhat ignorant guesses what everything was, by the unknown charm of -that sweet rural atmosphere “after the rain.” Though it was very near -sunset, the birds were all a-twitter in the neighbouring trees, and -everywhere around them rose such a breath of fragrance--open-air -fragrance, fresh and cool and sweet, as different from the incense of -Mrs Edgerley’s conservatory as it was from anything in Bellevue. Running -waters trickled somewhere out of sight--it was only the “running of the -paths after rain;” and yonder, like a queen, sitting low in a sweet -humility, was the silent town, with all its crowning towers. The -sunshine, which still lingered on Hannah’s projecting window in the -roof, had left Oxford half an hour ago--and down over the black dome, -the heaven-y-piercing spire and lofty cupola, came soft and grey the -shadow of the night. - -But behind them, through a thick network of foliage, there were gleams -and sparkles of gold, touching tenderly some favourite leaves with a -green like the green of spring, and throwing the rest into a shadowy -blackness against the half-smothered light. Marian ran into the house to -call Hannah, begging her to guide them up into the wood. Agnes, less -curious, stood with her hand upon the gate, looking down over this -wonderful valley, and wondering if she had not seen it some time in a -dream. - -“Bless you, miss, if it was to the world’s end!” cried Hannah; “but it -ain’t fit for walking, no more nor a desert; the roads is woeful by -Badgeley; look you here!--nought in this wide world but mud and clay.” - -Marian looked in dismay at the muddy road. “It will not be dry for a -week,” said the disappointed beauty; “but, Hannah, come here, now that I -have got you out, and tell us what every place is--Agnes, here’s -Hannah--and, if you please, which is the village, and which is the Hall, -and where is the Old Wood House?” - -“Do you see them white chimneys--and smokes?” said Hannah; “they’re -a-cooking their dinner just, though tea-time’s past--that’s the -Rector’s. But, bless your heart, you ain’t likely to see the Hall from -here. There’s all the park and all the trees atween us and my lord’s.” - -“Do the people like him, Hannah?” asked Agnes abruptly, thinking of her -friend. - -Hannah paused with a look of alarm. “The people--don’t mind nothink -about him,” said Hannah slowly. “Bless us, miss, you gave me such a -turn!” - -Agnes looked curiously in the old woman’s face, to see what the occasion -of this “turn” might be. Marian, paying no such attention, leaned over -the low mossy gate, looking in the direction of the Old Wood House. They -were quite disposed to enjoy the freedom of the “country,” and were -neither shawled nor bonneted, though the fresh dewy air began to feel -the chill of night. Marian leaned out over the gate, with her little -hand thrust up under her hair, looking into the distance with her -beautiful smiling eyes. The road which passed this gate was a grassy and -almost terraced path, used by very few people, and disappearing abruptly -in an angle just after it had passed the Lodge. Suddenly emerging from -this angle, with a step which fell noiselessly on the wet grass, meeting -the startled gaze of Marian in an instantaneous and ghostlike -appearance, came forth what she could see only as, against the light, -the figure of a man hastening towards the high-road. He also seemed to -start as he perceived the young unknown figures in the garden, but his -course was too rapid to permit any interchange of curiosity. Marian did -not think he looked at her at all as she withdrew hastily from the gate, -and he certainly did not pause an instant in his rapid walk; but as he -passed he lifted his hat--a singular gesture of courtesy, addressed to -no one, like the salutation of a young king--and disappeared in another -moment as suddenly as he came. Agnes, attracted by her sister’s low -unconscious exclamation, saw him as well as Marian--and saw him as -little--for neither knew anything at all of his appearance, save so far -as a vague idea of height, rapidity--and the noble small head, for an -instant uncovered, impressed their imagination. Both paused with a -breathless impulse of respect, and a slight apprehensiveness, till they -were sure he must be out of hearing, and then both turned to Hannah, -standing in the shadow and the twilight, and growing gradually -indistinct all but her white apron, with one unanimous exclamation, “Who -is that?” - -Hannah smoothed down her apron once more, and made another bob of a -curtsy, apparently intended for the stranger. “Miss,” said Hannah, -gravely, “that’s Mr Louis--bless his heart!” - -Then the old woman turned and went in, leaving the girls by themselves -in the garden. They were a little timid of the great calm and silence; -they almost fancied they were “by themselves,”--not in the garden only, -but in this whole apparent noiseless world. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE PARLOUR. - - -And with an excitement which they could not control, the two girls -hastened in to the Old Lodge, and to Miss Bridget’s dim parlour, where -the two candles shed their faint summer-evening light over Mr Atheling -reading an old newspaper, and Mamma reclining in the great old -easy-chair. The abstracted mirror, as loftily withdrawn from common life -as Mr Endicott, refused to give any reflection of these good people -sitting far below in their middle-aged and respectable quietness, but -owned a momentary vision of Agnes and Marian, as they came in with a -little haste and eagerness at the half-open door. - -But, after all, to be very much excited, to hasten in to tell one’s -father and mother, with the heart beating faster than usual against -one’s breast, and to have one’s story calmly received with an “Indeed, -my dear!” is rather damping to youthful enthusiasm; and really, to tell -the truth, there was nothing at all extraordinary in the fact of Louis -passing by a door so near the great house which was his own distasteful -home. It was not at all a marvellous circumstance; and as for his -salutation, though that was remarkable, and caught their imagination, -Marian whispered that she had no doubt it was Louis’s “way.” - -They began, accordingly, to look at the slender row of books in one -small open shelf above the little cabinet. The books were in old rich -bindings, and were of a kind of reading quite unknown to Agnes and -Marian. There were two (odd) volumes of the _Spectator_, _Rasselas_, the -Poems of Shenstone, the Sermons of Blair; besides these, a French copy -of Thomas-à-Kempis, the _Holy Living and Dying_ of Jeremy Taylor, and -one of the quaint little books of Sir Thomas Browne. Thrust in hastily -beside these ancient and well-attired volumes were two which looked -surreptitious, and which were consequently examined with the greatest -eagerness. One turned out, somewhat disappointingly, to be a volume of -Italian exercises, an old, old school-book, inscribed, in a small, -pretty, but somewhat faltering feminine handwriting--handwriting of the -last century--with the name of Anastasia Rivers, with a B. A. beneath, -which doubtless stood for Bridget Atheling, though it seemed to imply, -with a kindly sort of blundering comicality sad enough now, that -Anastasia Rivers, though she was no great hand at her exercises, had -taken a degree. The other volume was of more immediate interest. It was -one of those good and exemplary novels, ameliorated Pamelas, which -virtuous old ladies were wont to put into the hands of virtuous young -ones, and which was calculated to “instruct as well as to amuse” the -unfortunate mind of youth. Marian seized upon this _Fatherless Fanny_ -with an instant appropriation, and in ten minutes was deep in its -endless perplexities. Agnes, who would have been very glad of the novel, -languidly took down the _Spectator_ instead. Yes, we are obliged to -confess--languidly; for, with an excited mind upon a lovely summer -night, with all the stars shining without, and only two pale candles -within, and Mamma visibly dropping to sleep in the easy-chair--who, we -demand, would not prefer, even to Steele and Addison, the mazy mysteries -of the Minerva Press? - -And Agnes did not get on with her reading; she saw visibly before her -eyes Marian skimming with an eager interest the pages of her novel. She -heard Papa rustling his newspaper, watched the faint flicker of the -candles, and was aware of the very gentle nod by which Mamma gave -evidence of the condition of _her_ thoughts. Agnes’s imagination, never -averse to wandering, strayed off into speculations concerning the old -lady and her old pupil, and all the life, unknown and unrecorded, which -had happed within these quiet walls. Altogether it was somewhat hard to -understand the connection between the Athelings and the -Riverses--whether some secret of family history lay involved in it, or -if it was only the familiar bond formed a generation ago between teacher -and child. And this Louis!--his sudden appearance and disappearance--his -princely recognition as of new subjects. Agnes made nothing whatever of -her _Spectator_--her mind was possessed and restless--and by-and-by, -curious, impatient, and a little excited, she left the room with an idea -of hastening up-stairs to the chamber window, and looking out upon the -night. But the door of the kitchen stood invitingly open, and Hannah, -who had been waiting, slightly expectant of some visit, was to be seen -within, rising up hastily with old-fashioned respect and a little -wistfulness. Agnes, though she was a young lady of literary tastes, and -liked to look out upon moon and stars with the vague sentiment of youth, -had, notwithstanding, a wholesome relish for gossip, and was more -pleased with talk of other people than we are disposed to confess; so -she had small hesitation in changing her course and joining Hannah--that -homely Hannah bobbing her odd little curtsy, and smoothing down her -bright white apron, in the full glow of the kitchen-fire. - -The kitchen was indeed the only really bright room in the Old Wood -Lodge, having one strip of carpet only on its white and sanded floor, a -large deal table, white and spotless, and wooden chairs hard and clear -as Hannah’s own toil-worn but most kindly hands. There was an -old-fashioned settle by the chimney corner, a small bit of looking-glass -hanging up by the window, and gleams of ruddy copper, and homely covers -of white metal, polished as bright as silver, ornamenting the walls. -Hannah wiped a chair which needed no wiping, and set it directly in -front of the fire for “Miss,” but would not on any account be so -“unmannerly” as to sit down herself in the young lady’s presence. Agnes -wisely contented herself with leaning on the chair, and smiled with a -little embarrassment at Hannah’s courtesy; it was not at all -disagreeable, but it was somewhat different from Susan at home. - -“I’ve been looking at ’um, miss,” said Hannah, “sleeping like angels; -there ain’t no difference that I can see; they look, as nigh as can be, -both of an age.” - -“They are twins,” said Agnes, finding out, with a smile, that Hannah’s -thoughts were taken up, not about Louis and Rachel, but Bell and Beau. - -At this information Hannah brightened into positive delight. “Childer’s -ne’er been in this house,” said Hannah, “till this day; and twins is a -double blessing. There ain’t no more, miss? But bless us all, the time -between them darlins and you!” - -“We have one brother, besides--and a great many little brothers and -sisters in heaven,” said Agnes, growing very grave, as they all did when -they spoke of the dead. - -Hannah drew closer with a sympathetic curiosity. “If that ain’t a -heart-break, there’s none in this world,” said Hannah. “Bless their dear -hearts, it’s best for them. Was it a fever then, miss, or a catching -sickness? Dear, dear, it’s all one, when they’re gone, what it was.” - -“Hannah, you must never speak of it to mamma,” said Agnes; “we used to -be so sad--so sad! till God sent Bell and Beau. Do you know Miss Rachel -at the Hall? her brother and she are twins too.” - -“Yes, miss,” said Hannah, with a slight curtsy, and becoming at once -very laconic. - -“And _we_ know her,” said Agnes, a little confused by the old woman’s -sudden quietness. “I suppose that was her brother who passed to-night.” - -“Ay, poor lad!” Hannah’s heart seemed once more a little moved. “They -say miss is to be a play-actress, and I can’t abide her for giving in to -it; but Mr Louis, bless him! he ought to be a king.” - -“You like him, then?” asked Agnes eagerly. - -“Ay, poor boy!” Hannah went away hastily to the table, where, in a -china basin, in their cool crisp green, lay the homely salads of the -garden, about to be arranged for supper. A tray covered with a -snow-white cloth, and a small pile of eggs, waited in hospitable -preparation for the same meal. Hannah, who had been so long in -possession, felt like a humble mistress of the house, exercising the -utmost bounties of her hospitality towards her new guests. “Least said’s -best about them, dear,” said Hannah, growing more familiar as she grew a -little excited--“but, Lord bless us, it’s enough to craze a poor body to -see the likes of him, with such a spirit, kept out o’ his rights.” - -“What are his rights, Hannah?” cried Agnes, with new and anxious -interest: this threw quite a new light upon the subject. - -Hannah turned round a little perplexed. “Tell the truth, I dun know no -more nor a baby,” said Hannah; “but Miss Bridget, she was well acquaint -in all the ways of them, and she ever upheld, when his name was named, -that my lord kep’ him out of his rights.” - -“And what did _he_ say?” asked Agnes. - -“Nay, child,” said the old woman, “it ain’t no business of mine to tell -tales; and Miss Bridget had more sense nor all the men of larning I ever -heard tell of. She knew better than to put wickedness into his mind. -He’s a handsome lad and a kind, is Mr Louis; but I wouldn’t be my lord, -no, not for all Banburyshire, if I’d done that boy a wrong.” - -“Then, do you think Lord Winterbourne has _not_ done him a wrong?” said -Agnes, thoroughly bewildered. - -Hannah turned round upon her suddenly, with a handful of herbs and a -knife in her other hand. “Miss, he’s an unlawful child!” said Hannah, -with the most melodramatic effectiveness. Agnes involuntarily drew back -a step, and felt the blood rush to her face. When she had delivered -herself of this startling whisper, Hannah returned to her homely -occupation, talking in an under-tone all the while. - -“Ay, poor lad, there’s none can mend that,” said Hannah; “he’s kep’ out -of his rights, and never a man can help him. If it ain’t enough to put -him wild, _I_ dun know.” - -“And are you quite sure of that? Does everybody think him a son of Lord -Winterbourne’s?” said Agnes. - -“Well, miss, my lord’s not like to own to it--to shame hisself,” said -Hannah; “but they’re none so full of charity at the Hall as to bother -with other folkses children. My lord’s kep’ him since they were babies, -and sent the lawyer hisself to fetch him when Mr Louis ran away. Bless -you, no; there ain’t no doubt about it. Whose son else could he be?” - -“But if that was true, he would have no rights. And what did Miss -Bridget mean by rights?” asked Agnes, in a very low tone, blushing, and -half ashamed to speak of such a subject at all. - -Hannah, however, who did not share in all the opinions of -respectability, but had a leaning rather, in the servant view of the -question, to the pariah of the great old house, took up somewhat sharply -this unguarded opinion. “Miss,” said Hannah, “you’ll not tell me that -there ain’t no rights belonging Mr Louis. The queen on the throne would -be glad of the likes of him for a prince and an heir; and Miss Bridget -was well acquaint in all the ways of the Riverses, and was as fine to -hear as a printed book: for the matter of that,” added Hannah, solemnly, -“Miss Taesie, though she would not go through the park-gates to save her -life, had a leaning to Mr Louis too.” - -“And who is Miss Taesie?” said Agnes. - -“Miss,” said Hannah, in a very grave and reproving tone, “you’re little -acquaint with our ways; it ain’t my business to go into stories--you ask -your papa.” - -“So I will, Hannah; but who is Miss Taesie?” asked Agnes again, with a -smile. - -Hannah answered only by placing her salad on the tray, and carrying it -solemnly to the parlour. Amused and interested, Agnes stood by the -kitchen fireside thinking over what she had heard, and smiling as she -mused; for Miss Taesie, no doubt, was the Honourable Anastasia Rivers, -beneath whose name, in the old exercise-book, stood that odd B. A. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -WINTERBOURNE. - - -The next day the family walked forth in a body, to make acquaintance -with the “new neighbourhood.” There was Papa and Mamma first of all, Mrs -Atheling extremely well dressed, and in all the cheerful excitement of -an unaccustomed holiday; and then came Agnes and Marian, pleased and -curious--and, wild with delight, little Bell and Beau. Hannah, who was -very near as much delighted as the children, stood at the door looking -after them as they turned the angle of the grassy path. When they were -quite out of sight, Hannah returned to her kitchen with a brisk step, to -compound the most delicious of possible puddings for their early dinner. -It was worth while now to exercise those half-forgotten gifts of cookery -which had been lost upon Miss Bridget; and when everything was ready, -Hannah, instead of her black ribbon, put new white bows in her cap. At -sight of the young people, and, above all, the children, and in the -strange delightful bustle of “a full house,” hard-featured Hannah, kind -and homely, renewed her youth. - -The father and mother sent their children on before them, and made -progress slowly, recalling and remembering everything. As for Agnes and -Marian, they hastened forward with irregular and fluctuating -curiosity--loitering one moment, and running another, but, after their -different fashion, taking note of all they saw. And between the vanguard -and the rearguard a most unsteady main body, fluttering over the grass -like two butterflies, as they ran back and forward from Agnes and Marian -to Papa and Mamma “with flichterin’ noise and glee,” came Bell and Beau. -These small people, with handfuls of buttercups and clovertops always -running through their rosy little fingers, were to be traced along their -devious and uncertain path by the droppings of these humble posies, and -were in a state of perfect and unalloyed ecstasy. The little family -procession came past the Old Wood House, which was a large white square -building, a great deal loftier, larger, and more pretending than their -own; in fact, a great house in comparison with their cottage. Round two -sides of it appeared the prettiest of trim gardens--a little world of -velvet lawn, clipped yews, and glowing flower-beds. The windows were -entirely obscured with close Venetian blinds, partially excused by the -sunshine, but turning a most jealous and inscrutable blankness to the -eyes of the new inhabitants; and close behind the house clustered the -trees of the park. As they passed, looking earnestly at the house, some -one came out--a very young man, unmistakably clerical, with a stiff -white band under his monkish chin, a waistcoat which was very High -Church, and the blandest of habitual smiles. He looked at the strangers -urbanely, with a half intention of addressing them. The girls were not -learned in Church politics, yet they recognised the priestly appearance -of the smiling young clergyman; and Agnes, for her part, contemplated -him with a secret disappointment and dismay. Mr Rivers himself was said -to be High Church. Could this be Mr Rivers? He passed, however, and left -them to guess vainly; and Papa and Mamma, whose slow and steady pace -threatened every now and then to outstrip these irregular, rapid young -footsteps, came up and pressed them onward. “How strange!” Marian -exclaimed involuntarily: “if that is he, I am disappointed; but how -funny to meet them _both_!” - -And then Marian blushed, and laughed aloud, half ashamed to be detected -in this evident allusion to Rachel’s castles in the air. Her laugh -attracted the attention of a countrywoman who just then came out to the -door of a little wayside cottage. She made them a little bob of a -curtsy, like Hannah’s, and asked if they wanted to see the church, -“’cause I don’t think the gentlemen would mind,” said the clerk’s wife, -the privileged bearer of the ecclesiastical keys; and Mr Atheling, -hearing the question, answered over the heads of his daughters, “Yes, -certainly they would go.” So they all went after her dutifully over the -stile, and along a field-path by a rustling growth of wheat, spotted -with red poppies, for which Bell and Beau sighed and cried in vain, and -came at last to a pretty small church, of the architectural style and -period of which this benighted family were most entirely ignorant. Mr -Atheling, indeed, had a vague idea that it was “Gothic,” but would not -have liked to commit himself even to that general principle--for the -days of religious architecture and church restorations were all since Mr -Atheling’s time. - -They went in accordingly under a low round-arched doorway, solemn and -ponderous, entirely unconscious of the “tressured ornament” which -antiquaries came far to see; and, looking with a certain awe at the -heavy and solemn arches of the little old Saxon church, were rather more -personally attracted, we are pained to confess, by a group of gentlemen -within the sacred verge of the chancel, discussing something with -solemnity and earnestness, as if it were a question of life and death. -Foremost in this group, but occupying, as it seemed, rather an -explanatory and apologetic place, and listening with evident anxiety to -the deliverance of the others, was a young man of commanding appearance, -extremely tall, with a little of the look of ascetic abstraction which -belongs to the loftier members of the very high High Church. As the -Athelings approached rather timidly under the escort of their humble -guide, this gentleman eyed them, with a mixture of observation and -haughtiness, as they might have been eyed by the proprietor of the -domain. Then he recognised Mr Atheling with such a recognition as the -same reigning lord and master might bestow upon an intruder who was only -mistaken and not presumptuous. The father of the family rose to the -occasion, his colour increased; he drew himself up, and made a formal -but really dignified bow to the young clergyman. The little group of -advisers did not pause a minute in their discussion; and odd words, -which they were not in the habit of hearing, fell upon the ears of Agnes -and Marian. “Bad in an archaic point of view--extremely bad; and I never -can forgive errors of detail; the best examples are so accessible,” said -one gentleman. “I do not agree with you. I remember an instance at -Amiens,” interrupted another. “Amiens, my dear sir!--exactly what I mean -to say,” cried the first speaker; “behind the date of Winterbourne a -couple of hundred years--late work--a debased style. In a church of this -period everything ought to be severe.” - -And accordingly there were severe Apostles in the painted windows--those -slender lancet “lights” which at this moment dazzled the eyes of Agnes -and Marian; and the new saints in the new little niches were, so far as -austerity went, a great deal more correct and true to their “period” -than even the old saints, without noses, and sorely worn with weather -and irreverence, who were as genuine early English as the stout old -walls. But Marian Atheling had no comprehension of this kind of -severity. She shrunk away from the altar in its religious gloom--the -altar with its tall candlesticks, and its cloth, which was stiff with -embroidery--marvelling in her innocent imagination over some vague -terror of punishments and penances in a church where “everything ought -to be severe.” Marian took care to be on the other side of her father -and mother, as they passed again the academic group discussing the newly -restored sedilia, which was not quite true in point of “detail,” and -drew a long breath of relief when she was safely outside these dangerous -walls. “The Rector! that was the Rector. Oh Agnes!” cried Marian, as -Papa announced the dreadful intelligence; and the younger sister, -horror-stricken, and with great pity, looked sympathetically in Agnes’s -face. Agnes herself was moved to look back at the tall central figure, -using for a dais the elevation of that chancel. She smiled, but she was -a little startled--and the girls went on to the village, and to glance -through the trees at the great park surrounding the Hall, with not -nearly so much conversation as at the beginning of their enterprise. But -it was with a sigh instead of a laugh that Marian repeated, when they -went home to dinner and Hannah’s magnificent pudding--“So, Agnes, we -have seen them both.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -THE CLERGY. - - -Several weeks after this passed very quietly over the Old Wood Lodge and -its new inhabitants. They saw “Mr Louis,” always a rapid and sudden -apparition, pass now and then before their windows, and sometimes -received again that slight passing courtesy which nobody could return, -as it was addressed to nobody, and only disclosed a certain careless yet -courteous knowledge on the part of the young prince that they were -there; and they saw the Rector on the quiet country Sabbath-days in his -ancient little church, with its old heavy arches, and its new and dainty -restorations, “intoning” after the loftiest fashion, and preaching -strange little sermons of subdued yet often vehement and impatient -eloquence--addresses which came from a caged and fiery spirit, and had -no business there. The Winterbourne villagers gaped at his Reverence as -he flung his thunderbolts over their heads, and his Reverence came down -now and then from a wild uncertain voyage heavenward, down, down, with -a sudden dreary plunge, to look at all the blank rustical faces, -slumberous or wondering, and chafe himself with fiery attempts to come -down to their level, and do his duty to his rural flock. With a certain -vague understanding of some great strife and tumult in this dissatisfied -and troubled spirit, Agnes Atheling followed him in the sudden outbursts -of his natural oratory, and in the painful curb and drawing-up by which -he seemed to awake and come to himself. Though she was no student of -character, this young genius could not restrain a throb of sympathy for -the imprisoned and uncertain intellect beating its wings before her very -eyes. Intellect of the very highest order was, without question, errant -in that humble pulpit--errant, eager, disquieted--an eagle flying at the -sun. The simpler soul of genius vaguely comprehended it, and rose with -half-respectful, half-compassionating sympathy, to mark the conflict. -The family mother was not half satisfied with these preachings, and -greatly lamented that the only church within their reach should be so -painfully “high,” and so decidedly objectionable. Mrs Atheling’s soul -was grieved within her at the tall candlesticks, and even the “severe” -Apostles in the windows were somewhat appalling to this excellent -Protestant. She listened with a certain dignified disapproval to the -sermons, not much remarking their special features, but contenting -herself with a general censure. Marian too, who did not pretend to be -intellectual, wondered a little like the other people, and though she -could not resist the excitement of this unusual eloquence, gazed blankly -at the preacher after it was over, not at all sure if it was right, and -marvelling what he could mean. Agnes alone, who could by no means have -told you what he meant--who did not even understand, and certainly could -not have explained in words her own interest in the irregular -prelection--vaguely followed him nevertheless with an intuitive and -unexplainable comprehension. They had never exchanged words, and the -lofty and self-absorbed Rector knew nothing of the tenants of the Old -Wood Lodge; yet he began to look towards the corner whence that -intelligent and watching face flashed upon his maze of vehement and -uncertain thought. He began to look, as a relief, for the upward glance -of those awed yet pitying eyes, which followed him, yet somehow, in -their simplicity, were always before him, steadfastly shining in the -calm and deep assurance of a higher world than his. It was not by any -means, at this moment, a young man and a young woman looking at each -other with the mutual sympathy and mutual difference of nature; it was -Genius, sweet, human, and universal, tender in the dews of youth--and -Intellect, nervous, fiery, impatient, straining like a Hercules after -the Divine gift, which came to the other sleeping, as God gives it to -His beloved. - -The Curate of Winterbourne was the most admirable foil to his reverend -principal. This young and fervent churchman would gladly have sat in the -lower seat of the restored sedilia, stone-cold and cushionless, at any -risk of rheumatism, had not his reverence the Rector put a decided -interdict upon so extreme an example of rigid Anglicanism. As it was, -his bland and satisfied youthful face in the reading-desk made the -strangest contrast in the world to that dark, impetuous, and troubled -countenance, lowering in handsome gloom from the pulpit. The common -people, who held the Rector in awe, took comfort in the presence of the -Curate, who knew all the names of all the children, and was rather -pleased than troubled when they made so bold as to speak to him about a -place for Sally, or a ’prenticeship for John. His own proper place in -the world had fallen happily to this urbane and satisfied young -gentleman. He was a parish priest born and intended, and accordingly -there was not a better parish priest in all Banburyshire than the -Reverend Eustace Mead. While the Rector only played and fretted over -these pretty toys of revived Anglicanism, with which he was not able to -occupy his rapid and impetuous intellect, they sufficed to make a -pleasant reserve of interest in the life of the Curate, who was by no -means an impersonation of intellect, though he had an acute and -practical little mind of his own, much more at his command than the mind -of Mr Rivers was at his. And the Curate preached devout little sermons, -which the rustical people did not gape at; while the Rector, out of all -question, and to the perception of everybody, was, in the most emphatic -sense of the words, the wrong man in the wrong place. - -So far as time had yet gone, the only intercourse with their neighbours -held by the Athelings was at church, and their nearest neighbours were -those clerical people who occupied the Old Wood House. Mr Rivers was -said to have a sister living with him, but she was “a great invalid,” -and never visible; and on no occasion, since his new parishioners -arrived, had the close Venetian blinds been raised, or the house opened -its eyes. There it stood in the sunshine, in that most verdant of trim -old gardens, which no one ever walked in, nor, according to appearances, -ever saw, with its three rows of closed windows, blankly green, secluded -and forbidding, which no one within ever seemed tempted to open to the -sweetest of morning breezes, or the fragrant coolness of the night. -Agnes, taking the privilege of her craft, was much disposed to suspect -some wonderful secret or mystery in this monkish and ascetic -habitation; but it was not difficult to guess the secret of the Rector, -and there was not a morsel of mystery in the bland countenance of -smiling Mr Mead. - -By this time Mrs Atheling and her children were alone. Papa had -exhausted his holiday, and with a mixture of pleasure and unwillingness -returned to his office duties; and Mamma, though she had so much -enjoyment of the country, which was “so good for the children,” began to -sigh a little for her other household, to marvel much how Susan used her -supremacy, and to be seized with great compunctions now and then as to -the cruelty “of leaving your father and Charlie by themselves so long.” -The only thing which really reconciled the good wife to this desertion, -was the fact that Charlie himself, without any solicitation, and in fact -rather against his will, was to have a week’s holiday at Michaelmas, and -of course looked forward in his turn to the Old Wood Lodge. Mrs Atheling -had made up her mind to return with her son, and was at present in a -state of considerable doubt and perplexity touching Agnes and Marian, -Bell and Beau. The roses on the cheeks of the little people had -blossomed so sweetly since they came to the country, Mrs Atheling almost -thought she could trust her darlings to Hannah, and that “another month -would do them no harm.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -A NEW FRIEND. - - -September had begun, but my lord and his expected guests had not yet -arrived at the Hall. Much talk and great preparations were reported in -the village, and came in little rivulets of intelligence, through Hannah -and the humble merchants at the place, to the Old Wood Lodge; but Agnes -and Marian, who had not contrived to write to her, knew nothing whatever -of Rachel, and vainly peeped in at the great gates of the park, early -and late, for the small rapid figure which had made so great an -impression upon their youthful fancy. Then came the question, should -they speak to Louis, who was to be seen sometimes with a gun and a -gamekeeper, deep in the gorse and ferns of Badgeley Wood. Hannah said -this act of rebellious freedom had been met by a threat on the part of -my lord to “have him up” for poaching, which threat only quickened the -haughty boy in his love of sport. “You may say what you like, children, -but it is very wrong and very sinful,” said Mrs Atheling, shaking her -head with serious disapproval, “and especially if he brings in some poor -gamekeeper, and risks his children’s bread;” and Mamma was scarcely to -be satisfied with Hannah’s voluble and eager disclaimer--Mr Louis would -put no man in peril. This excellent mother held her prejudices almost as -firmly as her principles, and compassionately added that it was no -wonder--poor boy, considering--for she could not understand how Louis -could be virtuous and illegitimate, and stood out with a repugnance, -scarcely to be overcome, against any friendship between her own children -and these unfortunate orphans at the Hall. - -One of these bright afternoons, the girls were in the garden discussing -eagerly this difficult question; for it would be very sad to bring -Rachel to the house, full of kind and warm expectations, and find her -met by the averted looks of Mamma. Her two daughters, however, though -they were grieved, did not find it at all in their way to criticise the -opinions of their mother; they concerted little loving attacks against -them, but thought of nothing more. - -And these two found great occupation in the garden, where Bell and Beau -played all the day long, and which Mrs Atheling commanded as she sat by -the parlour window with her work-basket. This afternoon the family group -was fated to interruption. One of the vehicles ascending the high-road, -which was not far from the house, drew up suddenly at sight of these -young figures in old Miss Bridget’s garden. Even at this distance a -rather rough and very peremptory voice was audible ordering the groom, -and then a singular-looking personage appeared on the grassy path. This -was a very tall woman, dressed in an old-fashioned brown cloth pelisse -and tippet, with an odd bonnet on her head which seemed an original -design, contrived for mere comfort, and owning no fashion at all. She -was not young certainly, but she was not so old either, as the -archæological “detail” of her costume might have warranted a stranger in -supposing. Fifty at the very utmost, perhaps only forty-five, with a -fresh cheek, a bright eye, and all the demeanour of a country gentleman, -this lady advanced upon the curious and timid girls. That her errand was -with them was sufficiently apparent from the moment they saw her, and -they stood together very conscious, under the steady gaze of their -approaching visitor, continuing to occupy themselves a little with the -children, yet scarcely able to turn from this unknown friend. She came -along steadily, without a pause, holding still in her hand the small -riding-whip which had been the sceptre of her sway over the two stout -grey ponies waiting in the high-road--came along steadily to the door, -pushed open the gate, entered upon them without either compliment or -salutation, and only, when she was close upon the girls, paused for an -instant to make the _brusque_ and sudden inquiry, “Well, young people, -who are you?” - -They did not answer for the moment, being surprised in no small degree -by such a question; upon which the stranger repeated it rather more -peremptorily. “We are called Atheling,” said Agnes, with a mixture of -pride and amusement. The lady laid her hand heavily upon the girl’s -shoulder, and turned her half round to the light. “What relation?” said -this singular inquisitor; but while she spoke, there became evident a -little moistening and relaxation of her heavy grey eyelid, as if it was -with a certain emotion she recalled the old owner of the old lodge, whom -she did not name. - -“My father was Miss Bridget’s nephew; she left the house to him,” said -Agnes; and Marian too drew near in wondering regard and sympathy, as two -big drops, like the thunder-rain, fell suddenly and quietly over this -old lady’s cheeks. - -“So! you are Will Atheling’s daughters,” said their visitor, a little -more roughly than before, as if from some shame of her emotion; “and -that is your mother at the window. Where’s Hannah? for I suppose you -don’t know me.” - -“No,” said Agnes, feeling rather guilty; it seemed very evident that -this lady was a person universally known. - -“Will Atheling married--married--whom did he marry?” said the visitor, -making her way to the house, and followed by the girls. “Eh! don’t you -know, children, what was your mother’s name? Franklin? yes, to be sure, -I remember her a timid pretty sort of creature; ah! just like Will.” - -By this time they were at the door of the parlour, which she opened with -an unhesitating hand. Mrs Atheling, who had seen her from the window, -was evidently prepared to receive the stranger, and stood up to greet -her with a little colour rising on her cheek, and, as the girls were -astonished to perceive, water in her eyes. - -This abrupt and big intruder into the family room showed more courtesy -to the mother than she had done to the girls; she made a sudden curtsy, -which expression of respect seemed to fill up all the requirements of -politeness in her eyes, and addressed Mrs Atheling at once, without any -prelude. “Do you remember me?” - -“I think so--Miss Rivers?” said Mrs Atheling with considerable -nervousness. - -“Just so--Anastasia Rivers--once not any older than yourself. -So--so--and here are you and all your children in my old professor’s -room.” - -“We have made no change in it; everything is left as it was,” said Mrs -Atheling. - -“The more’s the pity,” answered the abrupt and unscrupulous caller. -“Why, it’s not like _them_--not a bit; as well dress them in her old -gowns, dear old soul! Ay well, it was a long life--no excuse for -grieving; but at the last, you see, at the last, it’s come to its end.” - -“We did not see her,” said Mrs Atheling, with an implied apology for -“want of feeling,” “for more than twenty years. Some one, for some -reason, we cannot tell what, prejudiced her mind against William and -me.” - -“Some one!” said Miss Rivers, with an emphatic toss of her head. “You -don’t know of course who it was. _I_ do: do you wish me to tell you?” - -Mrs Atheling made no answer. She looked down with some confusion, and -began to trifle with the work which all this time had lain idly on her -knee. - -“If there’s any ill turn he can do you now,” said Miss Rivers pointedly, -“he will not miss the chance, take my word for it; and in case he tries -it, let me know. Will Atheling and I are old friends, and I like the -look of the children. Good girls, are they? And is this all your -family?” - -“All I have alive but one boy,” said Mrs Atheling. - -“Ah!” said her visitor, looking up quickly. “Lost some?--never mind, -child, you’ll find them again; and here am I, in earth and heaven a dry -tree!” - -After a moment’s pause she began to speak again, in an entirely -different tone. “These young ones must come to see me,” said their new -friend--“I like the look of them. You are very pretty, my dear, you are -quite as good as a picture; but I like your sister just as well as you. -Come here, child. Have you had a good education? Are you clever? -Nonsense! Why do you blush? People can’t have brains without knowing of -it. Are you clever, I say?” - -“I don’t think so,” said Agnes, unable to restrain a smile; “but mamma -does, and so does Marian.” Here she came to an abrupt conclusion, -blushing at herself. Miss Rivers rose up from her seat, and stood before -her, looking down into the shy eyes of the young genius with all the -penetrating steadiness of her own. - -“I like an honest girl,” said the Honourable Anastasia, patting Agnes’s -shoulder rather heavily with her strong hand. “Marian--is she called -Marian? That’s not an Atheling name. Why didn’t you call her Bride?” - -“She is named for me,” said Mrs Atheling with some dignity. And then she -added, faltering, “We had a Bridget too; but----” - -“Never mind,” said Miss Rivers, lifting her hand quickly--“never mind, -you’ll find them again. She’s very pretty--prettier than any one I know -about Banburyshire; but for heaven’s sake, child, mind what you’re -about, and don’t let any one put nonsense in your head. Your mother -could tell you what comes of such folly, and so could I. By the by, -children, you are much of an age. Do you know anything of those poor -children at the Hall?” - -“We know Rachel,” said Agnes eagerly. “We met her at Richmond, and were -very fond of her; and I suppose she is coming here.” - -“Rachel!” said Miss Rivers, with a little contempt. “I mean the boy. Has -Will Atheling seen the boy?” - -“My husband met him once when he came here first,” said Mrs Atheling; -“and he fancied--fancied--imagined--he was like----” - -“My father!” The words were uttered with an earnestness and energy which -brought a deep colour over those unyouthful cheeks. “Yes, to be -sure--every one says the same. I’d give half my fortune to know the true -story of that boy!” - -“Rachel says,” interposed Agnes, eagerly taking advantage of anything -which could be of service to her friend, “that Louis will not believe -that they belong to Lord Winterbourne.” - -The eyes of the Honourable Anastasia flashed positive lightning; then a -shadow came over her face. “That’s nothing,” she said abruptly. “No one -who could help it would be content to belong to _him_. Now, I’ll send -some day for the children: send them over to see me, will you? Ah, -where’s Hannah--does she suit you? She was very good to _her_, dear old -soul!” - -“And she is very good to the children,” said Mrs Atheling, as she -followed her visitor punctiliously to the door. When they reached it, -Miss Rivers turned suddenly round upon her-- - -“You are not rich, are you? Don’t be offended; but, if you are able, -change all this. I’m glad to see you in the house; but this, you know, -_this_ is like her gowns and her turbans--make a change.” - -Here Hannah appeared from her kitchen, curtsying deeply to Miss Taesie, -who held a conversation with her at the gate; and finally went away, -with her steady step and her riding-whip, having first plucked one of -the late pale roses from the wall. Mrs Atheling came in with a degree of -agitation not at all usual to the family mother. “The first time I ever -saw her,” said Mrs Atheling, “when I was a young girl newly married, and -she a proud young beauty just on the eve of the same. I remember her, in -her hat and her riding-habit, pulling a rose from Aunt Bridget’s -porch--and there it is again.” - -“Ma’am,” said Hannah, coming in to spread the table, “Miss Taesie never -comes here, late or early, but she gathers a rose.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -GOSSIP. - - -“But, mamma, if she was just on the eve of the same, why is she only -Miss Rivers now?” asked Marian, very curious on this subject of -betrothments and marriages. - -“It is a very long story, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling. As a general -principle, Mamma was not understood to have any special aversion to long -stories, but she certainly showed no inclination whatever to enter into -this. - -“So much the better if you will tell it, mamma,” said Agnes; and they -came close to her, with their pretty bits of needlework, and their looks -of interest; it was not in the heart of woman to refuse. - -“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little reluctance, “somehow -we seem to be brought into the very midst of it again, though we have -scarcely heard their names for twenty years. This lady, though she is -almost as old as he is, is niece to Lord Winterbourne. The old lord was -only his stepbrother, and a great deal older than he--and Miss Anastasia -was the only child of the old lord. You may suppose how disappointed he -was, with all his great estates entailed, and the title--and nothing but -a daughter; and everybody said, when the old lady died, that he would -marry again.” - -“_Did_ he marry again?” said Marian, as Mamma came to a sudden and -unexpected pause. - -“No, my dear; for then trouble came,” said Mrs Atheling. “Miss Anastasia -was a beautiful young lady, always very proud, and very wise and -sensible, but a great beauty for all that; and she was to be married to -a young gentleman, a baronet and a very great man, out of Warwickshire. -The present lord was then the Honourable Reginald Rivers, and dreadful -wild. Somehow, I cannot tell how it was, he and Sir Frederick -quarrelled, and then they fought; and after his wound that fine young -gentleman fell into a wasting and a consumption, and died at -twenty-five; and that is the reason why Miss Anastasia has never been -married, and I am afraid, though it is so very wrong to say so, _hates_ -Lord Winterbourne.” - -“Oh, mamma! I am sure I should, if I had been like her!” cried Marian, -almost moved to tears. - -“No, my darling, not to hate him,” said Mrs Atheling, shaking her head, -“or you would forget all you have been taught since you were a child.” - -“I do not understand him, mamma,” said Agnes: “does everybody hate -him--has he done wrong to every one?” - -Mrs Atheling sighed. “My dears, if I tell you, you must forget it again, -and never mention it to any one. Papa had a pretty young sister, little -Bride, as they all called her, the sweetest girl I ever saw. Mr Reginald -come courting her a long time, but at last she found out--oh girls! oh, -children!--that what he meant was not true love, but something that it -would be a shame and a sin so much as to name; and it broke her dear -heart, and she died. Her grave is at Winterbourne; that was what papa -and I went to see the first day.” - -“Mamma,” cried Agnes, starting up in great excitement and agitation, -“why did you suffer us to know any one belonging to such a man?” - -“Well, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, a little discomposed by this appeal. -“I thought it was for the best. Coming here, we were sure to be thrown -into their way--and perhaps he may have repented. And then Mrs Edgerley -was very kind to you, and I did not think it right, for the father’s -sake, to judge harshly of the child.” - -Marian, who had covered her face with her hands, looked up now with -abashed and glistening eyes. “Is that why papa dislikes him so?” said -Marian, very low, and still sheltering with her raised hands her -dismayed and blushing face. - -Mrs Atheling hesitated a moment. “Yes,” she said doubtfully, after a -pause of consideration--“yes; that and other things.” - -But the inquiry of the girls could not elicit from Mamma what were the -other things which were sufficient to share with this as motives of Mr -Atheling’s dislike. They were inexpressibly shocked and troubled by the -story, as people are who, contemplating evil at a visionary distance, -and having only a visionary belief in it, suddenly find a visible gulf -yawning at their own feet; and Agnes could not help thinking, with -horror and disgust, of being in the same room with this man of guilt, -and of that polluting kiss of his, from which Rachel shrank as from the -touch of pestilence. “Such a man ought to be marked and singled out,” -cried Agnes, with unreasoning youthful eloquence: “no one should dare to -bring him into the same atmosphere with pure-minded people; everybody -ought to be warned of who and what he was.” - -“Nay; God has not done so,” said Mrs Atheling with a sigh. “He has -offended God more than he ever could offend man, but God bears with him. -I often say so to your father when we speak of the past. Ought we, who -are so sinful ourselves, to have less patience than God?” - -After this the girls were very silent, saying nothing, and much absorbed -with their own thoughts. Marian, who perhaps for the moment found a -certain analogy between her father’s pretty sister and herself, was -wrapt in breathless horror of the whole catastrophe. Her mind glanced -back upon Sir Langham--her fancy started forward into the future; but -though the young beauty for the moment was greatly appalled and -startled, she could not believe in the possibility of anything at all -like this “happening to me!” Agnes, for her part, took quite a different -view of the matter. The first suggestion of her eager fancy was, what -could be done for Louis and Rachel, to deliver them from the presence -and control of such a man? Innocently and instinctively her thoughts -turned upon her own gift, and the certain modest amount of power it gave -her. Louis might get a situation like Charlie, and be helped until he -was able for the full weight of his own life; and Rachel, another -sister, could come home to Bellevue. So Agnes, who at this present -moment was writing in little bits, much interrupted and broken in upon, -her second story, rose into a delightful anticipatory triumph, not of -its fame or success, though these things did glance laughingly across -her innocent imagination, but of its mere ignoble coined recompense, -and of all the great things for these two poor orphans which might be -done in Bellevue. - -And while the mother and the daughters sat at work in the shady little -parlour, where the sunshine did not enter, but where a sidelong -reflection of one waving bough of clematis, dusty with blossom, waved -across the little sloping mirror, high on the wall, Hannah sat outside -the open door, watching with visible delight, and sometimes joining for -an instant with awkward kindliness, the sports of Bell and Beau. They -rolled about on the soft grass, ran about on the garden paths, tumbled -over each other and over everything in their way, but, with the happy -immunity of children in the country, “took no harm.” Hannah had some -work in her great white apron, but did not so much as look at it. She -had no eye for a rare passenger upon the grassy byway, and scarcely -heard the salutation of the Rector’s man. All Hannah’s soul and thoughts -were wrapt up in the “blessed babies,” who made her old life blossom and -rejoice; and it was without any intervention of their generally -punctilious attendant that a light and rapid step came gliding over the -threshold of the Lodge, and a quiet little knock sounded lightly on the -parlour door. “May I come in, please?” said a voice which seemed to -Agnes to be speaking out of her dream; and Mrs Atheling had not time to -buckle on her armour of objection when the door opened, and the same -little light rapid figure came bounding into the arms of her daughters. -Once there, it was not very difficult to reach to the good mother’s -kindly heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -RACHEL. - - -“Yes, I only came to-day,” said Rachel, who kept her eyes wistfully upon -Mrs Atheling, though she spoke to Agnes. “They made me go to town after -you left, and then kept me _so_ long at the Willows. Next season they -say I am to come out, and somebody has offered me an engagement; but -indeed, indeed,” cried Rachel, suddenly firing with one of her outbursts -of unexpected energy, “I never will!” - -The girls scarcely knew what answer to make in presence of their mother. -They had not been trained to have independent friendships, and now -waited anxiously, turning silent looks of appeal upon Mamma. Mamma all -at once had become exceedingly industrious, and neither looked up nor -spoke. - -“But then you might live in London, perhaps, instead of here; and I -should be very glad if you were near us,” said Agnes, with a good deal -of timidity. Agnes, indeed, was not thinking what she said--her whole -attention wandered to her mother. - -“I do not mind for myself,” said Rachel, with a deep sigh. “I do not -think I should care if there were a hundred people to hear me sing, -instead of a dozen, for I know very well not one of them would care -anything for _me_; but I have to remember Louis. I cannot disgrace -Louis. It is bad enough for him as it is, without adding any more.” - -Again there was a pause. Rachel’s poor little palpitating heart beat -very loud and very high. “I thought I should be welcome when I came -here,” she said, freezing half into her unnatural haughtiness, and half -with an unconscious and pitiful tone of appeal; “but I never intruded -upon any one--never! and if you do not wish me to be here, I can go -away.” - -She turned to go away as she spoke, her little figure rising and -swelling with great subdued emotion; but Mrs Atheling immediately rose -and stretched out her hand to detain her. “Do not go away, my dear; the -girls are very fond of you,” said Mrs Atheling; and it cost this good -mother, with her ideas of propriety, a very considerable struggle with -herself to say these simple words. - -Rachel stood before her a moment irresolute and uncertain, not appearing -even to hear what Agnes and Marian, assured by this encouragement, -hastened to say. The contest was violent while it lasted between Louis’s -sister, who was his representative, and the natural little humble child -Rachel, who had no pride, and only wanted the kindly succour of love; -but at last nature won the day. She seized upon Mrs Atheling’s hand -hastily and kissed it, with a pretty appealing gesture. “They do -everything you tell them,” cried Rachel suddenly. “I never had any -mother--never even when we were babies. Oh, will you tell me sometimes -what I ought to do?” - -It was said afterwards in the family that at this appeal Mamma, fairly -vanquished and overcome, “almost cried;” and certain it was that Rachel -immediately took possession of the stool beside her, and remained there -not only during this visit, but on every after occasion when she came. -She brightened immediately into all her old anxious communicativeness, -concealing nothing, but pouring out her whole heart. - -“Louis told me he had seen you in the garden,” said Rachel, with a low -laugh of pleasure; “but when I asked which it was, he said he knew -nothing of Agnes and Marian, but only he had seen a vision looking over -the old gate. I never know what Louis means when he speaks nonsense,” -said Rachel, with an unusual brightness; “and I am so glad. I never -heard him speak so much nonsense since we came to the Hall.” - -“And are you left in the Hall all by yourselves, two young creatures?” -asked Mrs Atheling, with curiosity. “It must be very melancholy for -you.” - -“Not to be alone!” cried Rachel. “But very soon my lord is coming, with -a great household of people; and then--I almost faint when I think upon -it. What shall I do?” - -“But, Rachel, Mrs Edgerley is very kind to you,” said Agnes. - -Rachel answered after her usual fashion: “I do not care at all for -myself--it is nothing to me; but Louis--oh, Louis!--if he is ever seen, -the people stare at him as they would at a horse or a hound; and Lord -Winterbourne tries to have an opportunity to speak and order him away, -and when he shoots, he says he will put him in prison. And then Louis -knows when they send for me, and sometimes stands under the window and -hears me singing, and is white with rage to hear; and then he says he -cannot bear it, and must go away, and then I go down upon my knees to -him. I know how it will happen--everything, everything! It makes him mad -to have to bear it. Oh, I wish I knew anything that I could do!” - -“Mamma,” said Agnes earnestly, “Rachel used to tell us all this at the -Willows. Do you not think he ought to go away?” - -Mrs Atheling shook her head in perplexity; and instead of answering, -asked a question, “Does he not think it his duty, my dear, to obey -your--your father?” said Mamma doubtfully. - -“But he is not our father--oh no, no, indeed he is not! I should know he -was not, even without Louis,” cried Rachel, unaware what a violent -affirmation this was. “Louis says we could not have any father who would -not be a disgrace to us, being as we are--and Louis must be right; but -even though he might be a bad man, he could not be like Lord -Winterbourne. He takes pleasure in humiliating us--he never cared for us -all our life.” - -There was something very touching in this entire identification of these -two solitary existences which still were but one life; and Rachel was -not Rachel till she came to the very last words. Before that, with the -strange and constantly varying doubleness of her sisterly character, she -had been once again the representative of Louis. One thing struck them -all as they looked at her small features, fired with this sudden -inspiration of Louis’s pride and spirit. About as different as -possible--at the extreme antipodes of unresemblance--were their two -visitors of this day,--this small little fairy, nervous, timid, and -doubtful, fatherless, homeless, and without so much as a name, and that -assured and commanding old lady, owning no superior, and as secure of -her own position and authority as any reigning monarch. Yes, they were -about as dissimilar as two human creatures could be; yet the lookers-on -were startled to recognise that subtle link of likeness, seldom a -likeness of features, which people call family resemblance. Could it -have come through this man, who was so repugnant to them both? - -“They are all coming down on Monday next week,” said Rachel, “so we have -just three days all to ourselves; and I thought, perhaps--perhaps, if -you please to let me, I might bring Louis to-night?” - -“Surely, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling. - -“Oh, thank you!--thank you very much!” cried Rachel, once more bestowing -an eager yet shy caress upon that motherly hand. “Louis is not like me -at all,” added the anxious sister, afraid lest he should suffer by any -preconceived notion of resemblance. “He is a man; and old Miss Bridget -used to call him a noble brave boy, like what you read of in books. I do -not know,” said Rachel, “I never read of any one, even in a book, like -Louis. I think he ought to be a king.” - -“But, indeed, Rachel,” said Agnes, “I am quite sure you are wrong. Ask -mamma. You ought to let him go away.” - -“Do _you_ think so?” said Rachel wistfully, looking up in Mrs Atheling’s -face. - -But Mrs Atheling, though under any other circumstances she would of -course have insisted upon the absolute propriety of a young man “making -his own way,” paused, much perplexed, and answered nothing for the -moment. “My dears,” she said at last, very doubtfully, “I do not know at -all what to say. You should have some one who could advise you better; -and it depends on the young gentleman’s inclinations, and a great many -things beside that I am not able to judge of; for, indeed, though it may -only be my old-fashioned notions, I do not like to hear of young people -going against the advice of their friends.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE YOUNG PRINCE. - - -It may be supposed that, after all they had heard of him, the Athelings -prepared themselves with a little excitement for the visit of Louis. -Even Mrs Atheling, who disapproved of him, could not prevent herself -from wandering astray in long speculations about the old lord--and it -seemed less improper to wonder and inquire concerning a boy, whom the -Honourable Anastasia herself inquired after and wondered at. As for the -girls, Louis had come to be an ideal hero to both of them. The adored -and wonderful brother of Rachel--though Rachel was only a girl, and -scarcely so wise as themselves--the admiration of Miss Bridget, and the -anxiety of Miss Anastasia, though these were only a couple of old -ladies, united in a half deification of the lordly young stranger, whose -own appearance and manner were enough to have awakened a certain -romantic interest in their simple young hearts. They were extremely -concerned to-night about their homely tea-table--that everything should -look its best and brightest; and even contrived, unknown to Hannah, to -filch and convert into a temporary cake-basket that small rich old -silver salver, which had been wont to stand upon one of Miss Bridget’s -little tables for cards. Then they robbed the garden for a sufficient -bouquet of flowers; and then Agnes, half against her sister’s will, wove -in one of those pale roses to Marian’s beautiful hair. Marian, though -she made a laughing protest against this, and pretended to be totally -indifferent to the important question, which dress she should wear? -clearly recognised herself as the heroine of the evening. _She_ knew -very well, if no one else did, what was the vision which Louis had seen -at the old gate, and came down to Miss Bridget’s prim old parlour in her -pretty light muslin dress with the rose in her hair, looking, in her -little flutter and palpitation, as sweet a “vision of delight” as ever -appeared to the eyes of man. - -And Louis came--came--condescended to take tea--stayed some two hours or -so, and then took his departure, hurriedly promising to come back for -his sister. This much-anticipated hero--could it be possible that his -going away was the greatest relief to them all, and that no one of the -little party felt at all comfortable or at ease till he was gone? It was -most strange and deplorable, yet it was most true beyond the -possibility of question; for Louis, with all a young man’s sensitive -pride stung into bitterness by his position, haughtily repelled the -interest and kindness of all these women. He was angry at Rachel--poor -little anxious timid Rachel, who almost looked happy when they crossed -this kindly threshold--for supposing these friends of hers, who were all -women, could be companions for him; he was angry at himself for his -anger; he was in the haughtiest and darkest frame of his naturally -impetuous temper, rather disposed to receive as an insult any overture -of friendship, and fiercely to plume himself upon his separated and -orphaned state. They were all entirely discomfited and taken aback by -their stately visitor, whom they had been disposed to receive with the -warmest cordiality, and treat as one whom it was in their power to be -kind to. Though his sister did so much violence to her natural feelings -that she might hold her ground as his representative, Louis did not by -any means acknowledge her deputyship. In entire opposition to her -earnest and anxious frankness, Louis closed himself up with a jealous -and repellant reserve; said nothing he could help saying, and speaking, -when he did speak, with a cold and indifferent dignity; did not so much -as refer to the Hall or Lord Winterbourne, and checked Rachel, when she -was about to do so, with an almost imperceptible gesture, peremptory -and full of displeasure. Poor Rachel, constantly referring to him with -her eyes, and feeling the ground entirely taken from beneath her feet, -sat pale and anxious, full of apprehension and dismay. Marian, who was -not accustomed to see her own pretty self treated with such absolute -unconcern, took down _Fatherless Fanny_ from the bookshelf, and played -with it, half reading, half “pretending,” at one of the little tables. -Agnes, after many vain attempts to draw Rachel’s unmanageable brother -into conversation, gave it up at last, and sat still by Rachel’s side in -embarrassed silence. Mamma betook herself steadily to her work-basket. -The conversation fell away into mere questions addressed to Louis, and -answers in monosyllables, so that it was an extreme relief to every -member of the little party when this impracticable visitor rose at last, -bowed to them all, and hastened away. - -Rachel sat perfectly silent till the sound of his steps had died upon -the road; then she burst out in a vehement apologetic outcry. “Oh, don’t -be angry with him--don’t, please,” said Rachel; “he thinks I have been -trying to persuade you to be kind to him, and he cannot bear _that_ even -from me; and indeed, indeed you may believe me, it is quite true! I -never saw him, except once or twice, in such a humour before.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, with that dignified tone which Mamma could -assume when it was necessary, to the utter discomfiture of her -opponent--“my dear, we are very glad to see your brother, but of course -it can be nothing whatever to us the kind of humour he is in; that is -quite his own concern.” - -Poor Rachel now, having no other resource, cried. She was only herself -in this uncomfortable moment. She could no longer remember Louis’s pride -or Louis’s dignity; for a moment the poor little subject heart felt a -pang of resentment against the object of its idolatry, such as little -Rachel had sometimes felt when Louis was “naughty,” and she, his -unfortunate little shadow, innocently shared in his punishment; but now, -as at every former time, the personal trouble of the patient little -sister yielded to the dread that Louis “was not understood.” “You will -know him better some time,” she said, drying her sorrowful appealing -eyes. So far as appearances went at this moment, it did not seem quite -desirable to know him better, and nobody said a word in return. - -After this the three girls went out together to the garden, still lying -sweet in the calm of the long summer twilight, under a young moon and -some early stars. They did not speak a great deal. They were all -considerably absorbed with thoughts of this same hero, who, after all, -had not taken an effective method of keeping their interest alive. - -And Marian did not know how or whence it was that this doubtful and -uncertain paladin came to her side in the pleasant darkness, but was -startled by his voice in her ear as she leaned once more over the low -garden-gate. “It was here I saw you first,” said Louis, and Marian’s -heart leaped in her breast, half with the suddenness of the words, half -with--something else. Louis, who had been so haughty and ungracious all -the evening--Louis, Rachel’s idol, everybody’s superior--yet he spoke -low in the startled ear of Marian, as if that first seeing had been an -era in his life. - -“Come with us,” said Louis, as Rachel at sight of him hastened to get -her bonnet--“come along this enchanted road a dozen steps into -fairyland, and back again. I forget everything, even myself, on such a -night.” - -And they went, scarcely answering, yet more satisfied with this brief -reference to their knowledge of him, than if the king had forsaken his -nature, and become as confidential as Rachel. They went their dozen -steps on what was merely the terraced pathway, soft, dark, and grassy, -to Agnes and Rachel, who went first in anxious conversation, but which -the other two, coming silently behind, had probably a different idea -of. Marian at least could not help cogitating these same adjectives, -with a faint inquiry within herself, what it was which could make this -an enchanted road or fairyland. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -A BEGINNING. - - -The next morning, while the mother and daughters were still in the full -fervour of discussion about this same remarkable Louis, he himself was -seen for the first time in the early daylight passing the window, with -that singular rapidity of step which he possessed in common with his -sister. They ceased their argument after seeing him--why, no one could -have told; but quite unresolved as the question was, and though Mamma’s -first judgment, unsoftened by that twilight walk, was still decidedly -unfavourable to Louis, they all dropped the subject tacitly and at once. -Then Mamma went about various domestic occupations; then Agnes dropped -into the chair which stood before that writing-book upon the table, and, -with an attention much broken and distracted, gradually fell away into -her own ideal world; and then Marian, leading Bell and Beau with -meditative hands, glided forth softly to the garden, with downcast face -and drooping eyes, full of thought. The children ran away from her at -once when their little feet touched the grass, but Marian went straying -along the paths, absorbed in her meditation, her pretty arms hanging by -her side, her pretty head bent, her light fair figure gliding softly in -shadow over the low mossy paling and the close-clipped hedge within. She -was thinking only what it was most natural she should think, about the -stranger of last night; yet now and then into the stream of her musing -dropped, with the strangest disturbance and commotion, these few quiet -words spoken in her ear,--“It was here I saw you first.” How many times, -then, had Louis seen her? and why did he recollect so well that first -occasion? and what did he mean? - -While she was busy with these fancies, all at once, Marian could not -tell how, as suddenly as he appeared last night, Louis was here -again--here, within the garden of the Old Wood Lodge, walking by -Marian’s side, a second long shadow upon the close-clipped hedge and the -mossy paling, rousing her to a guilty consciousness that she had been -thinking of him, which brought blush after blush in a flutter of “sweet -shamefacednesse” to her cheek, and weighed down still more heavily the -shy and dreamy lids of these beautiful eyes. - -The most unaccountable thing in the world! but Marian, who had received -with perfect coolness the homage of Sir Langham, and whose conscience -smote her with no compunctions for the slaying of the gifted American, -had strangely lost her self-possession to-day. She only replied in the -sedatest and gravest manner possible to the questions of her -companion--looked anxiously at the parlour window for an opportunity of -calling Agnes, and with the greatest embarrassment longed for the -presence of some one to end this _tête-à-tête_. Louis, on the contrary, -exerted himself for her amusement, and was as different from the Louis -of last night as it was possible to conceive. - -“Ay, there it is,” said Louis, who had just asked her what she knew of -Oxford--“there it is, the seat of learning, thrusting up all its -pinnacles to the sun; but I think, if the world were wise, this glitter -and shining might point to the dark, dark ignorance outside of it, even -more than to the little glow within.” - -Now this was not much in Marian’s way--but her young squire, who would -have submitted himself willingly to her guidance had she given any, was -not yet acquainted at all with the ways of Marian. - -She said, simply looking at the big dome sullenly throwing off the -sunbeams, and at the glancing arrowheads, of more impressible and -delicate kind, “I think it is very pretty, with all those different -spires and towers; but do you mean it is the poor people who are so -very ignorant? It seems as though people could scarcely help learning -who live there.” - -“Yes, the poor people--I mean all of us,” said Louis slowly, and with a -certain painful emphasis. “A great many of the villagers, it is true, -have never been to school; but I do not count a man ignorant who knows -what he has to do, and how to do it, though he never reads a book, nor -has pen in hand all his life. I save my pity for a more unfortunate -ignorance than that.” - -“But that is very bad,” said Marian decidedly, “because there is more to -do than just to work, and we ought to know about--about a great many -things. Agnes knows better than I.” - -This was said very abruptly, and meant that Agnes knew better what -Marian meant to say than she herself did. The youth at her side, -however, showed no inclination for any interpreter. He seemed, indeed, -to be rather pleased than otherwise with this breaking off. - -“When I was away, I was in strange enough quarters, and learnt something -about knowledge,” said Louis, “though not much knowledge itself--heaven -help me! I suppose I was not worthy of that.” - -“And did you really run away?” asked Marian, growing bolder with this -quickening of personal interest. - -“I really ran away,” said the young man, a hot flush passing for an -instant over his brow; and then he smiled--a kind of daring desperate -smile, which seemed to say “what I have done once I can do again.” - -“And what did you do?” said Marian, continuing her inquiries: she forgot -her shyness in following up this story, which she knew and did not know. - -“What all the village lads do who get into scrapes and break the hearts -of the old women,” said Louis, with a somewhat bitter jesting. “I listed -for a soldier--but there was not even an old woman to break her heart -for me.” - -“Oh, there was Rachel!” cried Marian eagerly. - -“Yes, indeed, there was Rachel, my good little sister,” answered the -young man; “but her kind heart would have mended again had they let me -alone. It would have been better for us both.” - -He said this with a painful compression of his lip, which a certain -wistful sympathy in the mind of Marian taught her to recognise as the -sign of tumult and contention in this turbulent spirit. She hastened -with a womanly instinct to direct him to the external circumstances -again. - -“And you were really a soldier--a--not an officer--only a common man.” -Marian shrunk visibly from this, which was an actual and possible -degradation, feared as the last downfall for the “wild sons” of the -respectable families in the neighbourhood of Bellevue. - -“Yes, I belong to a class which has no privileges; there was not a -drummer in the regiment but was of better birth than I,” exclaimed -Louis. “Ah, that is folly--I did very well. In Napoleon’s army, had I -belonged to that day!--but in my time there was neither a general nor a -war.” - -“Surely,” said Marian, who began to be anxious about this unfortunate -young man’s “principles,” “you would not wish for a war?” - -“Should you think it very wrong?” said Louis with a smile. - -“Yes,” answered the young Mentor with immediate decision; for this -conversation befell in those times, not so very long ago, when everybody -declared that such convulsions were over, and that it was impossible, in -the face of civilisation, steamboats, and the electric telegraph, to -entertain the faintest idea of a war. - -They had reached this point in their talk, gradually growing more at -ease and familiar with each other, when it suddenly chanced that Mamma, -passing from her own sleeping-room to that of the girls, paused a moment -to look out at the small middle window in the passage between them, and -looking down, was amazed to see this haughty and misanthropic Louis -passing quietly along the trim pathway of the garden, keeping his place -steadily by Marian’s side. Mrs Atheling was not a mercenary mother, -neither was she one much given to alarm for her daughters, lest they -should make bad marriages or fall into unfortunate love; but Mrs -Atheling, who was scrupulously proper, did not like to see her pretty -Marian in such friendly companionship with “a young man in such an -equivocal position,” even though he was the brother of her friend. “We -may be kind to them,” said Mamma to herself, “but we are not to go any -further; and, indeed, it would be very sad if he should come to more -grief about Marian, poor young man;--how pretty she is!” - -Yes, it was full time Mrs Atheling should hasten down stairs, and, in -the most accidental manner in the world, step out into the garden. -Marian, unfortunate child! with her young roses startled on her sweet -young cheeks by this faint presaging breath of a new existence, had -never been so pretty all her life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -THE YOUNG PEOPLE. - - -What Louis did or said, or how he made interest for himself in the -tender heart of Mamma, no one very well knows; yet a certain fact it -was, that from henceforward Mrs Atheling, like Miss Anastasia, became -somewhat contemptuous of Rachel in the interest of Louis, and pursued -eager and long investigations in her own mind--investigations most -fruitless, yet most persevering--touching the old lord and the unknown -conclusion of his life. All that was commonly known of the last years of -the last Lord Winterbourne was, that he had died abroad. Under the -pressure of family calamity he had gone to Italy, and there, people -said, had wandered about for several years, leading a desultory and -unsettled life, entirely out of the knowledge of any of his friends; and -when the present bearer of the title came home, bearing the intelligence -of his elder brother’s death, the most entire oblivion closed down upon -the foreign grave of the old lord. Back into this darkness Mrs -Atheling, who knew no more than common report, made vain efforts to -strain her kindly eyes, but always returned with a sigh of despair. -“No!” said Mamma, “he might be proud, but he was virtuous and -honourable. I never heard a word said against the old lord. Louis is -like him, but it must only be a chance resemblance. No! Mr Reginald was -always a wild bad man. Poor things! they _must_ be his children; for my -lord, I am sure, never betrayed or deceived any creature all his life.” - -But still she mused and dreamed concerning Louis; he seemed to exercise -a positive fascination over all these elder people; and Mrs Atheling, -more than she had ever desired a friendly gossip with Miss Willsie, -longed to meet once more with the Honourable Anastasia, to talk over her -conjectures and guesses respecting “the boy.” - -In the mean time, Louis himself, relieved from that chaperonship and -anxious introduction by his sister, which the haughty young man could -not endure, made daily increase of his acquaintance with the strangers. -He began to form part of their daily circle, expected and calculated -upon; and somehow the family life seemed to flow in a stronger and -fuller current with the addition of this vigorous element, the young -man, who oddly enough seemed to belong to them rather more than if he -had been their brother. He took the three girls, who were now so much -like three sisters, on long and wearying excursions through the wood and -over the hill. He did not mind tiring them out, nor was he extremely -fastidious about the roads by which he led them; for, generous at heart -as he was, the young man had the unconscious wilfulness of one who all -his life had known no better guidance than his own will. Sometimes, in -those long walks of theirs, the young Athelings were startled by some -singular characteristic of their squire, bringing to light in him, by a -sudden chance, things of which these gentle-hearted girls had never -dreamed. Once they discovered, lying deep among the great fern-leaves, -all brown and rusty with seed, the bright plumage of some dead game, for -the reception of which a village boy was making a bag of his pinafore. -“Carry it openly,” said Louis, at whose voice the lad started; “and if -any one asks you where it came from, send them to me.” This was his -custom, which all the village knew and profited by; he would not permit -himself to be restrained from the sport, but he scorned to lift the -slain bird, which might be supposed to be Lord Winterbourne’s, and left -it to be picked up by the chance foragers of the hamlet. At the first -perception of this, the girls, we are obliged to confess, were greatly -shocked--tears even came to Marian’s eyes. She said it was cruel, in a -little outbreak of terror, pity, and indignation. “Cruel--no!” said -Louis: “did my gun give a sharper wound than one of the score of -fashionable guns that will be waking all the echoes in a day or two?” -But Marian only glanced up at him hurriedly with her shy eyes, and said, -with a half smile, “Perhaps though the wound was no sharper, the poor -bird might have liked another week of life.” - -And the young man looked up into the warm blue sky over-head, all -crossed and trellised with green leaves, and looked around into the deep -September foliage, flaming here and there in a yellow leaf, a point of -fire among the green. “I think it very doubtful,” he said, sinking his -voice, though every one heard him among the noonday hush of the trees, -“if I ever can be so happy again. Do you not suppose it would be -something worth living for, instead of a week or a year of sadder -chances, to be shot upon the wing _now_?” - -Marian did not say a word, but shrank away among the bushes, clinging to -Rachel’s arm, with a shy instinctive motion. “Choose for yourself,” said -Agnes; “but do not decide so coolly upon the likings of the poor bird. I -am sure, had _he_ been consulted, he would rather have taken his chance -of the guns next week than lain so quiet under the fern-leaves now.” - -Whereupon the blush of youth for his own super-elevated and unreal -sentiment came over Louis’s face. Agnes, by some amusing process common -to young girls who are elder sisters, and whom nobody is in love with, -had made herself out to be older than Louis, and was rather disposed now -and then to interfere for the regulation of this youth’s improper -sentiments, and to give him good advice. - -And Lord Winterbourne arrived: they discovered the fact immediately by -the entire commotion and disturbance of everything about the village, by -the noise of wheels, and the flight of servants, to be descried -instantly in the startled neighbourhood. Then they began to see visions -of sportsmen, and flutters of fine ladies; and even without these -visible and evident signs, it would have been easy enough to read the -information of the arrivals in the clouded and lowering brow of Louis, -and in poor little Rachel’s distress, anxiety, and agitation. She, poor -child, could no longer join their little kindly party in the evening; -and when her brother came without her, he burst into violent outbreaks -of rage, indignation, and despair, dreadful to see. Neither mother nor -daughters knew how to soothe him; for it was even more terrible in their -fancy than in his experience to be the Pariah and child of degradation -in this great house. Moved by the intolerable burden of this his time of -trial, Louis at last threw himself upon the confidence of his new -friends, confided his uncertain and conflicting plans to them, relieved -himself of his passionate resentment, and accepted their sympathy. -Every day he came goaded half to madness, vowing his determination to -bear it no longer; but every day, as he sat in the old easy-chair, with -his handsome head half-buried in his hands, a solace, sweet and -indescribable, stole into Louis’s heart; he was inspired to go at the -very same moment that he was impelled to stay, by that same vision which -he had first seen in the summer twilight at the old garden-gate. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -A MEETING. - - -This state of things continued for nearly a fortnight after the arrival -of Lord Winterbourne and his party at the Hall. They saw Mrs Edgerley -passing through the village, and in church; but she either did not see -them, or did not think it necessary to take any notice of the girls. -Knowing better now the early connection between their own family and -Lord Winterbourne’s, they were almost glad of this--almost; yet -certainly it would have been pleasanter to decline _her_ friendly -advances, than to find her, their former patroness, quietly dropping -acquaintance with _them_. - -The grassy terraced road which led from Winterbourne village to the -highway, and which was fenced on one side by the low wall which -surrounded the stables and outhouses of the Rector, and by the hedge and -paling of the Old Wood Lodge, but on the other side was free and open to -the fields, which sloped down from it to the low willow-dropped banks of -one of those pale rivers, was not a road adapted either for vehicles or -horses. The Rivers family, however, holding themselves monarchs of all -they surveyed, stood upon no punctilio in respect to the pathway of the -villagers, and the family temper, alike in this one particular, brought -about a collision important enough to all parties concerned, and -especially to the Athelings; for one of those days, when a riding-party -from the Hall cantered along the path with a breezy waving and commotion -of veils and feathers and riding-habits, and a pleasant murmur of sound, -voices a little louder than usual under cover of the September gale -mixed only with the jingle of the harness--for the horses’ hoofs struck -no sound but that of a dull tread from the turf of the way--it pleased -Miss Anastasia, at the very hour and moment of their approach, to drive -her two grey ponies to the door of the Old Wood Lodge. Of course, it was -the simplest “accident” in the world, this unpremeditated “chance” -meeting. There was no intention nor foresight whatever in the matter. -When she saw them coming, Miss Anastasia “growled” under her breath, and -marvelled indignantly how they could dream of coming in such a body over -the grassed road of the villagers, cutting it to pieces with their -horses’ hoofs. She never paused to consider how the wheels of her own -substantial vehicle ploughed the road; and for her part, the leader of -the fair equestrians brightened with an instant hope of amusement. “Here -is cousin Anastasia, the most learned old lady in Banburyshire. -Delightful! Now, my love, you shall see the lion of the county,” cried -Mrs Edgerley to one of her young companions, not thinking nor caring -whether her voice reached her kinswoman or not. Lord Winterbourne, who -was with his daughter, drew back to the rear of the group instinctively. -Whatever was said of Lord Winterbourne, his worst enemy could not say -that he was brave to meet the comments of those whom he had harmed or -wronged. - -Miss Anastasia stepped from her carriage in the most deliberate manner -possible, nodded to Marian and Agnes, who were in the garden--and to -whose defence, seeing so many strangers, hastily appeared their -mother--and stood patting and talking to her ponies, in her brown cloth -pelisse and tippet, and with that oddest of comfortable bonnets upon her -head. - -“Cousin Anastasia, I vow! You dear creature, where have you been all -these ages? Would any one believe it? Ah, how delightful to live always -in the country; what a penalty we pay for town and its pleasures! Could -any one suppose that my charming cousin was actually older than me?” - -And the fashionable beauty, though she did begin to be faded, threw up -her delicate hands with their prettiest gesture, as she pointed to the -stately old lady before her, in her antique dress, and with unconcealed -furrows in her face. Once, perhaps, not even that beautiful complexion -of Mrs Edgerley was sweeter than that of Anastasia Rivers; but her -beauty had gone from her long ago--a thing which she cared not to -retain. She looked up with her kind imperious face, upon which were -undeniable marks of years and age. She perceived with a most evident and -undisguised contempt the titter with which this comparison was greeted. -“Go on your way, Louisa,” said Miss Rivers; “you were pretty once, -whatever people say of you now. Don’t be a fool, child; and I advise you -not to meddle with me.” - -“Delightful! is she not charming?” cried the fine lady, appealing to her -companion; “so fresh, and natural, and eccentric--such an acquisition in -the Hall! Anastasia, dear, do forget your old quarrel. It was not poor -papa’s fault that you were born a woman, though I cannot help confessing -it was a great mistake, _certainly_; but, only for once, you who are -such a dear, kind, benevolent creature, come to see _me_.” - -“Go on, Louisa, I advise you,” said the Honourable Anastasia with -extreme self-control. “Poor child, I have no quarrel with you, at all -events. You did not choose your father--there, pass on. I leave the -Hall to those who choose it; the Old Wood Lodge has more attraction for -me.” - -“And I protest,” cried Mrs Edgerley, “it is my sweet young friend, the -author of ----: my dearest child, what _is_ the name of your book? I have -_such_ a memory. Quite the sweetest story of the season; and I am dying -to hear of another. Are you writing again? Oh, pray say you are. I -should be heartbroken to think of waiting very long for it. You must -come to the Hall. There are some people coming who are dying to know -you, and I positively cannot be disappointed: no one ever disobeys _me_! -Come here and let me kiss, you pretty creature. Is she not the sweetest -little beauty in the world? and her sister has so much genius; it is -quite delightful! So you know my cousin Anastasia; isn’t she charming? -Now, good morning, coz.--good morning, dear--and be sure you come to the -Hall.” - -Miss Anastasia stood aside, watching grimly this unexpected -demonstration of friendship, and keenly criticising Agnes, who coloured -high with youthful dignity and resentment, and Marian, who drew back -abashed, with a painful blush, and a grieved and anxious consciousness -that Louis, unseen but seeing, was a spectator of this salutation, and -somehow would be quite as like to resent Mrs Edgerley’s careless -compliment to herself, “as if I had been his sister.” With a steady -observation the old lady kept her eyes upon her young acquaintances till -the horsemen and horsewomen of Mrs Edgerley’s train had passed. Then she -drew herself up to the utmost pitch of her extreme height, and, without -raising her eyes, made a profound curtsy to the last of the train--he on -his part lifted his hat, and bent to his saddle-bow. This was how Lord -Winterbourne and his brother’s daughter recognised each other. Perhaps -the wandering eyes in his bloodless face glanced a moment, shifting and -uncertain as they were, upon the remarkable figure of Miss Rivers, but -they certainly paused to take in, with one fixed yet comprehensive -glance, the mother and the daughters, the children playing in the -garden--the open door of the house--even it was possible he saw Louis, -though Louis had been behind, at the end of the little green, out of -sight, trying to train a wild honeysuckle round an extempore bower. Lord -Winterbourne scarcely paused, and did not offer the slightest apology -for his stare, but they felt, all of them, that he had marked the house, -and laid them under the visionary curse of his evil eye. When he had -passed, Miss Rivers put them in before her, with an imperative gesture. -“Let me know what’s brewing,” said the Honourable Anastasia, as she -reposed herself on the little new sofa in the old parlour. “There’s -mischief in his eye.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -THE BREWING OF THE STORM. - - -The visit of Miss Rivers was the most complimentary attention which she -could show to her new friends, for her visits were few, and paid only to -a very limited number of people, and these all of her own rank and -class. She was extremely curious as to their acquaintance with Mrs -Edgerley, and demanded to know every circumstance from its beginning -until now; and this peremptory old lady was roused to quite an eager and -animated interest in the poor little book of which, Agnes could not -forget, Mrs Edgerley did not remember so much as the name. The -Honourable Anastasia declared abruptly that she never read novels, yet -demanded to have _Hope Hazlewood_ placed without an instant’s delay in -her pony-carriage. “Do it at once, my dear: a thing which is done at the -moment cannot be forgotten,” said Miss Rivers. “You write books, eh? -Well, I asked you if you were clever; why did you not tell me at once?” - -“I did not think you would care; it was not worth while,” said Agnes -with some confusion, and feeling considerably alarmed by the idea of -this formidable old lady’s criticism. Miss Rivers only answered by -hurrying her out with the book, lest it might possibly be forgotten. -When the girls were gone, she turned to Mrs Atheling. “What can he do to -you,” said Miss Anastasia, abruptly, “eh? What’s Will Atheling doing? -Can he harm Will?” - -“No,” said Mamma, somewhat excited by the prospect of an enemy, yet -confident in the perfect credit and honour of the family father, whose -good name and humble degree of prosperity no enemy could overthrow. -“William has been where he is now for twenty years.” - -“So, so,” said Miss Rivers--“and the boy? Take care of these girls; it -might be in his devilish way to harm them; and I tell you, when you come -to know of it, send me word. So she writes books, this girl of yours? -She is no better than a child. Do you mean to say you are not proud?” - -Mrs Atheling answered as mothers answer when such questions are put to -them, half with a confession, half with a partly-conscious sophism, -about Agnes being “a good girl, and a great comfort to her papa and -me.” - -The girls, when they had executed their commission, looked doubtingly -for Louis, but found him gone as they expected. While they were still -lingering where he had been, Miss Rivers came to the door again, going -away, and when she had said good-by to Mamma, the old lady turned back -again without a word, and very gravely gathered one of the roses. She -did it with a singular formality and solemness as if it was a religious -observance rather than a matter of private liking; and securing it -somewhere out of sight in the fastenings of her brown pelisse, waved her -hand to them, saying in her peremptory voice, quite loud enough to be -heard at a considerable distance, that she was to send for them in a day -or two. Then she took her seat in the little carriage, and turned her -grey ponies, no very easy matter, towards the high-road. Her easy and -complete mastery over them was an admiration to the girls. “Bless you, -miss, she’d follow the hounds as bold as any squire,” said Hannah; “but -there’s a deal o’ difference in Miss Taesie since the time she broke her -heart.” - -Such an era was like to be rather memorable. The girls thought so, -somewhat solemnly, as they went to their work beside their mother. They -seemed to be coming to graver times themselves, gliding on in an -irresistible noiseless fashion upon their stream of fate. - -Louis came again as usual in the evening. He _had_ heard Mrs Edgerley, -and did resent her careless freedom, as Marian secretly knew he would; -which fact she who was most concerned, ascertained by his entire and -pointed silence upon the subject, and his vehement and passionate -contempt, notwithstanding, for Mrs Edgerley. - -“I suppose you are safe enough,” he said, speaking to the elder sister. -“You will not break your heart because she has forgotten the name of -your book--but, heaven help them, there are hearts which do! There are -unfortunate fools in this crazy world mad enough to be elated and to be -thrown into misery by a butterfly of a fine lady, who makes reputations. -You think them quite contemptible, do you? but there are such.” - -“I suppose they must be people who have no friends and no home--or to -whom it is of more importance than it is to me,” said Agnes; “for I am -only a woman, and nothing could make me miserable out of this Old Lodge, -or Bellevue.” - -“Ah--that is _now_,” said Louis quickly, and he glanced with an -instinctive reference at Marian, whose pallid roses and fluctuating mood -already began to testify to some anxiety out of the boundary of these -charmed walls. “The very sight of your security might possibly be hard -enough upon us who have no home--no home! nothing at all under heaven.” - -“Except such trifles as strength and youth and a stout heart, a sister -very fond of you, and some--some _friends_--and heaven itself, after -all, at the end. Oh, Louis!” said Agnes, who on this, as on other -occasions, was much disposed to be this “boy’s” elder sister, and -advised him “for his good.” - -He did not say anything. When he looked up at all from his bending -attitude leaning over the table, it was to glance with fiery devouring -eyes at Marian--poor little sweet Marian, already pale with anxiety for -him. Then he broke out suddenly--“That poor little sister who is very -fond of me--do you know what she is doing at this moment--singing to -them!--like the captives at Babylon, making mirth for the spoilers. And -my friends---- heaven! you heard what that woman ventured to say -to-day.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, who confessed to treating Louis as a “son -of her own,” “think of heaven all the day long, and so much the better -for you--but I cannot have you using in this way such a name.” - -This simple little reproof did more for Louis than a hundred -philosophies. He laughed low, and with emotion took Mrs Atheling’s hand -for a moment between his own--said “thank you, mother,” with a momentary -smile of delight and good pleasure. Then his face suddenly flushed with -a dark and violent colour; he cast an apprehensive yet haughty glance at -Mrs Atheling, and drew his hand away. The stain in his blood was a -ghost by the side of Louis, and scarcely left him for an instant night -nor day. - -When he left them, they went to the door with him as they had been wont -to do, the mother holding a shawl over her cap, the girls with their -fair heads uncovered to the moon. They stood all together at the gate -speaking cheerfully, and sending kind messages to Rachel as they bade -him good-night--and none of the little group noticed a figure suddenly -coming out of the darkness and gliding along past the paling of the -garden. “What, boy, you here?” cried a voice suddenly behind Louis, -which made him start aside, and they all shrank back a little to -recognise in the moonlight the marble-white face of Lord Winterbourne. - -“What do you mean, sir, wandering about the country at this hour?” said -the stranger--“what conspiracy goes on here, eh?--what are _you_ doing -with a parcel of women? Home to your den, you skulking young -vagabond--what are you doing here?” - -Marian, the least courageous of the three, moved by a sudden impulse, -which was not courage but terror, laid her hand quickly upon Louis’s -arm. The young man, who had turned his face defiant and furious towards -the intruder, turned in an instant, grasping at the little timid hand as -a man in danger might grasp at a shield invulnerable, “You perceive, my -lord, I am beyond the reach either of your insults or your patronage -here,” said the youth, whose blood was dancing in his veins, and who at -that moment cared less than the merest stranger, who had never heard his -name, for Lord Winterbourne. - -“Come, my lad, if you are imposing upon these poor people--I must set -you right,” said the man who was called Louis’s father. “Do you know -what he is, my good woman, that you harbour this idle young rascal in -despite of my known wishes? Home, you young vagabond, home! This boy -is----” - -“My lord, my lord,” interposed Mrs Atheling, in sudden agitation, “if -any disgrace belongs to him, it is yours and not his that you should -publish it. Go away, sir, from my door, where you once did harm enough, -and don’t try to injure the poor boy--perhaps we know who he is better -than you.” - -What put this bold and rash speech into the temperate lips of Mamma, no -one could ever tell; the effect of it, however, was electric. Lord -Winterbourne fell back suddenly, stared at her with his strained eyes in -the moonlight, and swore a muttered and inaudible oath. “Home, you -hound!” he repeated in a mechanical tone, and then, waving his hand with -a threatening and unintelligible gesture, turned to go away. “So long as -the door is yours, my friend, I will take care to make no intrusion upon -it,” he said significantly before he disappeared; and then the shadow -departed out of the moonlight, the stealthy step died on the grass, and -they stood alone again with beating hearts. Mamma took Marian’s hand -from Louis, but not unkindly, and with an affectionate earnestness bade -him go away. He hesitated long, but at length consented, partly for her -entreaty, partly for the sake of Rachel. Under other circumstances this -provocation would have maddened Louis; but he wrung Agnes’s hand with an -excited gaiety as he lingered at the door watching a shadow on the -window whither Marian had gone with her mother. “I had best not meet him -on the road,” said Louis: “there is the Curate--for once, for your sake, -and the sake of what has happened, I will be gracious and take his -company; but to tell the truth, I do not care for anything which can -befall me to-night.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -A CRISIS. - - -Marian, whom her mother tenderly put to sleep that night, as if she had -been a child, yet who lay awake in the long cold hours before the dawn -in a vague and indescribable emotion, her heart stirring within her like -something which did not belong to her--a new and strange -existence--slept late the next morning, exhausted and worn out with all -this sudden and stormy influx of unknown feelings. Mamma, who, on the -contrary, was very early astir, came into the bed-chamber of her -daughters at quite an unusual hour, and, thankfully perceiving Marian’s -profound youthful slumber, stood gazing at the beautiful sleeper with -tears in her eyes. Paler than usual, with a shadow under her closed -eyelids, and still a little dew upon the long lashes--with one hand laid -in childish fashion under her cheek, and the other lying, with its -pearly rose-tipped fingers, upon the white coverlid, Marian, but for the -moved and human agitation which evidently had worn itself into repose, -might have looked like the enchanted beauty of the tale--but indeed she -was rather more like a child who had wept itself to sleep. Her sister, -stealing softly from her side, left her sleeping, and they put the door -ajar that they might hear when she stirred before they went, with hushed -steps and speaking in a whisper, down stairs. - -Mrs Atheling was disturbed more than she would tell; what she did say, -as Agnes and she sat over their silent breakfast-table, was an expedient -which herself had visibly no faith in. “My dear, we must try to prevent -him saying anything,” said Mrs Atheling, with her anxious brow: it was -not necessary to name names, for neither of them could forget the scene -of last night. - -Then by-and-by Mamma spoke again. “I almost fancy we should go home; she -might forget it if she were away. Agnes, my love, you must persuade him -not to say anything; he pays great attention to what you say.” - -“But, mamma--Marian?” said Agnes. - -“Oh, Agnes, Agnes, my dear beautiful child,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden access of emotion, “it was only friendship, sympathy--her kind -heart; she will think no more of it, if nothing occurs to put it into -her head.” - -Agnes did not say anything, though she was extremely doubtful on this -subject; but then it was quite evident that Mamma had no faith in her -own prognostications, and regarded this first inroad into the family -with a mixture of excitement, dread, and agitation which it was not -comfortable to see. - -After their pretended breakfast, mother and daughter once more stole -up-stairs. They had not been in the room a moment, when Marian -woke--woke--started with fright and astonishment to see Agnes dressed, -and her mother standing beside her; and beginning to recollect, suddenly -blushed, and turning away her face, burning with that violent suffusion -of colour, exclaimed, “I could not help it--I could not help it; would -you stand by and see them drive him mad? Oh mamma, mamma!” - -“My darling, no one thinks of blaming you,” said Mrs Atheling, who -trembled a good deal, and looked very anxious. “We were all very sorry -for him, poor fellow; and you only did what you should have done, like a -brave little friend--what I should have done myself, had I been next to -him,” said Mamma, with great gravity and earnestness, but decidedly -overdoing her part. - -This did not seem quite a satisfactory speech to Marian. She turned away -again petulantly, dried her eyes, and with a sidelong glance at Agnes, -asked, “Why did you not wake me?--it looks quite late. I am not ill, am -I? I am sure I do not understand it--why did you let me sleep?” - -“Hush, darling! because you were tired and late last night,” said Mamma. - -Now this sympathy and tenderness seemed rather alarming than soothing to -Marian. Her colour varied rapidly, her breath came quick, tears gathered -to her eyes. “Has anything happened while I have been sleeping?” she -asked hastily, and in a very low tone. - -“No, no, my love, nothing at all,” said Mamma tenderly, “only we thought -you must be tired.” - -“Both you and Agnes were as late as me,--why were not you tired?” said -Marian, still with a little jealous fear. “Please, mamma, go away; I -want to get dressed and come down stairs.” - -They left her to dress accordingly, but still with some anxiety and -apprehension, and Mamma waited for Marian in her own room, while Agnes -went down to the parlour--just in time, for as she took her seat, Louis, -flushed and impatient, burst in at the door. - -Louis made a most hasty salutation, and was a great deal too eager and -hurried to be very well bred. He looked round the room with sudden -anxiety and disappointment. “Where is she?--I must see Marian,” cried -Louis. “What! you do not mean to say she is ill, after last night?” - -“Not ill, but in her own room,” said Agnes, somewhat confused by the -question. - -“I will wait as long as you please, if I must wait,” said Louis -impatiently; “but, Agnes! why should you be against me? Of course, I -forget myself; do you grudge that I should? I forget everything except -last night; let me see Marian. I promise you I will not distress her, -and if she bids me, I will go away.” - -“No, it is not that,” said Agnes with hesitation; “but, Louis, nothing -happened last night--pray do not think of it. Well, then,” she said -earnestly, as his hasty gesture denied what she said, “mamma begs you, -Louis, not to say anything to-day.” - -He turned round upon her with a blank but haughty look. “I -understand--my disgrace must not come here,” he said; “but _she_ did not -mind it; she, the purest lily upon earth! Ah! so that was a dream, was -it? And her mother--her mother says I am to go away?” - -“No, indeed--no,” said Agnes, almost crying. “No, Louis, you know -better; do not misunderstand us. She is so young, so gentle, and tender. -Mamma only asked, for all our sakes, if you would consent not to say -anything _now_.” - -To this softened form of entreaty the eager young man paid not the -slightest attention. He began to use the most unblushing cajolery to -win over poor Agnes. It did not seem to be Louis; so entirely changed -was his demeanour. It was only an extremely eager and persevering -specimen of the genus “lover,” without any personal individuality at -all. - -“What! not say anything? Could anybody ask such a sacrifice?” cried this -wilful and impetuous youth. “It might, as you say, be nothing at all, -though it seems life--existence, to me. Not know whether that hand is -mine or another’s--that hand which saved me, perhaps from murder?--for -he is an old man, though he is a fiend incarnate, and I might have -killed him where he stood.” - -“Louis! Louis!” cried Agnes, gazing at him in terror and excitement. He -grew suddenly calm as he caught her eye. - -“It is quite true,” he said with a grave and solemn calmness. “This man, -who has cursed my life, and made it miserable--this man, who dared -insult me before _her_ and you--do you think I could have been a man, -and still have borne that intolerable crown of wrong?” - -As he spoke, he began to pace the little parlour with impatient steps -and a clouded brow. Mrs Atheling, who had heard his voice, but had -restrained her anxious curiosity as long as possible, now came down -quietly, unable to keep back longer. Louis sprang to her side, took her -hand, led her about the room, pleading, reasoning, persuading. Mamma, -whose good heart from the first moment had been an entire and perfect -traitor, was no match at all for Louis. She gave in to him unresistingly -before half his entreaties were over; she did not make even half so good -a stand as Agnes, who secretly was in the young lover’s interest too. -But when they had just come to the conclusion that he should be -permitted to see Marian, Marian herself, whom no one expected, suddenly -entered the room. The young beauty’s pretty brow was lowering more than -any one before had ever seen it lower; a petulant contraction was about -her red lips, and a certain angry dignity, as of an offended child, in -her bearing. “Surely something very strange has happened this morning,” -said Marian, with a little heat; “even mamma looks as if she knew some -wonderful secret. I suppose every one is to hear of it but me.” - -At this speech the dismayed conspirators against Marian’s peace fell -back and separated. The other impetuous principal in the matter hastened -at once to the angry Titania, who only bowed, and did not even look at -him. The truth was, that Marian, much abashed at thought of her own -sudden impulse, was never in a mood less propitious; she felt as if she -herself had not done quite right--as if somehow she had betrayed a -secret of her own, and, now found out and detected, was obliged to use -the readiest means to cover it up again; and, besides, the hasty little -spirit, which had both pride and temper of its own, could not at all -endure the idea of having been petted and excused this morning, as if -“something had happened” last night. Now that it was perfectly evident -nothing had happened--now that Louis stood before her safe, handsome, -and eager, Marian concluded that it was time for her to stand upon her -defence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -CLOUDS. - - -The end of it all was, of course--though Louis had an amount of trouble -in the matter which that impetuous young gentleman had not counted -upon--that Marian yielded to his protestations, and came forth full of -the sweetest agitation, tears, and blushes, to be taken to the kind -breast of the mother who was scarcely less agitated, and to be regarded -with a certain momentary awe, amusement, and sympathy by Agnes, whose -visionary youthful reverence for this unknown magician was just tempered -by the equally youthful imp of mischief which plays tricks upon the -same. But Mrs Atheling’s brow grew sadder and sadder with anxiety, as -she looked at the young man who now claimed to call her mother. What he -was to do--how Marian could bear all the chances and changes of the -necessarily long probation before them--what influence Lord Winterbourne -might have upon the fortunes of his supposed son--what Papa himself -would say to this sudden betrothal, and how he could reconcile himself -to receive a child, and a disgraced child of his old enemy, into his own -honourable house,--these considerations fluttered the heart and -disturbed the peace of the anxious mother, who already began to blame -herself heavily, yet did not see, after all, what else she could have -done. A son of shame, and of Lord Winterbourne!--a young man hitherto -dependent, with no training, no profession, no fortune, of no use in the -world. And her prettiest Marian!--the sweet face which won homage -everywhere, and which every other face involuntarily smiled to see. -Darker and darker grew the cloud upon the brow of Mrs Atheling; she went -in, out of sight of these two happy young dreamers, with a sick heart. -For the first time in her life she was dismayed at the thought of -writing to her husband, and sat idly in a chair drawn back from her -window, wearying herself out with most vain and unprofitable -speculations as to things which might have been done to avert this fate. - -No very long time elapsed, however, before Mrs Atheling found something -else to occupy her thoughts. Hannah came in to the parlour, solemnly -announcing a man at the door who desired to see her. With a natural -presentiment, very naturally arising from the excited state of her own -mind, Mrs Atheling rose, and hastened to the door. The man was an -attorney’s clerk, threadbare and respectable, who gave into her hand an -open paper, and after it a letter. The paper, which she glanced over -with hasty alarm, was a formal notice to quit, on pain of ejection, from -the house called the Old Wood Lodge, the property of Reginald, Lord -Winterbourne. “The property of Lord Winterbourne!--it is our--it is my -husband’s property. What does this mean?” cried Mrs Atheling. - -“I know nothing of the business, but Mr Lewis’s letter will explain it,” -said the messenger, who was civil but not respectful; and the anxious -mistress of the house hastened in with great apprehension and perplexity -to open the letter and see what this explanation was. It was not a very -satisfactory one. With a friendly spirit, yet with a most cautious and -lawyer-like regard to the interest of his immediate client, Mr Lewis, -the same person who had been intrusted with the will of old Miss -Bridget, and who was Lord Winterbourne’s solicitor, announced the -intention of his principal to “resume possession” of Miss Bridget’s -little house. “You will remember,” wrote the lawyer, “that I did not -fail to point out to you at the time the insecure nature of the tenure -by which this little property was held. Granted, as I believe it was, as -a gift simply for the lifetime of Miss Bridget Atheling, she had, in -fact, no right to bequeath it to any one, and so much of her will as -relates to this is null and void. I am informed that there are documents -in existence proving this fact beyond the possibility of dispute, and -that any resistance would be entirely vain. As a friend, I should advise -you not to attempt it; the property is actually of very small value, and -though I speak against the interest of my profession, I think it right -to warn you against entering upon an expensive lawsuit with a man like -Lord Winterbourne, to whom money is no consideration. For the sake of -your family, I appeal to you whether it would not be better, though at a -sacrifice of feeling, to give up without resistance the old house, which -is of very little value to any one, if it were not for my lord’s whim of -having no small proprietors in his neighbourhood. I should be sorry that -he was made acquainted with this communication. I write to you merely -from private feelings, as an old friend.” - -Mrs Atheling rose from her seat hastily, holding the papers in her hand. -“Resist him!” she exclaimed--“yes, certainly, to the very last;” but at -that moment there came in at the half-open door a sound of childish -riot, exuberant and unrestrained, which arrested the mother’s words, and -subdued her like a spell. Bell and Beau, rather neglected and thrown -into the shade for the first time in their lives, were indemnifying -themselves in the kitchen, where they reigned over Hannah with the most -absolute and unhesitating mastery. Mamma fell back again into her seat, -silent, pale, and with pain and terror in her face. Was this the first -beginning of the blight of the Evil Eye? - -And then she remained thinking over it sadly and in silence; sometimes, -disposed to blame herself for her rashness--sometimes with a natural -rising of indignation, disposed to repeat again her first outcry, and -resist this piece of oppression--sometimes starting with the sudden -fright of an anxious and timid mother, and almost persuaded at once, -without further parley, to flee to her own safe home, and give up, -without a word, the new inheritance. But she was not learned in the ways -of the world, in law, or necessary ceremonial. Resist was a mere vague -word to her, meaning she knew not what, and no step occurred to her in -the matter but the general necessity for “consulting a lawyer,” which -was of itself an uncomfortable peril. As she argued with herself, -indeed, Mrs Atheling grew quite hopeless, and gave up the whole matter. -She had known, through many changes, the success of this bad man, and in -her simple mind had no confidence in the abstract power of the law to -maintain the cause, however just, of William Atheling, who would have -hard ado to pay a lawyer’s fees, against Lord Winterbourne. - -Then she called in her daughters, whom Louis then only, and with much -reluctance, consented to leave, and held a long and agitated counsel -with them. The girls were completely dismayed by the news, and mightily -impressed by that new and extraordinary “experience” of a real enemy, -which captivated Agnes’s wandering imagination almost as much as it -oppressed her heart. As for Marian, she sat looking at them blankly, -turning from Mamma to Agnes, and from Agnes to Mamma, with a vague -perception that this was somehow because of Louis, and a very heavy -heartbreaking depression in her agitated thoughts. Marian, though she -was not very imaginative, had caught a tinge of the universal romance at -this crisis of her young life, and, cast down with the instant omen of -misfortune, saw clouds and storms immediately rising through that golden -future, of which Louis’s prophecies had been so pleasant to hear. - -And there could be no doubt that this suddenly formed engagement, hasty, -imprudent, and ill-advised as it was, added a painful complication to -the whole business. If it was known--and who could conceal from the -gossip of the village the constant visits of Louis, or his undisguised -devotion?--then it would set forth evidently in public opposition the -supposed father and son. “But Lord Winterbourne is not his father!” -cried Marian suddenly, with tears and vehemence. Mrs Atheling shook her -head, and said that people supposed so at least, and this would be a -visible sign of war. - -But no one in the family counsel could advise anything in this troubled -moment. Charlie was coming--that was a great relief and comfort. “If -Charlie knows anything, it should be the law,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden joy in the thought that Charlie had been full six months at it, -and ought to be very well informed indeed upon the subject. And then -Agnes brought her blotting-book, and the good mother sat down to write -the most uncomfortable letter she had ever written to her husband in all -these two-and-twenty years. There was Marian’s betrothal, first of all, -which was so very unlike to please him--he who did not even know Louis, -and could form no idea of his personal gifts and compensations--and then -there was the news of this summons, and of the active and powerful enemy -suddenly started up against them. Mrs Atheling took a very long time -composing the letter, but sighed heavily to think how soon Papa would -read it, to the destruction of all his pleasant fancies about his little -home in the country, and his happy children. Charlie was coming--they -had all a certain faith in Charlie, boy though he was; it was the only -comfort in the whole prospect to the anxious eyes of Mamma. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -THE REV. LIONEL RIVERS. - - -The next day, somewhat to the consternation of this disturbed and -troubled family, they were honoured by a most unlooked-for and solemn -visit from the Rector. The Rector, in stature, form, and features, -considerably resembled Miss Anastasia, and was, as she herself -confessed, an undeniable Rivers, bearing all the family features and not -a little of the family temper. He seemed rather puzzled himself to give -a satisfactory reason for his call--saying solemnly that he thought it -right for the priest of the parish to be acquainted with all his -parishioners--words which did not come with half so much unction or -natural propriety from his curved and disdainful lip, as they would have -done from the bland voice of Mr Mead. Then he asked some ordinary -questions how they liked the neighbourhood, addressing himself to Mamma, -though his very grave and somewhat haughty looks were principally -directed to Agnes. Mrs Atheling, in spite of her dislike of the supreme -altitude of his churchmanship, had a natural respect for the clergyman, -who seemed the natural referee and adviser of people in trouble; and -though he was a Rivers, and the next heir after Lord Winterbourne’s only -son, it by no means followed on that account that the Rector entertained -any affectionate leaning towards Lord Winterbourne. - -“I knew your old relative very well,” said the Rector; “she was a woman -of resolute will and decided opinions, though her firmness, I am afraid, -was in the cause of error rather than of truth. I believe she always -entertained a certain regard for me, connected as she was with the -family, though I felt it my duty to warn her against her pernicious -principles before her death.” - -“Her pernicious principles! Was poor Aunt Bridget an unbeliever?” cried -Agnes, with an involuntary interest, and yet an equally involuntary and -natural spirit of opposition to this stately young man. - -“The word is a wide one. No--not an unbeliever, nor even a disbeliever, -so far as I am aware,” said the churchman, “but, even more dangerous -than a positive error of doctrine, holding these fatal delusions -concerning private opinion, which have been the bane of the Church.” - -There was a little pause after this, the unaccustomed audience being -somewhat startled, yet quite unprepared for controversy, and standing -beside in a little natural awe of the Rector, who ought to know so much -better than they did. Agnes alone felt a stirring of unusual -pugnacity--for once in her life she almost forgot her natural -diffidence, and would have liked nothing better than to throw down her -woman’s glove to the rampant churchman, and make a rash and vehement -onslaught upon him, after the use and wont of feminine controversy. - -“My own conviction is,” said the Rector with a little solemnity, yet -with a dissatisfied and fiery gleam in his eager dark eyes, “that there -is no medium between the infallible authority of the Church and the -wildest turmoil of heresy. This one rock a man may plant his foot -upon--all beyond is a boundless and infinite chaos. Therefore I count it -less perilous to be ill-informed or indifferent concerning some portions -of the creed, than to be shaken in the vital point of the Church’s -authority--the only flood-gate that can be closed against the boiling -tide of error, which, but for this safeguard, would overpower us all.” - -Having made this statement, which somehow he enunciated as if it were a -solemn duty, Mr Rivers left the subject abruptly, and returned to common -things. - -“You are acquainted, I understand,” he said, with haste and a little -emotion, “with my unfortunate young relatives at the Hall?” - -The question was so abrupt and unlooked for, that all the three, even -Mamma, who was not very much given to blushing, coloured violently. -“Louis and Rachel? Yes; we know them very well,” said Mrs Atheling, with -as much composure as she could summon to meet the emergency--which -certainly was not enough to prevent the young clergyman from discovering -a rather unusual degree of interest in the good mother’s answer. He -looked surprised, and turned a hurried glance upon the girls, who were -equally confused under his scrutiny. It was impossible to say which was -the culprit, if culprit there was. Mr Rivers, who was tall enough at -first, visibly grew a little taller, and became still more stately in -his demeanour than before. - -“I am not given to gossip,” he said, with a faint smile, “yet I had -heard that they were much here, and had given their confidence to your -family. I have not been so favoured myself,” he added, with a slight -curl of disdain upon his handsome lip. “The youth I know nothing of, -except that he has invariably repelled any friendship I could have shown -him; but I feel a great interest in the young lady. Had my sister been -in better health, we might have offered her an asylum, but that is -impossible in our present circumstances. You are doubtless better -acquainted with their prospects and intentions than I am. In case of the -event which people begin to talk about, what does Lord Winterbourne -intend they should do?” - -“We have not heard of any event--what is it?” cried Mrs Atheling, very -anxiously. - -“I have no better information than common report,” said the Rector; “yet -it is likely enough--and I see no reason to doubt; it is said that Lord -Winterbourne is likely to marry again.” - -They all breathed more freely after this; and poor little Marian, who -had been gazing at Mr Rivers with a blanched face and wide-open eyes, in -terror of some calamity, drooped forward upon the table by which she was -sitting, and hid her face in her hands with sudden relief. Was that all? - -“I was afraid you were about to tell us of some misfortune,” said Mrs -Atheling. - -“It is no misfortune, of course; nor do I suppose they are like to be -very jealous of a new claimant upon Lord Winterbourne’s affections,” -said the Rector; “but it seems unlikely, under their peculiar and most -unhappy circumstances, that they can remain at the Hall.” - -“Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Marian, in a half whisper, “he will be so very, -_very_ glad to go away!” - -“What I mean,” resumed Mr Rivers, who by no means lost this, though he -took no immediate notice of it--“what I wish is, that you would kindly -undertake to let them know my very sincere wish to be of service to -them. I cannot at all approve of the demeanour of the young man--yet -there may be excuses for him. If I can assist them in any legitimate -way, I beg you to assure them my best endeavours are at their service.” - -“Thank you, sir, thank you--thank you!” cried Mrs Atheling, faltering, -and much moved. “God knows they have need of friends!” - -“I suppose so,” said the Rector; “it does not often happen--friends are -woeful delusions in most cases--and indeed I have little hope of any man -who does not stand alone.” - -“Yet you offer service,” said Agnes, unable quite to control her -inclination to dispute his dogmatisms; “is not your opinion a -contradiction to your kindness?” - -“I hold no opinions,” said the Rector haughtily, with, for the instant, -a superb absurdity almost equal to Mr Endicott: he perceived it himself, -however, immediately, reddened, flashed his fiery eyes with a half -defiance upon his young questioner, and made an incomprehensible -explanation. - -“I am as little fortified against self-contradiction as my fellows,” -said Mr Rivers, “but I eschew vague opinions; they are dangerous for all -men, and doubly dangerous in a clergyman. I may be wrong in matters of -feeling; opinions I have nothing to do with--they are not in my way.” - -Again there followed a pause, for no one present was at all acquainted -with sentiments like these. - -“I am not sure whether we will continue long here,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a slight hesitation, half afraid of him, yet feeling, in spite of -herself, that she could consult no one so suitably as the Rector. “Lord -Winterbourne is trying to put us away; he says the house was only given -to old Miss Bridget for her life!” - -“Ah! but that is false, is it not?” said the Rector without any -ceremony. - -Mrs Atheling brightened at once. “We think so,” she said, encouraged by -the perfectly cool tone of this remark, which proved a false statement -on the part of my lord no wonder at all to his reverend relative; “but, -indeed, the lawyer advises us not to contest the matter, since Lord -Winterbourne does not care for expense, and we are not rich. I do not -know what my husband will say; but I am sure I will have a great grudge -at the law if we are forced, against justice, to leave the Old Wood -Lodge.” - -“Papa says it was once the property of the family, long, long before -Aunt Bridget got it from Lord Winterbourne,” said Agnes, with a little -eagerness. This shadow of ancestry was rather agreeable to the -imagination of Agnes. - -“And have you done anything--are you doing anything?” said the Hector. -“I should be glad to send my own man of business to you; certainly you -ought not to give up your property without at least a legal opinion upon -the matter.” - -“We expect my son to-morrow,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little pride. -“My son, though he is very young, has a great deal of judgment; and then -he has been--brought up to the law.” - -The Rector bowed gravely as he rose. “In that case, I can only offer my -good wishes,” said the churchman, “and trust that we may long continue -neighbours in spite of Lord Winterbourne. My sister would have been -delighted to call upon you, had she been able, but she is quite a -confirmed invalid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. Good -morning, madam; good morning, Miss Atheling. I am extremely glad to have -met with you.” - -The smallest shade of emphasis in the world invested with a different -character than usual these clergymanly and parochial words: for the -double expression of satisfaction was addressed to Agnes; it was to her -pointedly that his stately but reverential bow bore reference. He had -come to see the family; but he was glad to know Agnes, the intelligent -listener who followed his sermons--the eager bright young eyes which -flashed warfare and defiance on his solemn deliverances--and, unawares -to herself, saw through the pretences of his disturbed and troubled -spirit. Lionel Rivers was not very sensitively alive to the beautiful: -he saw little to attract his eye, much less his heart, in that pretty -drooping Marian, who was to every other observer the sweetest little -downcast princess who ever gained the magic succours of a fairy tale. -The Rector scarcely turned a passing glance upon her, as she sat in her -tender beauty by the table, leaning her beautiful head upon her hands. -But with a different kind of observation from that of Mr Agar, he read -the bright and constant comment on what he said himself, and what others -said, that ran and sparkled in the face of Agnes. She who never had any -lovers, had attracted one at least to watch her looks and her movements -with a jealous eye. He was not “in love,”--not the smallest hairbreadth -in the world. In his present mood, he would gladly have seen her form an -order of sisters, benevolent votaresses of St Frideswide, or of some -unknown goddess of the medieval world, build an antique house in the -“pointed” style, and live a female bishop ruling over the inferior -parish, and being ruled over by the clergy. Such a colleague the Rector -fancied would be highly “useful,” and he had never seen any one whom he -could elect to the office with so much satisfaction as Agnes Atheling. -How far she would have felt herself complimented by this idea was -entirely a different question, and one of which the Rector never -thought. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -CHARLIE. - - -The next day was the day of Charlie’s arrival. His mother and sisters -looked for him with anxiety, pleasure, and a little nervousness--much -concerned about Papa’s opinion, and not at all indifferent to Charlie’s -own. Rachel, who for two days past had been in a state of perfectly -flighty and overpowering happiness, joined the Athelings this evening, -at the risk of being “wanted” by Mrs Edgerley, and falling under her -displeasure, with a perfectly innocent and unconscious disregard of any -possible wish on the part of her friends to be alone with their new-come -brother. Rachel could form no idea whatever of that half-wished-for, -half-dreaded judgment of Papa, the anticipation of which so greatly -subdued Marian, and made Mrs Atheling herself so grave and pale. Louis, -with a clearer perception of the family crisis, kept away, though, as -his sister wisely judged, at no great distance, chewing the cud of -desperate and bitter fancy, almost half-repenting, for the moment, of -the rash attachment which had put himself and all his disadvantages upon -the judicial examination of a father and a brother. The idea of this -family committee sitting upon him, investigating and commenting upon his -miserable story, galled to the utmost the young man’s fiery spirit. He -had no real idea whatever of that good and affectionate father, who was -to Marian the first of men,--and had not the faintest conception of the -big boy. So it was only an abstract father and brother--the most -disagreeable of the species--at whom Louis chafed in his irritable -imagination. He too had come already out of the first hurried flush of -delight and triumph, to consider the step he had taken. Strangely into -the joy and pride of the young lover’s dream came bitter and heavy -spectres of self-reproach and foreboding--he, who had ventured to bind -to himself the heart of a sensitive and tender girl--he, who had already -thrown a shadow over her young life, filled her with premature -anxieties, and communicated to these young eyes, instead of their -fearless natural brightness, a wistful forecasting gaze into an adverse -world--he, who had not even a name to share with his bride! On this -memorable evening, Louis paced about by himself, crushing down the -rusted fern as he strode through the wood in painful self-communion. The -wind was high among the trees, and grew wild and fitful as the night -advanced, bringing down showers of leaves into all the hollows, and -raving with the most desolate sound in nature among the high tops of the -Scotch firs, which stood grouped by themselves, a reserved and austere -brotherhood, on one side of Badgeley Wood. Out of this leafy wilderness, -the evening lay quiet enough upon the open fields, the wan gleams of -water, and the deserted highway; but the clouds opened in a clear rift -of wistful, windy, colourless sky, just over Oxford, catching with its -pale half-light the mingled pinnacles and towers. Louis was too much -engrossed either to see or to hear the eerie sights and sounds of the -night, yet they had their influence upon him unawares. - -In the mean time, and at the same moment, in the quiet country gloaming, -which was odd, but by no means melancholy to him, Charlie trudged -sturdily up the high-road, carrying his own little bag, and thinking his -own thoughts. And down the same road, one talking a good deal, one very -little, and one not at all, the three girls went to meet him, three -light and graceful figures, in dim autumnal dresses--for now the -evenings became somewhat cold--fit figures for this sweet half-light, -which looked pleasant here, though it was so pale and ghostly in the -wood. The first was Rachel, who, greatly exhilarated by her unusual -freedom, and by all that had happened during these few days past, -almost led the little party, protesting she was sure to know Charlie, -and very near giddy in her unthinking and girlish delight. The second -was Agnes, who was very thoughtful and somewhat grave, yet still could -answer her companion; the third, a step behind, coming along very slow -and downcast, with her veil over her drooping face, and a shadow upon -her palpitating little heart, was Marian, in whose gentle mind was -something very like a heavy and despondent shadow of the tumult which -distracted her betrothed. Yet not that either--for there was no tumult, -but only a pensive and oppressive sadness, under which the young -sufferer remained very still, not caring to say a word. “What would papa -say?” that was the only audible voice in Marian Atheling’s heart. - -“There now, I am sure it is him--there he is,” cried Rachel; and it was -Charlie, beyond dispute, shouldering his carpet-bag. The greeting was -kindly enough, but it was not at all sentimental, which somewhat -disappointed Rachel, at whom Charlie gazed with visible curiosity. When -they turned with him, leading him home, Marian fell still farther back, -and drooped more than ever. Perhaps the big boy was moved with a -momentary sympathy--more likely it was simple mischief. “So,” said -Charlie in her ear, “the Yankee’s cut out.” - -Marian started a little, looked at him eagerly, and put her hand with an -appealing gesture on his arm. “Oh, Charlie, what did papa say?” asked -Marian, with her heart in her eyes. - -Charlie wavered for a moment between his boyish love of torture and a -certain dormant tenderness at the bottom of his full man’s heart, which -this great event happening to Marian had touched into life all at once. -The kinder sentiment prevailed after a moment’s pause of wicked -intention. “My father was not angry, May,” said the lad; and he drew his -shrinking sister’s pretty hand through his own arm roughly but kindly, -pleased to feel his own boyish strength a support to her. Marian was so -young too--very little beyond the rapid vicissitudes of a child. She -bounded forward on Charlie’s arm at the words, drooping no longer, but -triumphant and at ease in a moment, hurrying him up the ascending -high-road at a pace which did not at all suit Charlie, and outstripping -the entire party in her sudden flight to her mother with the good news. -That Papa should not be angry was all that Marian desired or hoped. - -At the door, in the darkness, the hasty girl ran into Mamma’s arms. “My -father is not angry,” she exclaimed, out of breath, faithfully repeating -Charlie’s words; and then Marian, once more the most serviceable of -domestic managers, hastened to light the candles on the tea-table, to -draw the chairs around this kindly board, to warn Hannah of the approach -of the heir of the house. Hannah came out into the hall to stand behind -Mrs Atheling, and drop a respectful curtsy to the young gentleman. The -punctilious old family attendant would have been inconsolable had she -missed this opportunity of “showing her manners,” and was extremely -grateful to Miss Marian, who did not forget her, though she had so many -things to think of of her own. - -The addition of Rachel slightly embarrassed the family party, and it had -the most marvellous effect upon Charlie, who had never before known any -female society except that of his sisters. Charlie was full three years -younger than the young stranger--distance enough to justify her in -treating him as a boy, and him in conceiving the greatest admiration for -her. Charlie, of all things in the world, grew actually _shy_ in the -company of his sisters’ friend. He became afraid of committing himself, -and at last began partly to believe his mother’s often-repeated -strictures on his “manners.” He did unquestionably look so big, so -_brusque_, so clumsy, beside this pretty little fairy Rachel, and his -own graceful sisters. Charlie hitched up his great shoulders, retreated -under the shadow of all those cloudy furrows on his brow, and had -actually nothing to say. And Mrs Atheling, occupied with her husband’s -long and anxious letter, forbore to question him; and the girls, anxious -as they still were, did not venture to say anything before Rachel. They -were not at all at their ease, and somewhat dull as they sat in the dim -parlour, inventing conversation, and trying not to show their visitor -that she was in the way. But she found it out at last, with a little -uneasy start and blush, and hastened to get her bonnet and say -good-night. No one seemed to fear that it would be difficult to find -Rachel’s escort, who was found accordingly the moment they appeared in -the garden, starting, as he did the first time of their meeting, from -the darkness of the angle at the end of the hedge. Marian ran forward to -him, giving Charlie’s message as it came all rosy and hopeful through -the alembic of her own comforted imagination. “Papa is quite pleased,” -said Marian, with her smiles and her blushes. She did not perceive the -suppressed vexation of Louis’s brow as he tried to brighten at her news. -For Marian could not have understood how this haughty and undisciplined -young spirit could scarcely manage to bow itself to the approbation and -judgment even of Papa. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -A CONSULTATION. - - -“And now, Charlie, my dear boy, I quite calculate on your knowing about -it, since you have been so long at the law,” said Mrs Atheling: “your -father is so much taken up about other matters, that he really says very -little about this. What are we to do?” - -Charlie, whose mobile brow was shifting up and shifting down with all -the marks of violent cogitation, bit his thumb at this, and took time -before he answered it. “The first thing to be done,” said Charlie, with -a little dogmatism, “is to see what evidence can be had--that’s what we -have got to do. Has nobody found any papers of the old lady’s?--she was -sure to have a lot--all your old women have.” - -“No one even thought of looking,” said Agnes, suddenly glancing up at -the old cabinet with all its brass rings--while Marian, restored to all -her gay spirits, promptly took her brother to task for his contempt of -old women. “You ought to see Miss Anastasia--she is a great deal bigger -than you,” cried Marian, pulling a shaggy lock of Charlie’s black hair. - -“Stuff!--who’s Miss Anastasia?” was the reply. - -“And that reminds me,” said Mrs Atheling, “that we ought to have let her -know. Do you remember what she said, Agnes?--she was quite sure my lord -was thinking of something--and we were to let her know.” - -“What about, mother?--and who’s Miss Anastasia?” asked Charlie once -more: he had to repeat his question several times before any answer -came. - -“Who is Miss Anastasia? My dear, I forgot you were a stranger. She -is--well, really I cannot pretend to describe Miss Rivers,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little nervousness. “I have always had a great respect -for her, and so has your father. She is a very remarkable person, -Charlie. I never have known any one like her all my life.” - -“But _who_ is she, mother? Is she any good?” repeated the impatient -youth. - -Mrs Atheling looked at her son with a certain horror. - -“She is one of the most remarkable persons in the county,” said Mrs -Atheling, with all the local spirit of a Banburyshire woman, born and -bred--“she is a great scholar, and a lady of fortune, and the only child -of the old lord. How strange the ways of Providence are, children!--what -a difference it might have made in everything had Miss Anastasia been -born a man instead of a woman.” “Indeed,” confessed Mamma, breaking off -in an under-tone, “I do really believe it would have been more suitable, -even for herself.” - -“I suppose we’re to come at it at last,” said Charlie despairingly: -“she’s a daughter of the tother lord--now, I want to know what she’s got -to do with us.” - -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling eagerly, and with evident pleasure, “I -wrote to your father, I am sure, all about it. She has called upon us -twice in the most friendly way, and has quite taken a liking for the -girls.” - -“And she was old Aunt Bridget’s pupil, and her great friend; and it was -on account of her that the old lord gave Aunt Bridget this house,” added -Agnes, finding out, though not very cleverly, what Charlie’s questions -meant. - -“And she hates Lord Winterbourne,” said Marian in an expressive -appendix, with a distinct emphasis of sympathy and approval on the -words. - -“Now I call that satisfaction,” said Charlie,--“that’s something like -the thing. So I suppose she must have had to do with the whole business, -and knows all about it--eh? Why didn’t you tell me so at once?--why, -she’s the first person to see, of course. I had better seek her out -to-morrow morning--first thing.” - -“You!” Mamma looked with motherly anxiety, mixed with disapproval. It -was so impossible, even with the aid of all partialities, to make out -Charlie to be handsome. And Miss Anastasia came of a handsome race, and -had a prejudice in favour of good looks. Then, though his large loose -limbs began to be a little more firmly knitted and less unmanageable, -and though he was now drawing near eighteen, he was still only a boy. -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “she is a very particular old lady, and -takes dislikes sometimes, and very proud besides, and might not desire -to be intruded on; and I think, after all, as you do not know her, and -they do, I think it would be much better if the girls were to go.” - -“The girls!” exclaimed Charlie with a boy’s contempt--“a great deal they -know about the business! You listen to me, mother. I’ve been reading up -hard for six months, and I know something about the evidence that does -for a court of law--women don’t--it’s not in reason; for I’d like to see -the woman that could stand old Foggo’s office, pegging in at these old -fellows for precedent, and all that stuff. You don’t suppose I mind what -your old lady thinks of me--and I know what I want, which is the main -thing, after all. You tell me where she lives--that’s all I want to -know--and see if I don’t make something of it before another day.” - -“Where she lives?--it is six miles off, Charlie: you don’t know the -way--and, indeed, you don’t know her either, my poor boy.” - -“Don’t you trouble about that--that’s my business, mother,” said -Charlie; “and a man can’t lose his way in the country unless he tries--a -long road, and a fingerpost at every crossing. When a man wants to lose -himself, he had better go to the City--there’s no fear in your plain -country roads. You set me on the right way--you know all the places -hereabout--and just for this once, mother, trust me, and let me manage -it my own way.” - -“I always did trust you, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling evasively; but she -did not half like her son’s enterprise, and greatly objected to put Miss -Anastasia’s friendship in jeopardy by such an intrusion as this. - -However, the young gentleman now declared himself tired, and was -conducted up-stairs in state, by his mother and sisters--first to Mrs -Atheling’s own room to inspect it, and kiss, half reluctantly, half with -genuine fondness, the little slumbering cherub faces of Bell and Beau. -Then he had a glimpse of the snowy decorations of that young-womanly and -pretty apartment of his sisters, and was finally ushered into the little -back-room, his own den, from which the lumber had been cleared on -purpose for his reception. They left him then to his repose, and dreams, -if the couch of this young gentleman was ever visited by such fairy -visitants, and retired again themselves to that dim parlour, to read -over in conclave Papa’s letter, and hold a final consultation as to what -everybody should do. - -Papa’s letter was very long, very anxious, and very affectionate, and -had cost Papa all the leisure of two long evenings, and all his -unoccupied hours for two days at the office. He blamed his wife a -little, but it was very quietly,--he was grieved for the premature step -the young people had taken, but did not say a great deal about his -grief,--and he was extremely concerned, and evidently did not express -half of his concern, about his pretty Marian, for whom he permitted -himself to say he had expected a very different fate. There was not much -said of personal repugnance to Louis, and little comment upon his -parentage, but they could see well enough that Papa felt the matter very -deeply, and that it needed all his affection for themselves, and all his -charity for the stranger, to reconcile him to it. But they were both -very young, he said, _and must do nothing precipitate_--which sentence -Papa made very emphatic by a very black and double underscoring, and -which Mrs Atheling, but fortunately not Marian, understood to mean that -it was a possibility almost to be hoped for, that this might turn out -one of those boy-and-girl engagements made to be broken, and never come -to anything after all. - -It was consolatory certainly, and set their minds at rest, but it was -not a very cheering letter, and by no means justified Marian’s joyful -announcement that “papa was quite pleased.” And so much was the good -father taken up with his child’s fortune, that it was only in a -postscript he took any notice of Lord Winterbourne’s summons and their -precarious holding of the Old Wood Lodge. “We will resist, of course,” -said Papa. He did not know a great deal more about how to resist than -they did, so he wisely left the question to Charlie, and to “another -day.” - -And now came the question, what everybody was to do? which gradually -narrowed into much smaller limits, and became wholly concerned with what -Charlie was to do, and whether he should visit Miss Anastasia. He had -made up his mind to it with no lack of decision. What could his mother -and his sisters say, save make a virtue of necessity, and yield their -assent? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -CHARLIE’S MISSION. - - -Early on the next morning, accordingly, Charlie set out for Abingford. -It was with difficulty he escaped a general superintendence of his -toilette, and prevailed upon his mother to content herself with brushing -his coat, and putting into something like arrangement the stray locks of -his hair; but at last, tolerably satisfied with his appearance, and -giving him many anxious instructions as to his demeanour towards Miss -Anastasia, Mrs Atheling suffered him to depart upon his important -errand. The road was the plainest of country roads, through the wood and -over the hill, with scarcely a turn to distract the regard of the -traveller. A late September morning, sunny and sweet, with yellow leaves -sometimes dropping down upon the wind, and all the autumn foliage in a -flush of many colours under the cool blue, and floating clouds of a -somewhat dullish yet kindly sky. The deep underground of ferns, where -they were not brown, were feathering away into a rich yellow, which -relieved and brought out all the more strongly the harsh dark green of -these vigorous fronds, rusted with seed; and piles of firewood stood -here and there, tied up in big fagots, provision for the approaching -winter. The birds sang gaily, still stirring among the trees; and now -and then into the still air, and far-off rural hum, came the sharp -report of a gun, or the ringing bark of a dog. Charlie pushed upon his -way, wasting little time in observation, yet observing for all that, -with the novel pleasure of a town-bred lad, and owning a certain -exhilaration in his face, and in his breast, as he sped along the -country road, with its hedges and strips of herbage; that straight, -clear, even road, with its milestones and fingerposts, and one -market-cart coming along in leisurely rural fashion, half a mile off -upon the far-seen way. The walk to Abingford was a long walk even for -Charlie, and it was nearly an hour and a half from the time of his -leaving home, when he began to perceive glimpses through the leaves of a -little maze of water, two or three streams, splitting into fantastic -islands the houses and roofs before him, and came in sight of an old -gateway, with two windows and a high peaked roof over it, which strode -across the way. Charlie, who was entirely unacquainted with such -peculiarities of architecture, made a pause of half-contemptuous boyish -observation, looking up at the windows, and supposing it must be rather -odd to live over an archway. Then he bethought him of asking a loitering -country lad to direct him to the Priory, which was done in the briefest -manner possible, by pointing round the side of the gate to a large door -which almost seemed to form part of it. “There it be,” said Charlie’s -informant, and Charlie immediately made his assault upon the big door. - -Miss Rivers was at home. He was shown into a large dim room full of -books, with open windows, and green blinds let down to the floor, -through which the visitor could only catch an uncertain glimpse of -waving branches, and a lawn which sloped to the pale little river: the -room was hung with portraits, which there was not light enough to see, -and gave back a dull glimmer from the glass of its great bookcases. -There was a large writing-table before the fireplace, and a great -easy-chair placed by it. This was where Miss Anastasia transacted -business; but Charlie had not much time, if he had inclination, for a -particular survey of the apartment, for he could hear a quick and -decided step descending a stair, as it seemed, and crossing over the -hall. “Charles Atheling--who’s _Charles_ Atheling?” said a peremptory -voice outside. “I know no one of the name.” - -With the words on her lips Miss Anastasia entered the room. She wore a -loose morning-dress, belted round her waist with a buckled girdle, and a -big tippet of the same; and her cap, which was not intended to be -pretty, but only to be comfortable, came down close over her ears, snow -white, and of the finest cambric, but looking very homely and familiar -indeed to the puzzled eyes of Charlie. Not her homely cap, however, nor -her odd dress, could make Miss Anastasia less imperative or formidable. -“Well sir,” she said, coming in upon him without very much ceremony, -“which of the Athelings do you belong to, and what do you want with me?” - -“I belong to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Charlie, almost as briefly, “and -I want to ask what you know about it, and how it came into Aunt -Bridget’s hands.” - -“What I know about it? Of course I know everything about it,” said Miss -Anastasia. “So you’re young Atheling, are you? You’re not at all like -your pretty sisters; not clever either, so far as I can see, eh? What -are you good for, boy?” - -Charlie did not say “stuff!” aloud, but it was only by a strong effort -of self-control. He was not at all disposed to give any answer to the -question. “What has to be done in the mean time is to save my father’s -property,” said Charlie, with a boyish flush of offence. - -“Save it, boy! who’s threatening your father’s property? What! do you -mean to tell me already that he’s fallen foul of Will Atheling?” said -the old lady, drawing her big easy-chair to her big writing-table, and -motioning Charlie to draw near. “Eh? why don’t you speak? tell me the -whole at once.” - -“Lord Winterbourne has sent us notice to leave,” said Charlie; “he says -the Old Wood Lodge was only Aunt Bridget’s for life, and is his now. I -have set the girls to look up the old lady’s papers; we ourselves know -nothing about it, and I concluded the first thing to be done was to come -and ask you.” - -“Good,” said Miss Anastasia; “you were perfectly right. Of course it is -a lie.” - -This was said perfectly in a matter-of-course fashion, without the least -idea, apparently, on the part of the old lady, that there was anything -astonishing in the lie which came from Lord Winterbourne. - -“I know everything about it,” she continued; “my father made over the -little house to my dear old professor, when we supposed she would have -occasion to leave me: _that_ turned out a vain separation, thanks to -_him_ again;” and here Miss Rivers grew white for an instant, and -pressed her lips together. “Please Heaven, my boy, he’ll not be -successful this time. No. I know everything about it; we’ll foil my lord -in this.” - -“But there must have been a deed,” said Charlie; “do you know where the -papers are?” - -“Papers! I tell you I am acquainted with every circumstance--I myself. -You can call me as a witness,” said the old lady. “No, I can’t tell you -where the papers are. What’s about them? eh? Do you mean to say they are -of more consequence than me?” - -“There are sure to be documents on the other side,” said Charlie; “the -original deed would settle the question, without needing even a trial: -without it Lord Winterbourne has the better chance. Personal testimony -is not equal to documents in a case like this.” - -“Young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, drawing herself up to her full -height, “do you think a jury of this county would weigh _his_ word -against mine?” - -Charlie was considerably embarrassed. “I suppose not,” he said, somewhat -abruptly; “but this is not a thing of words. Lord Winterbourne will -never appear at all; but if he has any papers to produce proving his -case, the matter will be settled at once; and unless we have -counterbalancing evidence of the same kind, we’d better give it up -before it comes that length.” - -He said this half impatient, half despairing. Miss Rivers evidently took -up this view of the question with dissatisfaction; but as he persevered -in it, came gradually to turn her thoughts to other means of assisting -him. “But I know of no papers,” she said, with disappointment; “my -father’s solicitor, to be sure, he is the man to apply to. I shall make -a point of seeing him to-morrow; and what papers I have I will look -over. By the by, now I remember it, the Old Wood Lodge belonged to her -grandfather or great-grandfather, dear old soul, and came to us by some -mortgage or forfeit. It was given back--_restored_, not bestowed upon -her. For her life!--I should like to find out now what he means by such -a lie!” - -Charlie, who could throw no light upon this subject, rose to go, -somewhat disappointed, though not at all discouraged. The old lady -stopped him on his way, carried him off to another room, and -administered, half against Charlie’s will, a glass of wine. “Now, young -Atheling, you can go,” said Miss Anastasia. “I’ll remember both you and -your business. What are they bringing you up to? eh?” - -“I’m in a solicitor’s office,” said Charlie. - -“Just so--quite right,” said Miss Anastasia. “Let me see you baffle -_him_, and I’ll be your first client. Now go away to your pretty -sisters, and tell your mother not to alarm herself. I’ll come to the -Lodge in a day or two; and if there’s documents to be had, you shall -have them. Under any circumstances,” continued the old lady, dismissing -him with a certain stateliness, “you can call _me_.” - -But though she was a great lady, and the most remarkable person in the -county, Charlie did not appreciate this permission half so much as he -would have appreciated some bit of wordy parchment. He walked back -again, much less sure of his case than when he set out with the hope of -finding all he wanted at Abingford. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -SEARCH. - - -When Charlie reached home again, very tired, and in a somewhat moody -frame of mind, he found the room littered with various old boxes -undergoing examination, and Agnes seated before the cabinet, with a -lapful of letters, and her face bright with interest and excitement, -looking them over. At the present moment, she held something of a very -perplexing nature in her hand, which the trained eye of Charlie caught -instantly, with a flash of triumph. Agnes herself was somewhat excited -about it, and Marian stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, and -vainly trying to decipher the ancient writing. “It’s something, mamma,” -cried Agnes. “I am sure, if Charlie saw it, he would think it something; -but I cannot make out what it is. Here is somebody’s seal and somebody’s -signature, and there, I am sure, that is Atheling; and a date, ‘xiij. of -May, M.D.LXXII.’ What does that mean, Marian? M. a thousand, D. five -hundred; there it is! I am sure it is an old deed--a real something -ancestral--1572!” - -“Give it to me,” said Charlie, stretching his hand for it over her -shoulder. No one had heard him come in. - -“Oh, Charlie, what did Miss Anastasia say?” cried Marian; and Agnes -immediately turned round away from the cabinet, and Mamma laid down her -work. Charlie, however, took full time to examine the yellow old -document they had found, though he did not acknowledge that it posed him -scarcely less than themselves, before he spoke. - -“She said she’d look up her papers, and speak to the old gentleman’s -solicitor. I don’t see that _she’s_ much good to us,” said Charlie. “She -says I might call her as a witness, but what’s the good of a witness -against documents? This has nothing to do with Aunt Bridget, Agnes--have -you found nothing more than this? Why, you know there must have been a -deed of some kind. The old lady could not have been so foolish as to -throw away her title. Property without title-deeds is not worth a straw; -and the man that drew up her will is my lord’s solicitor! I say, he must -be what the Yankees call a smart man, this Lord Winterbourne.” - -“I am afraid he has no principle, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling with a -sigh. - -“And a very bad man--everybody hates him,” said Marian under her breath. - -She spoke so low that she did not receive that reproving look of Mamma -which was wont to check such exclamations. Marian, though she had a will -of her own, and was never like to fall into a mere shadow and reflection -of her lover, as his poor little sister did, had unconsciously imbibed -Louis’s sentiments. She did not know what it was to _hate_, this -innocent girl. Had she seen Lord Winterbourne thrown from his horse, or -overturned out of his carriage, these ferocious sentiments would have -melted in an instant into help and pity; but in the abstract view of the -matter, Marian pronounced with emotion the great man’s sentence, -“Everybody hates Lord Winterbourne.” - -“That is what the old lady said,” exclaimed Charlie; “she asked me who I -thought would believe him against her? But that’s not the question. I -don’t want to pit one man against another. My father’s worth twenty of -Lord Winterbourne! But that’s no matter. The law cares nothing at all -for his principles. What title has he got, and what title have -you?--that’s what the law’s got to say. Now, I’ll either have something -to put in against him or I’ll not plead. It’s no use taking a step in -the matter without proof.” - -“And won’t that do, Charlie?” asked Mrs Atheling, looking wistfully at -the piece of parchment, signed and sealed, which was in Charlie’s hands. - -“That! why, it’s two hundred and fifty years old!” said Charlie. “I -don’t see what it refers to yet, but it’s very clear it can’t be to Miss -Bridget. No, mother, that won’t do.” - -“Then, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “I am very sorry to think of it; -but, after all, we have not been very long here, and we might have laid -out more money, and formed more attachments to the place, if we had gone -on much longer; and I think I shall be very glad to get back to -Bellevue. Marian, my love, don’t cry; this need not make any difference -with _anything_; but I think it is far better just to make up our minds -to it, and give up the Old Wood Lodge.” - -“Mother! do you think I mean that?” cried Charlie; “we must find the -papers, that’s what we must do. My father’s as good an Englishman as the -first lord in the kingdom; I’d not give in to the king unless he was in -the right.” - -“And not even then, unless you could not help it,” said Agnes, laughing; -“but I am not half done yet; there is still a great quantity of -letters--and I should not be at all surprised if this romantic old -cabinet, like an old bureau in a novel, had a secret drawer.” - -Animated by this idea, Marian ran to the antique little piece of -furniture, pressing every projection with her pretty fingers, and -examining into every creak. But there was no secret drawer--a fact which -became all the more apparent when a drawer _was_ discovered, which once -had closed with a spring. The spring was broken, and the once-secret -place was open, desolate, and empty. Miss Bridget, good old lady, had no -secrets, or at least she had not made any provision for them here. - -Agnes went on with her examination the whole afternoon, drawn aside and -deluded to pursue the history of old Aunt Bridget’s life through scores -of yellow old letters, under the pretence that something might be found -in some of them to throw light upon this matter; for a great many -letters of Miss Bridget’s own--careful “studies” for the production -itself--were tied up among the others; and it would have been amusing, -if it had not been sad, to sit on this little eminence of time, looking -over that strange faithful self-record of the little weaknesses, the -ladylike pretences, the grand Johnsonian diction of the old lady who was -dead. Poor old lady! Agnes became quite abashed and ashamed of herself -when she felt a smile stealing over her lip. It seemed something like -profanity to ransack the old cabinet, and smile at it. In its way, this, -as truly as the grass-mound, in Winterbourne churchyard, was Aunt -Bridget’s grave. - -But still nothing could be found. Charlie occupied himself during the -remainder of the day in giving a necessary notice to Mr Lewis the -solicitor, that they had made up their minds to resist Lord -Winterbourne’s claim; and when the evening closed in, and the candles -were lighted, Louis made his first public appearance since the arrival -of the stranger, somewhat cloudy, and full of all his old haughtiness. -This cloud vanished in an instant at the first glance. Whatever -Charlie’s qualities were, criticism was not one of them; it was clear -that though his “No” might be formidable enough of itself, Charlie had -not been a member of any solemn committee, sitting upon the pretensions -of Louis. He gave no particular regard to Louis even now, but sat poring -over the old deed, deciphering it with the most patient laboriousness, -with his head very close over the paper, and a pair of spectacles -assisting his eyes. The spectacles were lent by Mamma, who kept them, -not secretly, but with a little reserve, in her work-basket, for special -occasions when she had some very fine stitching to do, or was busy with -delicate needlework by candle-light; and nothing could have been more -oddly inappropriate to the face of Charlie, with all the furrows of his -brow rolled down over his eyebrows, and his indomitable upper-lip -pressed hard upon its fellow, than these same spectacles. Then they made -him short-sighted, and were only of use when he leaned closely over the -paper--Charlie did not mind, though his shoulders ached and his eyes -filled with water. He was making it out! - -And Agnes, for her part, sat absorbed with her lapful of old letters, -reading them all over with passing smiles and gravities, growing into -acquaintance with ever so many extinct affairs,--old stories long ago -come to the one conclusion which unites all men. Though she felt herself -virtuously reading for a purpose, she had forgotten all about the -purpose long ago, and was only wandering on and on by a strange -attraction, as if through a city of the dead. But it was quite -impossible to think of the dead among these yellow old papers--the -littlest trivial things of life were so quite living in them, in these -unconscious natural inferences and implications. And Louis and Marian, -sometimes speaking and often silent, were going through their own -present romance and story; and Mamma, in her sympathetic middle age, -with her work-basket, was tenderly overlooking all. In the little dim -country parlour, lighted with the two candles, what a strange epitome -there was of a whole world and a universal life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -DOUBTS AND FEARS. - - -Louis had not been told till this day of the peril which threatened the -little inheritance of the Athelings. When he did hear of it, the young -man gnashed his teeth with that impotent rage which is agony, desperate -under the oppression which makes even wise men mad. He scorned to say a -word of any further indignities put upon himself; but Rachel told of -them with tears and outcries almost hysterical--how my lord had -challenged him with bitter taunts to put on his livery and earn the -bread he ate--how he had been expelled from his room which he had always -occupied, and had an apartment now among the rooms of the servants--and -how Lord Winterbourne threatened to advertise him publicly as a vagabond -and runaway if he ventured beyond the bounds of the village, or tried to -thrust himself into any society. Poor little Rachel, when she came in -the morning faint and heart-broken to tell her story, could scarcely -speak for tears, and was only with great difficulty soothed to a -moderate degree of calm. But still she shrank with the strangest -repugnance from going away. It scarcely could be attachment to the home -of her youth, for it had always been an unhappy shelter--nor could it be -love for any of the family; the little timid spirit feared she knew not -what terrors in the world with which she had so little acquaintance. -Lord Winterbourne to her was not a mere English peer, of influence only -in a certain place and sphere, but an omnipotent oppressor, from whose -power it would be impossible to escape, and whose vigilance could not be -eluded. If she tried to smile at the happy devices of Agnes and Marian, -how to establish herself in their own room at Bellevue, and lodge Louis -close at hand, it was a very wan and sickly smile. She confessed it was -dreadful to think that he should remain, exposed to all these insults; -but she shrank with fear and trembling from the idea of Louis going -away. - -The next evening, just before the sun set, the whole youthful party--for -Rachel, by a rare chance, was not to be “wanted” to-night--strayed along -the grassy road in a body towards the church. Agnes and Marian were both -with Louis, who had been persuaded at last to speak of his own -persecutions, while Rachel came behind with Charlie, kindly pointing out -for him the far-off towers of Oxford, the two rivers wandering in a -maze, and all the features of the scene which Charlie did not know, and -amused, sad as she was, in her conscious seniority and womanhood, at the -shyness of the lad. Charlie actually began to be touched with a -wandering breath of sentiment, had been seen within the last two days -reading a poetry book, and was really in a very odd and suspicious -“way.” - -“No,” said Louis, upon whom his betrothed and her sister were hanging -eagerly, comforting and persuading--“no; I am not in a worse position. -It stings me at the moment, I confess; but I am filled with contempt for -the man who insults me, and his words lose their power. I could almost -be seduced to stay when he begins to struggle with me after this -downright fashion; but you are perfectly right for all that, and within -a few days I must go away.” - -“A few days? O Louis!” cried Marian, clinging to his arm. - -“Yes; I have a good mind to say to-morrow, to enhance my own value,” -said Louis. “I am tempted--ay, both to go and stay--for sake of the -clinging of these little hands. Never mind, our mother will come home -all the sooner; and what do you suppose I will do?” - -“I think indeed, Louis, you should speak to the Rector,” said Agnes, -with a little anxiety. “O no; it is very cruel of you, and you are -quite wrong; he did not mean to be very kind in that mocking way--he -meant what he said--he wanted to do you service; and so he would, and -vindicate you when you were gone, if you only would cease to be so very -grand for two minutes, and let him know.” - -“Am I so very grand?” said Louis, with a momentary pique. “I have -nothing to do with your rectors--I know what he meant, whatever he might -say.” - -“It is a great deal more than he does himself, I am sure of that,” said -Agnes with a puzzled air. “He means what he says, but he does not always -know what he means; and neither do I.” - -Marian tried a trembling little laugh at her sister’s perplexity, but -they were rather too much moved for laughing, and it did not do. - -“Now, I will tell you what my plan is,” said Louis. “I do not know what -he thinks of me, nor do I expect to find his opinion very favourable; -but as that is all I can look for anywhere, it will be the better -probation for me,” he added, with a rising colour and an air of -haughtiness. “I will not enlist, Marian. I have no longer any dreams of -the marshal’s _baton_ in the soldier’s knapsack. I give up rank and -renown to those who can strive for them. You must be content with such -honour as a man can have in his own person, Marian. When I leave you, I -will go at once to your father.” - -“Oh, Louis, will you? I am so glad, so proud!” and again the little -hands pressed his arm, and Marian looked up to him with her radiant -face. He had not felt before how perfectly magnanimous and noble his -resolution was. - -“I think it will be very right,” said Agnes, who was not so -enthusiastic; “and my father will be pleased to see you, Louis, though -you doubt him as you doubt all men. But look, who is this coming here?” - -They were scarcely coming here, seeing they were standing still under -the porch of the church, a pair of very tall figures, very nearly equal -in altitude, though much unlike each other. One of them was the Rector, -who stood with a solemn bored look at the door of his church, which he -had just closed, listening, without any answer save now and then a grave -and ceremonious bow, to the other “individual,” who was talking very -fluently, and sufficiently loud to be heard by others than the Rector. -“Oh, Agnes!” cried Marian, and “Hush, May!” answered her sister; they -both recognised the stranger at a glance. - -“Yes, this is the pride of the old country,” said the voice; “here, sir, -we can still perceive upon the sands of time the footprints of our Saxon -ancestors. I say ours, for my youthful and aspiring nation boasts as the -brightest star in her banner the Anglo-Saxon blood. _We_ preserve the -free institutions--the hatred of superstition, the freedom of private -judgment and public opinion, the great inheritance developed out of the -past; but Old England, sir, a land which I venerate, yet pity, keeps -safe in her own bosom the external traces full of instruction, the -silent poetry of Time--that only poetry which she can refuse to share -with us.” - -To this suitable and appropriate speech, congenial as it must have been -to his feelings, the Rector made no answer, save that most deferential -and solemn bow, and was proceeding with a certain conscientious -haughtiness to show his visitor some other part of the building, when -his eye was attracted by the approaching group. He turned to them -immediately with an air of sudden relief. - -So did Mr Endicott, to whom, to do him justice, not all the old churches -in Banburyshire, nor all the opportunities of speechmaking, nor even -half-a-dozen rectors who were within two steps of a peerage, could have -presented such powerful attractions as did that beautiful blushing face -of Marian Atheling, drooping and falling back under the shadow of Louis. -The Yankee hastened forward with his best greeting. - -“When I remember our last meeting,” said Mr Endicott, bending his thin -head forward with the most unusual deference, that tantalising vision of -what might have been, “I think myself fortunate indeed to have found you -so near your home. I have been visiting your renowned city--one of -those twins of learning, whose antiquity is its charm. In my country our -antiquities stretch back into the eternities; but we know nothing of the -fourteenth or the fifteenth century in our young soil. My friend the -Rector has been showing me his church.” - -Mr Endicott’s friend the Rector stared at him with a haughty amazement, -but came forward without saying anything to the new-comers; then he -seemed to pause a moment, doubtful how to address Louis--a doubt which -the young man solved for him instantly by taking off his hat with an -exaggerated and solemn politeness. They bowed to each other loftily, -these two haughty young men, as two duellists might have saluted each -other over their weapons. Then Louis turned his fair companion gently, -and, without saying anything, led her back again on the road they had -just traversed. Agnes followed silently, and feeling very awkward, with -the Rector and Mr Endicott on either hand. The Rector did not say a -word. Agnes only answered in shy monosyllables. The gifted American had -it all his own way. - -“I understand Viscount Winterbourne and Mrs Edgerley are at Winterbourne -Hall,” said Mrs Endicott. “She is a charming person; the union of a -woman of fashion and a woman of literature is one so rarely seen in this -land.” - -“Yes,” said Agnes, who knew nothing else to say. - -“For myself,” said Mr Endicott solemnly, “I rejoice to find the poetic -gift alike in the palace of the peer and the cottage of the peasant, -bringing home to all hearts the experiences of life; in the sumptuous -apartments of the Hall with Mrs Edgerley, or in the humble parlour of -the worthy and respectable middle class--Miss Atheling, with you.” - -“Oh!” cried Agnes, starting under this sudden blow, and parrying it with -all the skill she could find. “Do you like Oxford, Mr Endicott? Have you -seen much of the country about here?” - -But it was too late. Mr Endicott caught a shy backward glance of Marian, -and, smothering a mortal jealousy of Louis, eagerly thrust himself -forward to answer it--and the Rector had caught his unfortunate words. -The Rector drew himself up to a still more lofty height, if that was -possible, and walked on by Agnes’s side in a solemn and stately -silence--poor Agnes, who would have revived a little in his presence but -for that arrow of Mr Endicott’s, not knowing whether to address him, or -whether her best policy was to be silent. She went on by his side, -holding down her head, looking very small, very slight, very young, -beside that dignified and stately personage. At last he himself -condescended to speak. - -“Am I to understand, Miss Atheling,” said the Rector, very much in the -same tone as he might have asked poor little Billy Morrell at school, -“Are you the boy who robbed John Parker’s orchard?”--“Am I to -understand, as I should be disposed to conclude from what this person -says, that, like my fashionable cousin at the Hall, you have written -novels?--or is it only the hyperbole of that individual’s ordinary -speech?” - -“No,” said Agnes, very guilty, a convicted culprit, yet making bold to -confess her guilt. “I am very sorry he said it, but it is true; only I -have written just one novel. Do you think it wrong?” - -“I think a woman’s intellect ought to be receptive without endeavouring -to produce,” said the Rector, in a slightly acerbated tone. -“Intelligence is the noblest gift of a woman; originality is neither to -be wished nor looked for.” - -“I do not suppose I am very guilty of that either,” said Agnes, -brightening again with that odd touch of pugnacity, as she listened once -more to this haughty tone of dogmatism from the man who held no -opinions. “If you object only to originality, I do not think you need be -angry with me.” - -She was half inclined to play with the lion, but the lion was in a very -ill humour, and would see no sport in the matter. To tell the truth, the -Rector was very much fretted by this unlooked-for intelligence. He felt -as if it were done on purpose, and meant as a personal offence to him, -though really, after all, for a superior sister of St Frideswide, this -unfortunate gift of literature was rather a recommendation than -otherwise, as one might have thought. - -So the Rev. Lionel Rivers stalked on beside Agnes past his own door, -following Louis, Marian, and Mr Endicott to the very gate of the Old -Wood Lodge. Then he took off his hat to them all, wished them a -ceremonious good-night, and went home extremely wrathful, and in a most -unpriestly state of mind. He could not endure to think that the common -outer world had gained such a hold upon that predestined Superior of the -sisters of St Frideswide. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -SOME PROGRESS. - - -After a long and most laborious investigation of the old parchment, -Charlie at last triumphantly made it out to be an old conveyance, to a -remote ancestor, of this very little house, and sundry property -adjoining, on which the Athelings had now no claim. More than two -hundred and fifty years ago!--the girls were as much pleased with it as -if it had been an estate, and even Charlie owned a thrill of -gratification. They felt themselves quite long-descended and patrician -people, in right of the ancestor who had held “the family property” in -1572. - -But it was difficult to see what use this could be of in opposition to -the claim of Lord Winterbourne. Half the estates in the country at least -had changed hands during these two hundred and fifty years; and though -it certainly proved beyond dispute that the Old Wood Lodge had once been -the property of the Athelings, it threw no light whatever on the title -of Miss Bridget. Mrs Atheling looked round upon the old walls with much -increase of respect; she wondered if they really could be so old as -that; and was quite reverential of her little house, being totally -unacquainted with the periods of domestic architecture, and knowing -nothing whatever of archaic “detail.” - -Miss Anastasia, however, remembered her promise. Only two or three days -after Charlie’s visit to her, the two grey ponies made their appearance -once more at the gate of the Old Wood Lodge. She was not exactly -triumphant, but had a look of satisfaction on her face, and evidently -felt she had gained something. She entered upon her business without a -moment’s delay. - -“Young Atheling, I have brought you all that Mr Temple can furnish me -with,” said Miss Anastasia--“his memorandum taken from my father’s -instructions. He tells me there was a deed distinct and formal, and -offers to bear his witness of it, as I have offered mine.” - -Charlie took eagerly out of her hand the paper she offered to him. “It -is a copy out of his book,” said Miss Anastasia. It was headed thus: -“_Mem._--To convey to Miss Bridget Atheling, her heirs and assigns, the -cottage called the Old Wood Lodge, with a certain piece of land -adjoining, to be described--partly as a proof of Lord Winterbourne’s -gratitude for services, partly as restoring property acquired by his -father--to be executed at once.” - -The date was five-and-twenty years ago; and perhaps nothing but justice -to her dead friend and to her living ones could have fortified Miss -Anastasia to return upon that time. She sat still, looking at Charlie -while he read it, with her cheek a little blanched and her eye brighter -than usual. He laid it down with a look of impatience, yet satisfaction. -“Some one,” said Charlie, “either for one side or for the other side, -must have this deed.” - -“Your boy is hard to please,” said Miss Rivers. “I have offered to -appear myself, and so does Mr Temple. What, boy, not content!” - -“It is the next best,” said Charlie; “but still not so good as the deed; -and the deed must exist somewhere; nobody would destroy such a thing. -Where is it likely to be?” - -“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia, half amused, half with -displeasure, “when I want to collect evidence, you shall do it for me. -Has he had a good education?--eh?” - -“To _you_ I am afraid he will seem a very poor scholar,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little awe of Miss Anastasia’s learning; “but we did -what we could for him; and he has always been a very industrious boy, -and has studied a good deal himself.” - -To this aside conversation Charlie paid not the smallest attention, but -ruminated over the lawyer’s memorandum, making faces at it, and bending -all the powers of his mind to the consideration--where to find this -deed! “If it’s not here, nor in her lawyer’s, nor with this old lady, -_he’s_ got it,” pronounced Charlie; but this was entirely a private -process, and he did not say a word aloud. - -“I’ve read her book,” said Miss Rivers, with a glance aside at Agnes; -“it’s a very clever book: I approve of it, though I never read novels: -in my day, girls did no such things--all the better for them now. Yes, -my child, don’t be afraid. I’ll not call you unfeminine--in my opinion, -it’s about the prettiest kind of fancy-work a young woman can do.” - -Under this applause Agnes smiled and brightened; it was a great deal -more agreeable than all the pretty sayings of all the people who were -dying to know the author of _Hope Hazlewood_, in the brief day of her -reputation at the Willows. - -“And as for the pretty one,” said Miss Anastasia, “she, I suppose, -contents herself with lovers--eh? What is the meaning of this? I suppose -the child’s heart is in it. The worse for her--the worse for her!” - -For Marian had blushed deeply, and then become very pale; her heart was -touched indeed, and she was very despondent. All the other events of the -time were swallowed up to Marian by one great shadow--Louis was going -away! - -Whereupon Mrs Atheling, unconsciously eager to attract the interest of -Miss Anastasia, who very likely would be kind to the young people, sent -Marian up-stairs upon a hastily-invented errand, and took the old lady -aside to tell her what had happened. Miss Rivers was a good deal -surprised--a little affected. “So--so--so,” she said slowly, “these -reckless young creatures--how ready they are to plunge into all the -griefs of life! And what does Will Atheling say to this nameless boy?” - -“I cannot say my husband is entirely pleased,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -little hesitation; “but he is a very fine young man; and to see our -children happy is the great thing we care for, both William and me.” - -“How do you know it will make her happy?” asked Miss Anastasia somewhat -sharply. “The child flushes and pales again, pretty creature as she is, -like a woman come into her troubles. A great deal safer to write novels! -But what is done can’t be undone; and I am glad to hear of it on account -of the boy.” - -Then Miss Anastasia made a pause, thinking over the matter. “I have -found some traces of my father’s wanderings,” she said again, with a -little emotion: “if the old man was tempted to sin in his old days, -though it would be a shame to hear of, I should still be glad to make -sure; and if by any chance,” continued the old lady, reddening with the -maidenly and delicate feeling of which her fifty years could not deprive -her--“if by any chance these unfortunate children should turn out to be -nearly related to me, I will of course think it my duty to provide for -them as if they were lawful children of my father’s house.” - -It cost her a little effort to say this--and Mrs Atheling, not venturing -to make any comment, looked on with respectful sympathy. It was very -well for Miss Anastasia to say, but how far Louis would tolerate a -provision made for him was quite a different question. The silence was -broken again by the old lady herself. - -“This bold boy of yours has set me to look over all my old papers,” said -Miss Anastasia, with a twinkle of satisfaction and amusement in her eye, -as she looked over at Charlie, still making faces at the lawyer’s note. -“Now that I have begun for _her_ sake, dear old soul, I continue for my -own, and for curiosity: I would give a great deal to find out the story -of these children. Young Atheling, if I some time want your services, -will you give them to me?” - -Charlie looked up with a boyish flush of pleasure. “As soon as this -business is settled,” said Charlie. Miss Anastasia, whom his mother -feared to look at lest she should be offended, smiled approvingly; -patted the shoulder of Agnes as she passed her, left “her love for the -other poor child,” and went away. Mrs Atheling looked after her with a -not unnatural degree of complacency. “Now, I think it very likely indeed -that she will either leave them something, or try what she can do for -Louis,” said Mamma; she did not think how impossible it would be to do -anything for Louis, until Louis graciously accepted the service; nor -indeed, that the only thing the young man could do under his -circumstances was to trust to his own exertions solely, and seek service -from none. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -A GREAT DISCOVERY. - - -The visit of Miss Rivers was an early one, some time before their -mid-day dinner; and the day went on quietly after its usual fashion, and -fell into the stillness of a sunny afternoon, which looked like a -reminiscence of midsummer among these early October days. Mrs Atheling -sat in her big chair, knitting, with a little drowsiness, a little -stocking--though this was a branch of art in which Hannah was found to -excel, and had begged her mistress to leave to her. Agnes sat at the -table with her blotting-book, busy with her special business; Charlie -was writing out a careful copy of the old deed. The door was open, and -Bell and Beau, under the happy charge of Rachel, ran back and forwards, -out and in, from the parlour to the garden, not omitting now and then a -visit to the kitchen, where Hannah, covered all over with her white bib -and apron, was making cakes for tea. Their merry childish voices and -prattling feet gave no disturbance to the busy people in the parlour; -neither did the light fairy step of Rachel, nor even the songs she sang -to them in her wonderful voice--they were all so well accustomed to its -music now. Marian and Louis, who did not like to lose sight of each -other in these last days, were out wandering about the fields, or in the -wood, thinking of little in the world except each other, and that great -uncertain future which Louis penetrated with his fiery glances, and of -which Marian wept and smiled to hear. Mamma sitting at the window, -between the pauses of her knitting and the breaks of her gentle -drowsiness, looked out for them with a little tender anxiety. Marian, -the only one of her children who was “in trouble,” was nearest of all at -that moment to her mother’s heart. - -When suddenly a violent sound of wheels from the high-road broke in upon -the stillness, then a loud voice calling to horses, and then a dull -plunge and heavy roll. Mrs Atheling lifted her startled eyes, drowsy no -longer, to see what was the matter, just in time to behold, what shook -the little house like the shock of a small earthquake, Miss Anastasia’s -two grey horses, trembling with unusual exertion, draw up with a bound -and commotion at the little gate. - -And before the good mother could rise to her feet, wondering what could -be the cause of this second visit, Miss Rivers herself sprang out of -the carriage, and came into the house like a wind, almost stumbling over -Rachel, and nearly upsetting Bell and Beau. She did not say a word to -either mother or daughter, she only came to the threshold of the -parlour, waved her hand imperiously, and cried, “Young Atheling, I want -_you_!” - -Charlie was not given to rapid movements, but there was no -misunderstanding the extreme emotion of this old lady. The big boy got -up at once and followed her, for she went out again immediately. Then -Mrs Atheling, sitting at the window in amaze, saw her son and Miss -Anastasia stand together in the garden, conversing with great -earnestness. She showed him a book, which Charlie at first did not seem -to understand, to the great impatience of his companion. Mrs Atheling -drew back troubled, and in the most utter astonishment--what could it -mean? - -“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia abruptly, “I want you to give up -this business of your father’s immediately, and set off to Italy on -mine. I have made a discovery of the most terrible importance: though -you are only a boy I can trust you. Do you hear me?--it is to bring to -his inheritance my father’s son!” - -Charlie looked up in her face astonished, and without comprehension. “My -father’s business is of importance to us,” he said, with a momentary -sullenness. - -“So it is; my own man of business shall undertake it; but I want an -agent, secret and sure, who is not like to be suspected,” said Miss -Anastasia. “Young Atheling, look here!” - -Charlie looked, but not with enthusiasm. The book she handed him was an -old diary of the most commonplace description, each page divided with -red lines into compartments for three days, with printed headings for -Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and so on, and columns for money. The wind -fluttered the leaves, so that the only entry visible to Charlie was one -relating to some purchase, which he read aloud, bewildered and -wondering. Miss Anastasia, who was extremely moved and excited, looked -furious, and as if she was almost tempted to administer personal -chastisement to the blunderer. She turned over the fluttered leaves with -an impetuous gesture. “Look here,” she said, pointing to the words with -her imperative finger, and reading them aloud in a low, restrained, but -most emphatic voice. The entry was in the same hand, duly dated under -the red line--“Twins--one boy--and Giulietta safe. Thank God. My sweet -young wife.” - -“Now go--fly!” cried Miss Anastasia, “find out their birthday, and then -come to me for money and directions. I will make your fortune, boy; you -shall be the richest pettifogger in Christendom. Do you hear me, young -Atheling--do you hear me! He is the true Lord Winterbourne--he is my -father’s lawful son!” - -To say that Charlie was not stunned by this sudden suggestion, or that -there was no answer of young and generous enthusiasm, as well as of -professional eagerness in his mind, to the address of Miss Rivers, would -have been to do him less than justice. “Is it Italy?--I don’t know a -word of Italian,” cried Charlie. “Never mind, I’ll go to-morrow. I can -learn it on the way.” - -The old lady grasped the boy’s rough hand, and stepped again into her -carriage. “Let it be to-morrow,” she said, speaking very low; “tell your -mother, but no one else, and do not, for any consideration, let it come -to the ears of Louis--Louis, my father’s boy!--But I will not see him, -Charlie; fly, boy, as if you had wings!--till you come home. I will meet -you to-morrow at Mr Temple’s office--you know where that is--at twelve -o’clock. Be ready to go immediately, and tell your mother to mention it -to no creature till I see her again.” - -Saying which, Miss Rivers turned her ponies, Charlie hurried into the -house, and his mother sat gazing out of the window, with the most blank -and utter astonishment. Miss Anastasia had not a glance to spare for -the watcher, and took no time to pull her rose from the porch. She drove -home again at full speed, solacing her impatience with the haste of her -progress, and repeating, under her breath, again and again, the same -words. “One boy--and Giulietta safe. My sweet young wife!” - - - END OF VOL. II. - - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Athelings; vol. 2/3, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 2/3 *** - -***** This file should be named 54937-0.txt or 54937-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/3/54937/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Athelings; vol. 2/3 - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: June 19, 2017 [EBook #54937] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 2/3 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="320" height="500" alt="cover" title="" /> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border: 2px black solid;margin:auto auto;max-width:50%; -padding:1%;"> -<tr><td> - -<p class="c">Contents.</p> -<p class="nind"> -<a href="#BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I">Book I.—Chapter I., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"> XV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX"> XX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"> XXII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"> XXIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"> XXIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"> XXV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"> XXVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"> XXVII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"> XXVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"> XXIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"> XXX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI"> XXXI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII"> XXXII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII"> XXXIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV"> XXXIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV"> XXXV.</a> -</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<h1>THE ATHELINGS</h1> - -<p class="c"><small>OR</small></p> - -<p class="c">THE THREE GIFTS<br /><br /><br /> -BY MARGARET OLIPHANT -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I’ the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">In simple and low things, to prince it much<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Beyond the trick of others.”<br /></span> -<span class="i15"><small>CYMBELINE</small><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c"> -IN THREE VOLUMES<br /> -<br /> -VOL. II.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS<br /> -EDINBURGH AND LONDON<br /> -MDCCCLVII<br /> -<br /><br /><small> -ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a>{1}</span><br /> -</small><br /><br /><big>THE ATHELINGS<br /><br /> -BOOK II.—THE OLD WOOD LODGE</big></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>{2}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a>{3}</span> </p> - -<h1>THE ATHELINGS.</h1> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I" id="BOOK_II_CHAPTER_I"></a>BOOK II—CHAPTER I.<br /><br /> -<small>THE WILLOWS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Willows was a large low house, with no architectural pretensions, -but bright as villa could be upon the sunniest side of the Thames. The -lawn sloped to the river, and ended in a deep fringe and border of -willows, sweeping into the water; while half-way across the stream lay a -little fairy island, half enveloped in the same silvery foliage, but -with bowers and depths of leaves within, through which some stray -sunbeam was always gleaming. The flower-beds on the lawn were in a flush -with roses; the crystal roof of a large conservatory glistened in the -sun. Flowers and sunshine, fragrance and stillness, the dew on the -grass, and the morning light upon the river—no marvel that to eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a>{4}</span> so -young and inexperienced, this Richmond villa looked like a paradise on -earth.</p> - -<p>It was early morning—very early, when nobody seemed awake but -themselves in the great house; and Agnes and Marian came down stairs -softly, and, half afraid of doing wrong, stole out upon the lawn. The -sun had just begun to gather those blobs of dew from the roses, but all -over the grass lay jewels, bedded deep in the close-shorn sod, and -shining in the early light. An occasional puff of wind came crisp across -the river, and turned to the sun the silvery side of all those drooping -willow-leaves, and the willows themselves swayed and sighed towards the -water, and the water came up upon them now and then with a playful -plunge and flow. The two girls said nothing to each other as they -wandered along the foot of the slope, looking over to the island, where -already the sun had penetrated to his nest of trees. All this simple -beauty, which was not remarkable to the fashionable guests of Mrs -Edgerley, went to the very heart of these simple children of Bellevue. -It moved them to involuntary delight—joy which could give no reason, -for they thought there had never been such a beautiful summer morning, -or such a scene.</p> - -<p>And by-and-by they began to talk of last night—last night, their first -night at the Willows, their first entrance into the home life of “the -great.” They had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a>{5}</span> no moral maxims at their finger-ends, touching the -vanity of riches, nor had the private opinion entertained by Papa and -Mamma, that “the country” paid for the folly of “the aristocracy,” and -that the science of Government was a mere piece of craft for the benefit -of “the privileged classes,” done any harm at all to the unpolitical -imaginations of Agnes and Marian. They were scarcely at their ease yet, -and were a great deal more timid than was comfortable; yet they took -very naturally to this fairy life, and found an unfailing fund of wonder -and admiration in it. They admired everything indeed, had a certain awe -and veneration for everybody, and could not sufficiently admire the -apparent accomplishments and real grace of their new associates.</p> - -<p>“Agnes!—I wonder if there is anything I could learn?” said Marian, -rather timidly; “everybody here can do something; it is very different -from doing a little of everything, like Miss Tavistock at Bellevue—and -we used to think her accomplished!—but do you think there is anything I -could learn?”</p> - -<p>“And me!” said Agnes, somewhat disconsolately.</p> - -<p>“You? no, indeed, you do not need it,” said Marian, with a little pride. -“You can do what none of them can do;—but they can talk about -everything these people, and every one of them can do something. There -is that Sir Langham—you would think he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a>{6}</span> only a young gentleman—but -Mrs Edgerley says he makes beautiful sketches. We did not understand -people like these when we were at home.”</p> - -<p>“What do you think of Sir Langham, May?” asked Agnes seriously.</p> - -<p>“Think of him? oh, he is very pleasant,” said Marian, with a smile and a -slight blush: “but never mind Sir Langham; do you think there is -anything I could learn?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know,” said Agnes; “perhaps you could sing. I think you might -sing, if you would only take courage and try.”</p> - -<p>“Sing! oh no, no!”; said Marian; “no one could venture to sing after the -young lady—did you hear her name, Agnes?—who sang last night. She did -not speak to any one, she was more by herself than we were. I wonder who -she could be.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs Edgerley called her Rachel,” said Agnes. “I did not hear any other -name. I think it must be the same that Mrs Edgerley told mamma about; -you remember she said——”</p> - -<p>“I am here,” said a low voice suddenly, close beside them. The girls -started back, exceedingly confused and ashamed. They had not perceived a -sort of little bower, woven among the willows, from which now hastily -appeared the third person who spoke. She was a little older than Agnes, -very slight and girlish<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a>{7}</span> in her person—very dark of complexion, with a -magnificent mass of black hair, and large liquid dark eyes. Nothing else -about her was remarkable; her features were small and delicate, her -cheeks colourless, her very lips pale; but her eyes, which were not of a -slumbrous lustre, but full of light, rapid, earnest, and irregular, -lighted up her dark pallid face with singular power and attractiveness. -She turned upon them quickly as they stood distressed and irresolute -before her.</p> - -<p>“I did not mean to interrupt you,” said this new-comer; “but you were -about to speak of me, and I thought it only honest to give you notice -that I was here.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Agnes with humility. “We are strangers, and did not -know—we scarcely know any one here; and we thought you were nearly -about our own age, and perhaps would help us—” Here Agnes stopped -short; she was not skilled in making overtures of friendship.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed no,” cried their new acquaintance, hurriedly. “I never make -friends. I could be of no use. I am only a dependent, scarcely so good -as that. I am nothing here.”</p> - -<p>“And neither are we,” said Agnes, following shyly the step which this -strange girl took away from them. “We never were in a house like this -before. We do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a>{8}</span> not belong to great people. Mrs Edgerley asked us to -come, because we met her at Mr Burlington’s, and she has been very kind, -but we know no one. Pray, do not go away.”</p> - -<p>The thoughtful eyes brightened into a sudden gleam. “We are called -Atheling,” said Marian, interposing in her turn. “My sister is Agnes, -and I am Marian—and you Miss——”</p> - -<p>“My name is Rachel,” said their new friend, with a sudden and violent -blush, making all her face crimson. “I have no other—call me so, and I -will like it. You think I am of your age; but I am not like you—you do -not know half so much as I know.”</p> - -<p>“No—that is very likely,” said Agnes, somewhat puzzled; “but I think -you do not mean education,” said the young author immediately, seeing -Marian somewhat disposed to resent on her behalf this broad assertion. -“You mean distress and sorrow. But we have had a great deal of grief at -home. We have lost dear little children, one after another. We are not -ignorant of grief.”</p> - -<p>Rachel looked at them with strange observation, wonder, and uncertainty. -“But you are ignorant of me—and I am ignorant of you,” she said slowly, -pausing between her words. “I suppose you mean<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a>{9}</span> just what you say, do -you? and I am not much used to that. Do you know what I am here -for?—only to sing and amuse the people—and you still want to make -friends with me!”</p> - -<p>“Mrs Edgerley said you were to be a singer, but you did not like it,” -said Marian; “and I think you are very right.”</p> - -<p>“Did she say so?—and what more?” said Rachel, smiling faintly. “I want -to hear now, though I did not when I heard your voices first.”</p> - -<p>“She said you were a connection of the family,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>The blood rushed again to the young stranger’s brow. “Ah! I understand,” -she said; “she implied—yes. I know how she would do. And you will still -be friends with <i>me</i>?”</p> - -<p>At that moment it suddenly flashed upon the recollection of both the -girls that Mamma had disapproved of this prospective acquaintance. They -both blushed with instant consciousness, and neither of them spoke. In -an instant Rachel became frozen into a haughtiness far exceeding -anything within the power of Mrs Edgerley. Little and slight as she was, -her girlish frame rose to the dignity of a young queen. Before Agnes -could say a word, she had left them with a slight and lofty bow. Without -haste, but with singular rapidity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a>{10}</span> she crossed the dewy lawn, and went -into the house, acknowledging, with a stately inclination of her head, -some one who passed her. The girls were so entirely absorbed, watching -her progress, that they did not perceive who this other person was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a>{11}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /><br /> -<small>AN EMBARRASSING COMPANION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Strange</span> creature!” said Sir Langham Portland, who had joined the girls -almost before they were aware; “Odd girl! If Lucifer had a sister, I -should know where to find her; but a perfect siren so far as music is -concerned. Did you hear her sing last night—that thing of -Beethoven’s—what is the name of it? Do you like Beethoven, though? -<i>She</i>, I suppose, worships him.”</p> - -<p>“We know very little about music,” said Marian. She thought it proper to -make known the fact, but blushed in spite of herself, and was much -ashamed of her own ignorance. Marian was quite distressed and impatient -to find herself so much behind every one else.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Sir Langham—which meant that the handsome guardsman was a -good deal flattered by the blush, and did not care at all for the want -of information—in fact, he was cogitating within himself, being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a>{12}</span> no -great master of the art of conversation, what to speak of next.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid Miss—Rachel was not pleased,” said Agnes; “we disturbed -her here. I am afraid she will think we were rude.”</p> - -<p>“Eh!” said Sir Langham, with a look of astonishment. “Oh, don’t trouble -yourself—she’s accustomed to that. Pretty place this. Suppose a fellow -on the island over there, what a capital sketch he could make;—with two -figures instead of three, the effect would be perfect!”</p> - -<p>“We were two figures before you came,” said Marian, turning half away, -and with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Ah! quite a different suggestion,” said Sir Langham. “Your two figures -were all white and angelical—maiden meditation—mine would be—Elysium. -Happy sketcher! happier hero!—and you could not suppose a more -appropriate scene.”</p> - -<p>But Agnes and Marian were much too shy and timid to answer this as they -might have answered Harry Oswald under the same circumstances. Agnes -half interrupted him, being somewhat in haste to change the -conversation. “You are an artist yourself?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Sir Langham; “not at all,—no more than everybody else is. I -have no doubt you know a hundred people better at it than I.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a>{13}</span></p> - -<p>“I do not think, counting every one,” said Marian, “that we know a -hundred, or the half of a hundred, people altogether; and none of them -make sketches. Mrs Edgerley said yours were quite remarkable.”</p> - -<p>“A great many things are quite remarkable with Mrs Edgerley,” said Sir -Langham through his mustache. “But what an amazing circle yours must be! -One must do something with one’s spare time. That old fellow is the -hardest rascal to kill of any I know—don’t you find him so?”</p> - -<p>“No—not when we are at home,” said Marian.</p> - -<p>“Ah! in the country, I suppose; and you are Lady Bountifuls, and attend -to all the village,” said Sir Langham. He had quite made up his mind -that these young girls, who were not fashionable nor remarkable in any -way, save for the wonderful beauty of the youngest, were daughters of -some squire in Banburyshire, whom it was Lord Winterbourne’s interest to -do a service to.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed, we have not any village—we are not Lady Bountifuls; but we -do a great many things at home,” said Marian. Something restrained them -both, however, from their heroic purpose of declaring at once their -“rank in life;” they shrank, with natural delicacy, from saying anything -about themselves to this interrogator, and were by no means clear that -it would be right to tell Sir Langham Portland that they lived in -Bellevue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a>{14}</span></p> - -<p>“May we go through the conservatory, I wonder?” said Agnes;—the elder -sister, remembering the parting charge of her mother, began to be -somewhat uneasy about their handsome companion—he might possibly fall -in love with Marian—that was not so very dreadful a hypothesis,—for -Agnes was human, and did not object to see the natural enemies of -womankind taken captive, subjugated, or even entirely slain. But Marian -might fall in love with <i>him</i>! That was an appalling thought; two -distinct lines of anxiety began to appear in Agnes’s forehead; and the -imagination of the young genius instantly called before her the most -touching and pathetic picture, of a secret love and a broken heart.</p> - -<p>“Marian, we may go into the conservatory,” repeated Agnes; and she took -her sister’s hand and led her to where the Scotch gardener was opening -the windows of that fairy palace. Sir Langham still gave them his -attendance, following Marian as she passed through the ranks of flowers, -and echoing her delight. Sir Langham was rather relieved to find them at -last in enthusiasm about something. This familiar and well-known feature -of young ladyhood set him much more at his ease.</p> - -<p>And the gardener, with benign generosity, gathered some flowers for his -young visitors. They thanked him with such thoroughly grateful thanks, -and were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a>{15}</span> so respectful of his superior knowledge, that this worthy -functionary brightened under their influence. Sir Langham followed -surprised and amused. He thought Marian’s simple ignorance of all those -delicate splendid exotic flowers, as pretty as he would have thought her -acquaintance with them had she been better instructed; and when one of -her flowers fell from her hand, lifted it up with the air of a paladin, -and placed it in his breast. Marian, though she had turned aside, <i>saw</i> -him do it by some mysterious perception—not of the eye—and blushed -with a secret tremor, half of pleasure, half of amusement. Agnes -regarded it a great deal more seriously. Agnes immediately discovered -that it was time to go in. She was quite indifferent, we are grieved to -say, to the fate of Sir Langham, and thought nothing of disturbing the -peace of that susceptible young gentleman; but her protection and -guardianship of Marian was a much more serious affair. Their windows -were in the end of the house, and commanded no view—so Mrs Edgerley, -with a hundred regrets, was grieved to tell them—but these windows -looked over an orchard and a clump of chestnuts, where birds sang and -dew fell, and the girls were perfectly contented with the prospect; they -had three rooms—a dressing-room, and two pretty bedchambers—into all -of which the morning sun threw a sidelong glance as he passed; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a>{16}</span> they -had been extremely delighted with their pretty apartments last night.</p> - -<p>“Well!” said Agnes, as they arranged their flowers and put them in -water, “everything is very pretty, May, but I almost wish we were at -home.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” said Marian; but the beautiful sister had so much perception of -the case, that she did not look up, nor show any particular surprise.</p> - -<p>“Why?—because—because people don’t understand what we are, nor who we -belong to, nor how different—— Marian, you know quite well what is the -cause!”</p> - -<p>“But suppose people don’t want to know?” said Marian, who was -provokingly calm and at her ease; “we cannot go about telling -everybody—no one cares. Suppose we were to tell Sir Langham, Agnes? He -would think we meant that he has to come to Bellevue; and I am sure you -would not like to see him there!”</p> - -<p>This was a very conclusive argument, but Agnes had made up her mind to -be annoyed.</p> - -<p>“And there was Rachel,” said Agnes, “I wonder why just at that moment we -should have thought of mamma—and now I am sure she will not speak to us -again.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma did not think it quite proper,” said Marian doubtfully;—“I am -sure I cannot tell why—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>{17}</span>but we were very near making up friendship -without thinking; perhaps it is better as it is.”</p> - -<p>“It is never proper to hurt any one’s feelings—and she is lonely and -neglected and by herself,” said Agnes. “Mamma cannot be displeased when -I tell her; and I will try all I can to-day to meet with Rachel again. I -think Rachel would think better of our house than of the Willows. Though -it is a beautiful place, it is not kindly; it never could look like -home.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nonsense! if we had it to ourselves, and they were all here!” cried -Marian. That indeed was a paradisaical conception. Agnes’s uneasy mood -could not stand against such an idea, and she arranged her hair with -renewed spirits, having quite given up for the moment all desire for -going home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>{18}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /><br /> -<small>SOCIETY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> Rachel did not join the party either in their drives, their walks, -or their conversations. She was not to be seen during the whole day, -either out of doors or in, and did not even make her appearance at the -dinner-table; and Agnes could not so much as hear any allusion made to -her except once, when Mrs Edgerley promised a new arrival, “some really -good music,” and launched forth in praise of an extraordinary little -genius, whom nothing could excuse for concealing her gift from the -world. But if Rachel did not appear, Sir Langham did, following Marian -with his eyes when he could not follow in person, and hovering about the -young beauty like a man bewitched. The homage of such a cavalier was not -to be despised; in spite of herself, the smile and the blush brightened -upon the sweet face of Marian—she was pleased—she was amused—she was -grateful to Sir Langham—and besides had a certain mischievous pleasure -in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>{19}</span> power over him, and loved to exercise the sway of despotism. -Marian new little about coquetry, though she had read with attention Mrs -Edgerley’s novel on the subject; but, notwithstanding, had “a way” of -her own, and some little practice in tantalising poor Harry Oswald, who -was by no means so superb a plaything as the handsome guardsman. The -excitement and novelty of her position—the attentions paid to her—the -pretty things around her—even her own dress, which never before had -been so handsome, brightened, with a variable and sweet illumination, -the beauty which needed no aggravating circumstance. Poor Sir Langham -gave himself up helpless and unresisting, and already, in his honest but -somewhat slow imagination, made formal declarations to the -supposititious Banburyshire Squire.</p> - -<p>Agnes meanwhile sat by Marian’s side, rather silent, eagerly watching -for the appearance of Rachel—for now it was evening, and the really -good music could not be long deferred, if it was to come to-night. Agnes -was not neglected, though she had no Sir Langham to watch her movements. -Mrs Edgerley herself came to the young genius now and then to introduce -some one who was “dying to know the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>;” and -half disconcerted, half amused, Agnes began to feel herself entering -upon the enjoyment of her reputation. No one could possibly suppose -anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>{20}</span> more different from the fanciful and delicate fame which -charms the young poetic mind with imaginary glories, than these -drawing-room compliments and protestations of interest and delight, to -which, at first with a deep blush and overpowering embarrassment, and -by-and-by with an uneasy consciousness of something ridiculous, the -young author sat still and listened. The two sisters kept always close -together, and had not courage enough to move from the corner in which -they had first established themselves. Agnes, for the moment, had become -the reigning whim in the brain of Mrs Edgerley. She came to her side now -and then to whisper a few words of caressing encouragement, or to point -out to her somebody of note; and when she left her young guest, Mrs -Edgerley flew at once to the aforesaid somebody to call his or her -attention to the pair of sisters, one of whom had <i>such</i> genius, and the -other <i>such</i> beauty. Marian, occupied with her own concerns, took all -this very quietly. Agnes grew annoyed, uneasy, displeased; she did not -remember that she had once been mortified at the neglect of her pretty -hostess, nor that Mrs Edgerley’s admiration was as evanescent as her -neglect. She began to think everybody was laughing at her claims to -distinction, and that she amused the people, sitting here uneasily -receiving compliments, immovable in her chair—and she was extremely -grateful to Mr<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>{21}</span> Agar, her former acquaintance, when he came, looking -amused and paying no compliments, to talk to her, and to screen her from -observation. Mr Agar had been watching her uneasiness, her -embarrassment, her self-annoyance. He was quite pleased with the -“study;” it pleased him as much as a <i>Watteau</i>, or a cabinet of old -china; and what could connoisseur say more?</p> - -<p>“You must confide your annoyance to me. I am your oldest acquaintance,” -said Mr Agar. “What has happened? Has your pretty sister been -naughty—eh? or are all the people <i>so</i> much delighted with your book?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Agnes, holding down her head a little, with a momentary -shame that her two troubles should have been so easily found out.</p> - -<p>“And why should they not be delighted?” said the ancient beau. “You -would have liked me a great deal better had I been the same, when I -first saw you; do you not like it now?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Yes; no. Your eyes do not talk in monosyllables,” said the old -gentleman, “eh? What has poor Sir Langham done to merit that flash of -dissatisfaction? and I wonder what is the meaning of all these anxious -glances towards the door?”</p> - -<p>“I was looking for—for the young lady they call Rachel,” said Agnes. -“Do you know who she is, sir?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>{22}</span>—can you tell me? I am afraid she thought -we were rude this morning, when we met her; and I wish very much to see -her to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I know nothing of the young lady, but a good deal of the voice,” -said Mr Agar; “a fine soprano,—a good deal of expression, and plenty of -fire. Yes, she needs nothing but cultivation to make a great success.”</p> - -<p>“I think, sir,” said Agnes, suddenly breaking in upon this speech, “if -you would speak to Mrs Edgerley for her, perhaps they would not teaze -her about being a singer. She hates it. I know she does; and it would be -very good of you to help her, for she has no friends.”</p> - -<p>Mr Agar looked at the young pleader with a smile of surprised amusement. -“And why should I interfere on her behalf? and why should she not be a -singer? and how do you suppose I could persuade myself to do such an -injury to Art?”</p> - -<p>“She dislikes it very much,” said Agnes. “She is a woman—a girl—a -delicate mind; it would be very cruel to bring her before the world; and -indeed I am sure if you would speak to Mrs Edgerley—”</p> - -<p>“My dear young lady,” cried Mr Agar, with a momentary shrug of his -eyebrows, and look of comic distress, “you entirely mistake my <i>rôle</i>. I -am not a knight-errant for the rescue of distressed princesses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>{23}</span> I am a -humble servant of the beautiful; and a young lady’s tremors are really -not cause enough to induce me to resign a fine soprano. No. I bow before -my fair enslavers,” said the ancient Corydon, with a reverential -obeisance, which belonged, like his words, to another century; “but my -true and only mistress is Art.”</p> - -<p>Agnes was silenced in a moment; but whether by this declaration, or by -the entrance of Rachel, who suddenly appeared, gliding in at a -side-door, could not be determined. Rachel came in, so quickly, and with -such a gliding motion, that anybody less intently on the watch could not -have discovered the moment of her appearance. She was soon at the piano, -and heard immediately; but she came there in a miraculous manner to all -the other observers, as if she had dropped from heaven.</p> - -<p>And while the connoisseur stood apart to listen undisturbed, and Mrs -Edgerley’s guests were suddenly stayed in their flutter of talk and -mutual criticism by the “really good music” which their hostess had -promised them, Agnes sat listening, moved and anxious,—not to the song, -but to the singer. She thought the music—pathetic, complaining, and -resentful—instead of being a renowned <i>chef-d’œuvre</i> of a famous -composer, was the natural outcry of this lonely girl. She thought she -could hear the solitary<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>{24}</span> heart, the neglected life, making its appeal -indignant and sorrowful to some higher ear than all these careless -listeners. She bent unconsciously towards the singer, forgetting all her -mother’s rules of manners, and, leaning forward, supported her rapt and -earnest face with her hand. Mrs Edgerley paused to point out to some one -the sweet enthusiasm, the delightful impressionable nature of her -charming young friend; but to tell the truth, Agnes was not thinking at -all of the music. It seemed to her a strange impassioned monologue,—a -thing of which she was the sole hearer,—an irrepressible burst of -confidence, addressed to the only one here present who cared to receive -the same.</p> - -<p>When it was over she raised herself almost painfully from her listening -posture; <i>she</i> did not join in any of the warm expressions of delight -which burst from her neighbours; and with extreme impatience Agnes -listened to the cool criticism of Mr Agar, who was delivering his -opinion very near her. Her heart ached as she saw the musician turn -haughtily aside, and heard her say, “I am here when you want me again;” -and Rachel withdrew to a sofa in a corner, and, shading her delicate -small face entirely with her hand, took up a book and read, or pretended -to read. Agnes looked on with eager interest, while several people, one -after another, approached the singer to offer her some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>{25}</span> usual -compliments, and retreated immediately, disconcerted by their reception. -Leaning back in her corner, with her book held obstinately before her, -and the small pale hand shading the delicate face, it was impossible to -intrude upon Rachel. Agnes sat watching her, quite absorbed and -sad—thinking in her own quick creative mind, many a proud thought for -Rachel—and fancying she could read in that unvarying and statue-like -attitude a world of tumultuous feelings. She was so much occupied that -she took no notice of Sir Langham; and even Marian, though she appealed -to her twenty times, did not get more than a single word in reply.</p> - -<p>“Is she not the most wonderful little genius?” cried Mrs Edgerley, -making one of her sudden descents upon Agnes. “I tell everybody she is -next to you—quite next to you in talent. I expect she will make quite a -<i>furor</i> next season when she makes her <i>début</i>.”</p> - -<p>“But she dislikes it so much,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“What, music? Oh, you mean coming out: poor child, she does not know -what is for her own advantage,” said Mrs Edgerley. “My love, in <i>her</i> -circumstances, people have no right to consult their feelings; and a -successful singer may live quite a fairy life. Music is so -entrancing—these sort of people make fortunes immediately, and then, of -course, she could retire, and be as private as she pleased. Oh, yes, I -am<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>{26}</span> sure she will be delighted to gratify you, Mr Agar: she will sing -again.”</p> - -<p>It scarcely required a word from Mrs Edgerley—scarcely a sign. Rachel -seemed to know by intuition when she was wanted, and, putting down her -book, went to the piano again;—perhaps Agnes was not so attentive this -time, for she felt herself suddenly roused a few minutes after by a -sudden tremor in the magnificent voice—a sudden shake and tremble, -having the same effect upon the singing which a start would have upon -the frame. Agnes looked round eagerly to see the cause—there was no -cause apparent—and no change whatever in the company, save for the pale -spasmodic face of Lord Winterbourne, newly arrived, and saluting his -daughter at the door.</p> - -<p>Was it this? Agnes could not wait to inquire, for immediately the music -rose and swelled into such a magnificent burst and overflow that every -one held his breath. To the excited ear of Agnes, it sounded like a -glorious challenge and defiance, irrestrainable and involuntary; and ere -the listeners had ceased to wonder, the music was over, and the singer -gone.</p> - -<p>“A sudden effect—our young performer is not without dramatic talent,” -said Mr Agar. Agnes said nothing; but she searched in the corner of the -sofa with her eyes, watched the side-door, and stole sidelong looks at -Lord Winterbourne. He never seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>{27}</span> at his ease, this uncomfortable -nobleman; he had a discomfited look to-night, like a man defeated, and -Agnes could not help thinking of Charlie, with his sudden enmity, and -the old acquaintance of her father, and all the chances connected with -Aunt Bridget’s bequest; for the time, in her momentary impulse of -dislike and repulsion, she thought her noble neighbour, ex-minister and -peer of the realm as he was, was not a match for the big boy.</p> - -<p>“Agnes, somebody says Lord Winterbourne is her father—Rachel’s -father—and she cannot bear him. Was that what Mrs Edgerley meant?” -whispered Marian in her ear with a look of sorrow. “Did you hear her -voice tremble—did you see how she went away? They say she is his -daughter—oh, Agnes, can it be true?”</p> - -<p>But Agnes did not know, and could not answer: if it was true, then it -was very certain that Rachel must be right; and that there were depths -and mysteries and miseries of life, of which, in spite of all their -innocent acquaintance with sorrow, these simple girls had scarcely -heard, and never knew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>{28}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /><br /> -<small>MAKING FRIENDS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning, and the next again, Agnes and Marian vainly sought the -little bower of willows looking for Rachel. Once they saw her escape -hastily out of the shrubbery as they returned from their search, and -knew by that means that she wished to avoid them; but though they heard -her sing every night, they made no advance in their friendship, for that -was the only time in which Rachel was visible, and then she defied all -intrusion upon her haughty solitude. Mr Agar himself wisely kept aloof -from the young singer. The old gentleman did not choose to subject -himself to the chance of a repulse.</p> - -<p>But if Rachel avoided them, Sir Langham certainly did not. This -enterprising youth, having discovered their first early walk, took care -to be in the way when they repeated it, and on the fourth morning, -without saying anything to each other, the sisters unanimously decided -to remain within the safe shelter of their own<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>{29}</span> apartments. From a -corner of their window they could see Sir Langham in vexation and -impatience traversing the slope of the lawn, and pulling off the long -ashy willow-leaves to toss them into the river. Marian laughed to -herself without giving a reason, and Agnes was very glad they had -remained in the house; but the elder sister, reasoning with elaborate -wisdom, made up her mind to ask no further questions about Sir Langham, -how Marian liked him, or what she thought of his attentions. Agnes -thought too many inquiries might “put something into her head.”</p> - -<p>Proceeding upon this astute line of policy, Agnes took no notice -whatever of all the assiduities of the handsome guardsman, not even his -good-natured and brotherly attentions to herself. They were only to -remain a fortnight at the Willows—very little harm, surely, could be -done in that time, and they had but a slender chance of meeting again. -So the elder sister, in spite of her charge of Marian, quieted her -conscience and her fears—and in the mean time the two girls, with -thorough and cordial simplicity, took pleasure in their holiday, finding -everybody kind to them, and excusing with natural humbleness any chance -symptom of neglect.</p> - -<p>They had been a week at the Willows, and every day had used every means -in their power to see Rachel again, when one morning, suddenly, without -plot or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>{30}</span> premeditation, Agnes encountered her in a long passage which -ran from the hall to the morning-room of Mrs Edgerley. There was a long -window at the end of this passage, against which the small rapid figure, -clothed in a dark close-fitting dress, without the smallest relief of -ornament, stood out strangely, outlined and surrounded by the light. -Agnes had some flowers in her hand, the gift of her acquaintance the -gardener. She fancied that Rachel glanced at them wistfully, and she was -eager of the opportunity. “They are newly gathered—will you take some?” -said Agnes, holding out her hands to her. The young stranger paused, and -looked for an instant distrustfully at her and the flowers. Agnes hoped -nothing better than to be dismissed with a haughty word of thanks; but -while Rachel lingered, the door of the morning-room was opened, and an -approaching footstep struck upon the tiled floor. The young singer did -not look behind her, did not pause to see who it was, but recognising -the step, as it seemed, with a sudden start and tremor, suddenly laid -her hand on Agnes’s arm, and drew her hurriedly in within a door which -she flung open. As soon as they were in, Rachel closed the door with -haste and force, and stood close by it with evident agitation and -excitement. “I beg your pardon—but hush, do not speak till he is past,” -she said in a whisper. Agnes, much discomposed and troubled, went to -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>{31}</span> window, as people generally do in embarrassment, and looked out -vacantly for a moment upon the kitchen-garden and the servants’ -“offices,” the only prospect visible from it. She could not help sharing -a little the excitement of her companion, as she thought upon her own -singular position here, and listened with an involuntary thrill to the -slow step of the unknown person from whom they had fled, pacing along -the long cool corridor to pass this door.</p> - -<p>But he did not pass the door; he made a moment’s pause at it, and then -entered, coming full upon Rachel as she stood, agitated and defiant, -close upon the threshold. Agnes scarcely looked round, yet she could see -it was Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Rachel. I trust you get on well here,” said the new-comer -in a soft and stealthy tone: “is this your sitting-room? Ah, bare -enough, I see. Your are in splendid voice, I am glad to hear; some one -is coming to-night, I understand, whose good opinion is important. You -must take care to do yourself full justice. Are you well, child?”</p> - -<p>He had approached close to her, and bestowed a cold kiss upon the brow -which burned under his touch. “Perfectly well,” said Rachel, drawing -back with a voice unusually harsh and clear. Her agitation and -excitement had for the moment driven all the music from her tones.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>{32}</span></p> - -<p>“And your brother is quite well, and all going on in the usual way at -Winterbourne,” continued the stranger. “I expect to have the house very -full in a few weeks, and you must arrange with the housekeeper where to -bestow yourselves. <i>You</i>, of course, I shall want frequently. As for -Louis, I suppose he does nothing but fish and mope as usual. I have no -desire to see more than I can help of <i>him</i>.”</p> - -<p>“There is no fear; his desire is as strong as yours,” cried Rachel -suddenly, her face varying from the most violent flush to a sudden -passionate paleness. Lord Winterbourne answered by his cold smile of -ridicule.</p> - -<p>“I know his amiable temper,” he said. “Now, remember what I have said -about to-night. Do yourself justice. It will be for your advantage. -Good-by. Remember me to Louis.”</p> - -<p>The door opened again, and he was gone. Rachel closed it almost -violently, and threw herself upon a chair. “We owe him no duty—none. I -will not believe it,” cried Rachel. “No—no—no—I do not belong to him! -Louis is not his!”</p> - -<p>All this time, in the greatest distress and embarrassment, Agnes stood -by the window, grieved to be an unwilling listener, and reluctant to -remind Rachel of her presence by going away. But Rachel had not -forgotten that she was there. With a sudden effort this strange solitary -girl composed herself and came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>{33}</span> up to Agnes. “Do you know Lord -Winterbourne?” she said quickly; “have you heard of him before you came -here?”</p> - -<p>“I think—— but, indeed, I may be mistaken,” said Agnes timidly; “I -think papa once knew him long ago.”</p> - -<p>“And did he think him a good man?” said Rachel.</p> - -<p>This was a very embarrassing question. Agnes turned away, retreated -uneasily, blushed, and hesitated. “He never speaks of him; I cannot -tell,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” said Rachel, eagerly, “they say he is my father—Louis’s -father; but we do not believe it, neither I nor he.”</p> - -<p>To this singular statement Agnes made no answer, save by a look of -surprise and inquiry; the frightful uncertainty of such a position as -this was beyond the innocent comprehension of Agnes Atheling. She looked -with a blank and painful surprise into her young companion’s face.</p> - -<p>“And I will not sing to-night; I will not, because he bade me!” said -Rachel. “Is it my fault that I can sing? but I am to be punished for it; -they make me come to amuse them; and they want me to be a public singer. -I should not care,” cried the poor girl suddenly, in a violent burst of -tears, passing from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>{34}</span> passion and excitement to her natural -character—“I would not mind it for myself, if it were not for Louis. I -would do anything they bade me myself; I do not care, nothing matters to -me; but Louis—Louis! he thinks it is disgrace, and it would break his -heart!”</p> - -<p>“Is that your brother?” said Agnes, bending over her, and endeavouring -to soothe her excitement. Rachel made no immediate answer.</p> - -<p>“He has disgrace enough already, poor boy,” said Rachel. “We are -nobody’s children; or we are Lord Winterbourne’s; and he who might be a -king’s son—and he has not even a name! Yes, he is my brother, my poor -Louis: we are twins; and we have nobody but each other in the whole -world.”</p> - -<p>“If he is as old as you,” said Agnes, who was only accustomed to the -usages of humble houses, and knew nothing of the traditions of a noble -race, “you should not stay at Winterbourne: a man can always work—you -ought not to stay.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?” cried Rachel eagerly. “Louis says so always, and I -beg and plead with him. When he was only eighteen he ran away: he went -and enlisted for a soldier—a common man—and was away a year, and then -they bought him off, and promised to get him a commission; and I made -him promise to me—perhaps it was selfish, for I could not live when he -was gone—I made him promise not to go away again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>{35}</span> And there he is at -Winterbourne. I know you never saw any one like him; and now all these -heartless people are going there, and Lord Winterbourne is afraid of -him, and never will have him seen, and the whole time I will be sick to -the very heart lest he should go away.”</p> - -<p>“But I think he ought to go away,” said Agnes gravely.</p> - -<p>Her new friend looked up in her face with an earnest and trembling -scrutiny. This poor girl had a great deal more passion and vehemence in -her character than had ever been called for in Agnes, but, an -uninstructed and ill-trained child, knew nothing of the primitive -independence, and had never been taught to think of right and wrong.</p> - -<p>“We have a little house there,” said Agnes, with a sudden thought. “Do -you know the Old Wood Lodge? Papa’s old aunt left it to him, and they -say it is very near the Hall.”</p> - -<p>At the name Rachel started suddenly, rose up at once with one of her -quick inconsiderate movements, and, throwing her arms round Agnes, -kissed her cheek. “I knew I ought to know you,” said Rachel, “and yet I -did not think of the name. Dear old Miss Bridget, she loved Louis. I am -sure she loved him; and we know every room in the house, and every leaf -on the trees. If you come there, we will see you every day.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>{36}</span></p> - -<p>“We are coming there—and my mother,” said Agnes. “I know you will be -pleased to see mamma,” said the good girl, her face brightening, and her -eyes filling in spite of herself; “every one thinks she is like their -own mother—and when you come to us you will think you are at home.”</p> - -<p>“We never had any mother,” said Rachel, sadly; “we never had any home; -we do not know what it is. Look, this is my home here.”</p> - -<p>Agnes looked round the large bare apartment, in which the only article -of furniture worth notice was an old piano, and which looked only upon -the little square of kitchen-garden and the servants’ rooms. It was -somewhat larger than both the parlours in Bellevue, and for a best room -would have rejoiced Mrs Atheling’s ambitious heart; but Agnes was -already a little wiser than she had been in Islington, and it chilled -her heart to compare this lonely and dreary apartment with all the -surrounding luxuries, which Rachel saw and did not share.</p> - -<p>“Come up with me and see Marian,” said Agnes, putting her arm through -her companion’s; “you are not to avoid us now any more; we are all to be -friends after to-day.”</p> - -<p>And Rachel, who did not know what friendship was, yielded, thinking of -Louis. Had she been wrong throughout in keeping him, by her entreaties, -so long<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>{37}</span> at Winterbourne? A vision of a home, all to themselves, burst -once in a great delight upon the mind of Rachel. If Louis would only -consent to it! With such a motive before her as that, the poor girl -fancied she “would not mind” being a singer after all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>{38}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /><br /> -<small>CONFIDENTIAL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> the first ice was broken, Rachel became perfectly confidential with -her new friends—<i>perfectly</i> confidential—far more so than they, -accustomed to the domestic privateness of humble English life, could -understand. This poor girl had no restraint upon her for family pride or -family honour; no compensation in family sympathy; and her listeners, -who had very little skill in the study of character, though one of them -had written a novel, were extremely puzzled with a kind of doubleness, -perfectly innocent and unconscious, which made Rachel’s thoughts and -words at different moments like the words and the thoughts of two -different people. At one time she was herself, humble, timid, and -content to do anything which any authority bade her do; but in a moment -she remembered Louis; and the change was instantaneous—she became -proud, stately, obdurate, even defiant. She was no longer herself, but -the shadow and representative<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>{39}</span> of her brother; and in this view Rachel -resisted and defied every influence, anchoring her own wavering will -upon Louis, and refusing, with unreasonable and unreasoning obstinacy, -all injunctions and all persuasions coming from those to whom her -brother was opposed. She seemed, indeed, to have neither plan nor -thought for herself: Louis was her inspiration. <i>She</i> seemed to have -been born for no other purpose but to follow, to love, and to serve this -brother, who to her was all the world. As she sat on the pretty chintz -sofa in that sunny little dressing-room where Agnes and Marian passed -the morning, running rapidly over the environs of the Old Wood Lodge, -and telling them about their future neighbours, they were amazed and -amused to find the total absence of personal opinion, and almost of -personal liking, in their new acquaintance. She had but one standard, to -which she referred everything, and that was Louis. They saw the very -landscape, not as it was, but as it appeared to this wonderful brother. -They became acquainted with the village and its inhabitants through the -medium of Louis’s favourites and Louis’s aversions. They were young -enough and simple enough themselves to be perfectly ready to invest any -unknown ideal person with all the gifts of fancy; and Louis immediately -leaped forth from the unknown world, a presence and an authority to them -both.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>{40}</span></p> - -<p>“The Rector lives in the Old Wood House,” said Rachel, for the first -time pausing, and looking somewhat confused in her rapid summary. “I am -sure I do not know what to think—but Louis does not like him. I suppose -you will not like him; and yet,”—here a little faint colour came upon -the young speaker’s pale face—“sometimes I have fancied he would have -been a friend if we had let him; and he is quite sure to like you.”</p> - -<p>Saying this, she turned a somewhat wistful look upon Agnes—blushing -more perceptibly, but with no sunshine or brightness in her blush. -“Yes,” said Rachel slowly, “he will like you—he will do for you; and -you,” she added, turning with sudden eagerness to Marian, “you are for -Louis—remember! You are not to think of any one else till you see -Louis. You never saw any one like him; he is like a prince to look at, -and I know he is a great genius. Your sister shall have the Rector, and -Louis shall be for you.”</p> - -<p>All this Rachel said hurriedly, but with the most perfect gravity, even -with a tinge of sadness—grieved, as they could perceive, that her -brother did not like the Rector, but making no resistance against a doom -so unquestionable as the dislike of Louis: but her timid heart was -somehow touched upon the subject; she became thoughtful, and lingered -over it with a kind of melancholy pleasure. “Perhaps Louis might<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>{41}</span> come -to like him if he was connected with <i>you</i>,” said Rachel meditatively; -and the faint colour wavered and flickered on her face, and at last -passed away with a low but very audible sigh.</p> - -<p>“But they are all Riverses,” she continued, in her usual rapid way. “The -Rector of Winterbourne is always a Rivers—it is the family living; and -if Lord Winterbourne’s son should die, I suppose Mr Lionel would be the -heir. His sister lives with him, quite an old lady: and then there is -another Miss Rivers, who lives far off, at Abingford all the way. Did -you ever hear of Miss Anastasia? But she does not call herself -Miss—only the Honourable Anastasia Rivers. Old Miss Bridget was once -her governess. Lord Winterbourne will never permit her to see us; but I -almost think Louis would like to be friends with her, only he will not -take the trouble. They are not at all friends with her at Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Is she a relation?” said Agnes. The girls by this time were so much -interested in the family story that they did not notice this admirable -reason for the inclination of Louis towards this old lady unknown.</p> - -<p>“She is the old lord’s only child,” said Rachel. “The old lord was Lord -Winterbourne’s brother, and he died abroad, and no one knew anything -about him for a long time before he died. We want very much to hear -about him; indeed, I ought not to tell you—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>{42}</span>but Louis thinks perhaps he -knew something about us. Louis will not believe we are Lord -Winterbourne’s children; and though we are poor disgraced children any -way, and though he hates the very name of Rivers, I think he would -almost rather we belonged to the old lord; for he says,” added Rachel -with great seriousness, “that one cannot hate one’s father, if he is -dead.”</p> - -<p>The girls drew back a little, half in horror; but though she spoke in -this rebellious fashion, there was no consciousness of wrong in Rachel’s -innocent and quiet face.</p> - -<p>“And we have so many troubles,” burst forth the poor girl suddenly. “And -I sometimes sit and cry all day, and pray to God to be dead. And when -anybody is kind to me,” she continued, some sudden remembrance moving -her to an outburst of tears, and raising the colour once more upon her -colourless cheek, “I am so weak and so foolish, and would do anything -they tell me. <i>I</i> do not care, I am sure, what I do—it does not matter -to me; but Louis—no, certainly, I will not sing to-night.”</p> - -<p>“I wish very much,” said Agnes, with an earnestness and courage which -somewhat startled Marian—“I wish very much you could come home with us -to our little house in Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Marian doubtfully; but the younger<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>{43}</span> sister, though she -shared the generous impulse, could not help a secret glance at Agnes—an -emphatic reminder of Mamma.</p> - -<p>“No, I must make no friends,” said Rachel, rising under the inspiration -of Louis’s will and injunctions. “It is very kind of you, but I must not -do it. Oh, but remember you are to come to Winterbourne, and I will try -to bring Louis to see you; and I am sure you know a great deal better, -and could talk to him different from me. Do you know,” she continued -solemnly, “they never have given me any education at all, except to -sing? I have never been taught anything, nor indeed Louis either, which -is much worse than me—only he is a great genius, and can teach himself. -The Rector wanted to help him; that is why I am always sure, if Louis -would let him, he would be a friend.”</p> - -<p>And again a faint half-distinguishable blush came upon Rachel’s face. -No, it meant nothing, though Agnes and Marian canvassed and interpreted -after their own fashion this delicate suffusion; it only meant that the -timid gentle heart might have been touched had there been room for more -than Louis; but Louis was supreme, and filled up all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>{44}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /><br /> -<small>THREE FRIENDS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">That</span> night, faithful to her purpose, Rachel did not appear in the -drawing-room. How far her firmness would have supported her, had she -been left to herself, it is impossible to tell; but she was not left to -herself. “Mrs Edgerley came, saying just the same things as Lord -Winterbourne,” said Rachel, “and I knew I should be firm. Louis cannot -endure Mrs Edgerley.” She said this with the most entire unconsciousness -that she revealed the whole motive and strength of her resistance in the -words. Rachel, indeed, was perfectly unaware of the entire subjection in -which she kept even her thoughts and her affections to her brother; but -she could not help a little anxiety and a little nervousness as to -whether “Louis would like” her new acquaintances. She herself brightened -wonderfully under the influence of these companions—expanded out of her -dull and irritable solitude, and with girlish eagerness forecast their -fortunes, seizing at once, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>{45}</span> idea, upon Marian as the destined bride -of Louis, and with a voluntary self-sacrifice making over, with a sigh -and a secret thrill of pride, the only person who had ever wakened any -interest in her own most sisterly bosom, to Agnes. She pleased herself -greatly with these visions, and built them on a foundation still more -brittle than that of Alnaschar—for it was possible that all her -pleasant dreams might be thrown into the dust in a moment, if—dreadful -possibility!—“Louis did not like” these first friends of poor Rachel’s -youth.</p> - -<p>And when she brightened under this genial influence, and softened out of -the haughtiness and solitary state which, indeed, was quite foreign to -her character, Rachel became a very attractive little person. Even the -sudden change in her sentiments and bearing when she returned to her old -feeling of representing Louis, added a charm. Her large eyes troubled -and melting, her pale small features which were very fine and regular, -though so far from striking, her noble little head and small pretty -figure, attracted in the highest degree the admiration of her new -friends. Marian, who rather suspected that she herself was rather -pretty, could not sufficiently admire the grace and refinement of -Rachel; and Agnes, though candidly admitting that there was “scarcely -any one” so beautiful as Marian, notwithstanding bestowed a very equal -share<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>{46}</span> of her regard upon the attractions of their companion. And the -trio fell immediately into all the warmth of girlish friendship. The -Athelings went to visit Rachel in her great bare study, and Rachel came -to visit them in their pretty little dressing-room; and whether in that -sun-bright gay enclosure, or within the sombre and undecorated walls of -the room which looked out on the kitchen-garden, a painter would have -been puzzled to choose which was the better scene. They were so pretty a -group anywhere—so animated—so full of eager life and intelligence—so -much disposed to communicate everything that occurred to them, that -Rachel’s room brightened under the charm of their presence as she -herself had done. And this new acquaintanceship made a somewhat singular -revolution in the drawing-room—where the young musician, after her -singing, was instantly joined by her two friends. She was extremely -reserved and shy of every one else, and even of them occasionally, under -the eyes of Mrs Edgerley; but she was no longer the little tragical -princess who buried herself in the book and the corner, and neither -heard nor saw anything going around her. And the fact that they had some -one whose position was even more doubtful and uneasy than their own, to -give heart and courage to, animated Agnes and Marian, as nothing else -could have done. They recovered their natural spirits, and were no -longer overawed by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a>{47}</span> great people surrounding them; they had so much -care for Rachel that they forgot to be self-conscious, or to trouble -themselves with inquiries touching their own manners and deportment, and -what other people thought of the same; and on the whole, though their -simplicity was not quite so amusing as at first, “other people” began to -have a kindness for the fresh young faces, always so honest, cloudless, -and sincere.</p> - -<p>But Agnes’s “reputation” had died away, and left very little trace -behind it. Mrs Edgerley had found other lions, and at the present moment -held in delusion an unfortunate young poet, who was much more like to be -harmed by the momentary idolatry than Agnes. The people who had been -dying to know the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, had all found out that the -shy young genius did not talk in character—had no gift of conversation, -and, indeed, did nothing at all to keep up her fame; and if Agnes -chanced to feel a momentary mortification at the prompt desertion of all -her admirers, she wisely kept the pang to herself, and said nothing -about it. They were not neglected—for the accomplished authoress of -<i>Coquetry</i> and the <i>Beau Monde</i> had some kindness at her heart after -all, and had always a smile to spare for her young guests when they came -in her way; they were permitted to roam freely about the gardens and the -conservatory; they were by no means hindered in their acquaintance with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>{48}</span> -Rachel, whom Mrs Edgerley was really much disposed to bring out and -patronise; and one of them, the genius or the beauty, as best suited her -other companions, was not unfrequently honoured with a place in Mrs -Edgerley’s barouche—a pretty shy lay figure in that rustling, radiant, -perfumy <i>bouquet</i> of fine ladies, who talked over her head about things -and people perfectly unknown to the silent auditor, and impressed her -with a vague idea that this elegant and easy gossip was brilliant -“conversation,” though it did not quite sound, after all, like that -grand unattainable conversation to be found in books. After this -fashion, liking their novel life wonderfully well, and already making a -home of that sunny little dressing-room, they drew gradually towards the -end of their fortnight. As yet nothing at all marvellous had happened to -them, and even Agnes seemed to have forgotten the absolute necessity of -letting everybody know that they “did not belong to great people,” but -instead of a rural Hall, or Grange of renown, lived only in Number Ten, -Bellevue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>{49}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /><br /> -<small>A TERRIBLE EVENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">For</span> Agnes, we are grieved to confess, had fallen into all the sudden -fervour of a most warm and enthusiastic girlish friendship. She forgot -to watch over her sister, though Mrs Atheling’s letters did not fail to -remind her of her duty; she forgot to ward off the constant regards of -Sir Langham. She began to be perfectly indifferent and careless of the -superb sentinel who mounted guard upon Marian every night. For the time, -Agnes was entirely occupied with Rachel, and with the new world so full -of a charmed unknown life, which seemed to open upon them all in this -Old Wood Lodge; she spent hours dreaming of some discovery which might -change the position of the unfortunate brother and sister; she took up -with warmth and earnestness their dislike to Lord Winterbourne. If it -sometimes occurred to her what a frightful sentiment this was on the -part of children to their father,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>{50}</span> she corrected herself suddenly, and -declared in her own mind, with heart and energy, that he could not be -their father—that there was no resemblance between them. But this, it -must be confessed, was a puzzling subject, and offered continual ground -for speculation; for princes and princesses, stolen away in their -childhood, were extremely fictitious personages, even to an imagination -which had written a novel; and Agnes could not help a thrill of -apprehension when she thought of Louis and Marian, of the little romance -which Rachel had made up between them, and how her own honourable father -and mother would look upon this unhappy scion of a noble house—this -poor boy who had no name.</p> - -<p>This future, so full of strange and exciting possibilities, attracted -with an irresistible power the imaginative mind of Agnes. She went -through it chapter by chapter—through earnest dialogues, overpowering -emotions, many a varying and exciting scene. The Old Wood Lodge, the Old -Wood House, the Hall, the Rector, the old Miss Rivers, the unknown hero, -Louis—these made a little private world of persons and places to the -vivid imagination of the young dreamer. They floated down even upon Mrs -Edgerley’s drawing-room, extinguishing its gay lights, its pretty faces, -and its hum of conversation; but with still more effect<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>{51}</span> filled all her -mind and meditations, as she rested, half reclining, upon the pretty -chintz sofa in the pretty dressing-room, in the sweet summer noon with -which this sweet repose was so harmonious and suitable. The window was -open, and the soft wind blowing in fluttered all the leaves of that book -upon the little table, which the sunshine, entering too, brightened into -a dazzling whiteness with all its rims and threads of gold. A fragrant -breath came up from the garden, a hum of soft sound from all the drowsy -world out of doors. Agnes, in the corner of the sofa, laying back her -head among its pretty cushions, with the smile of fancy on her lips, and -the meditative inward light shining in her eyes, playing her foot idly -on the carpet, playing her fingers idly among a little knot of flowers -which lay at her side, and which, in this sweet indolence, she had not -yet taken the trouble to arrange in the little vase—was as complete a -picture of maiden meditation—of those charmed fancies, sweet and -fearless, which belong to her age and kind, as painter or poet could -desire to see.</p> - -<p>When Marian suddenly broke in upon the retirement of her sister, -disturbed, fluttered, a little afraid, but with no appearance of -painfulness, though there was a certain distress in her excitement. -Marian’s eyes were downcast, abashed, and dewy, her colour unusually -bright, her lips apart, her heart beating<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>{52}</span> high. She came into the -little quiet room with a sudden burst, as if she had fled from some one; -but when she came within the door, paused as suddenly, put up her hands -to her face, blushed an overpowering blush, and dropped at once with the -shyest, prettiest movement in the world, into a low chair which stood -behind the door. Agnes, waking slowly out of her own bright mist of -fancy, saw all this with a faint wonder—noticing scarcely anything more -than that Marian surely grew prettier every day, and indeed had never -looked so beautiful all her life.</p> - -<p>“May! you look quite——” lovely, Agnes was about to say; but she paused -in consideration of her sister’s feelings, and said “frightened” -instead.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no wonder! Agnes, something has happened,” said Marian. She began -to look even more frightened as she spoke; yet the pretty saucy lip -moved a little into something that resembled suppressed and silent -laughter. In spite, however, of this one evidence of a secret mixture of -amusement, Marian was extremely grave and visibly afraid.</p> - -<p>“What has happened? Is it about Rachel?” asked Agnes, instantly -referring Marian’s agitation to the subject of her own thoughts.</p> - -<p>“About Rachel! you are always thinking about Rachel,” said Marian, with -a momentary sparkle of indignation. “It is something a great deal more -important;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>{53}</span> it is—oh, Agnes! Sir Langham has been speaking to me——”</p> - -<p>Agnes raised herself immediately with a start of eagerness and surprise, -accusing herself. She had forgotten all about this close and pressing -danger—she had neglected her guardianship—she looked with an appalled -and pitying look upon her beautiful sister. In Agnes’s eyes, it was -perfectly visible already that here was an end of Marian’s -happiness—that she had bestowed her heart upon Sir Langham, and that -accordingly this heart had nothing to do but to break.</p> - -<p>“What did he say?” asked Agnes solemnly.</p> - -<p>“He said—— oh, I am sure you know very well what he was sure to say,” -cried Marian, holding down her head, and tying knots in her little -handkerchief; “he said—he liked me—and wanted to know if I would -consent. But it does not matter what he said,” said Marian, sinking her -voice very low, and redoubling the knots upon the cambric; “it is not my -fault, indeed, Agnes. I did not think he would have done it; I thought -it was all like Harry Oswald; and you never said a word. What was I to -do?”</p> - -<p>“What did <i>you</i> say?” asked Agnes again, with breathless anxiety, -feeling the reproach, but making no answer to it.</p> - -<p>“I said nothing: it was in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and she came in -almost before he was done<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>{54}</span> speaking; and I was so very glad, and ran -away. What could I do?” said again the beautiful culprit, becoming a -little more at her ease; but during all this time she never lifted her -eyes to her sister’s face.</p> - -<p>“What <i>will</i> you say, then? Marian, you make me very anxious; do not -trifle with me,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“It is you who are trifling,” retorted the young offender; “for you know -if you had told the people at once, as you said you would—but I don’t -mean to be foolish either,” said Marian, rising suddenly, and throwing -herself half into her sister’s arms; “and now, Agnes, you must go and -tell him—indeed you must—and say that we never intended to deceive -anybody, and meant no harm.”</p> - -<p>“<i>I</i> must tell him!” said Agnes, with momentary dismay; and then the -elder sister put her arm round the beautiful head which leaned on her -shoulder, in a caressing and sympathetic tenderness. “Yes, May,” said -Agnes sadly, “I will do anything you wish—I will say whatever you wish. -We ought not to have come here, where you were sure to meet with all -these perils. Marian! for my mother’s sake you must try to keep up your -heart when we get home.”</p> - -<p>The answer Marian made to this solemn appeal was to raise her eyes, full -of wondering and mischievous brightness, and to draw herself immediately -from Agnes’s embrace with a low laugh of excitement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>{55}</span> “Keep up my heart! -What do you mean?” said Marian; but she immediately hastened to her own -particular sleeping-room, and, lost within its mazy muslin curtains, -waited for no explanation. Agnes, disturbed and grave, and much -overpowered by her own responsibility, did not know what to think. -Present appearances were not much in favour of the breaking of Marian’s -heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>{56}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /><br /> -<small>AN EXPLANATION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">But</span> what am I to say?”</p> - -<p>To this most difficult question Agnes could not find any satisfactory -answer. Marian, though so nearly concerned in it, gave her no assistance -whatever. Marian went wandering about the three little rooms, flitting -from one to another with unmistakable restlessness, humming inconsistent -snatches of song, sometimes a little disposed to cry, sometimes moved to -smiles, extremely variable, and full of a sweet and pleasant agitation. -Agnes followed her fairy movements with grave eyes, extremely watchful -and anxious—was she grieved?—was she pleased? was she really in love?</p> - -<p>But Marian made no sign. She would not intrust her sister with any -message from herself. She was almost disposed to be out of temper when -Agnes questioned her. “You know very well what must be said,” said -Marian; “you have only to tell him who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>{57}</span> we are—and I suppose that will -be quite enough for Sir Langham. Do you not think so, Agnes?”</p> - -<p>“I think it all depends upon how he feels—and how <i>you</i> feel,” said the -anxious sister; but Marian turned away with a smile and made no reply. -To tell the truth, she could not at all have explained her own -sentiments. She was very considerably flattered by the homage of the -handsome guardsman, and fluttered no less by the magnificent and -marvellous idea of being a ladyship. There was nothing very much on her -part to prevent this beautiful Marian Atheling from becoming as pretty a -Lady Portland, and by-and-by, as affectionate a one, as even the -delighted imagination of Sir Langham could conceive. But Marian was -still entirely fancy free—not at all disinclined to be persuaded into -love with Sir Langham, but at present completely innocent of any serious -emotions—pleased, excited, in the sweetest flutter of girlish -expectation, amusement, and triumph—but nothing more.</p> - -<p>And from that corner of the window from which they could gain a sidelong -glance at the lawn and partial view of the shrubbery, Sir Langham was -now to be descried wandering about as restlessly as Marian, pulling off -stray twigs and handfuls of leaves in the most ruthless fashion, and -scattering them on his path. Marian drew Agnes suddenly and silently to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>{58}</span> -the window, and pointed out the impatient figure loitering about among -the trees. Agnes looked at him with dismay. “Am I to go now—to go out -and seek him?—is it proper?” said Agnes, somewhat horrified at the -thought. Marian took up the open book from the table, and drew the low -chair into the sunshine. “In the evening everybody will be there,” said -Marian, as she began to read, or to pretend to read. Agnes paused for a -moment in the most painful doubt and perplexity. “I suppose, indeed, it -had better be done at once,” she said to herself, taking up her bonnet -with very unenviable feelings. Poor Agnes! her heart beat louder and -louder, as she tied the strings with trembling fingers, and prepared to -go. There was Marian bending down over the book on her knees, sitting in -the sunshine with the full summer light burning upon her hair, and one -cheek flushed with the pressure of her supporting hand. She glanced up -eagerly, but she said nothing; and Agnes, very pale and extremely -doubtful, went upon her strange errand. It was the most perplexing and -uncomfortable business in the world—and was it proper? But she -reassured herself a little as she went down stairs—if any one should -see her going out to seek Sir Langham! “I will tell Mrs Edgerley the -reason,” thought Agnes—she supposed at least no one could have any -difficulty in understanding <i>that</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>{59}</span></p> - -<p>So she hastened along the garden paths, very shyly, looking quite pale, -and with a palpitating heart. Sir Langham knew nothing of her approach -till he turned round suddenly on hearing the shy hesitating rapid step -behind. He thought it was Marian for a moment, and made one eager step -forward; then he paused, half expecting, half indignant. Agnes, -breathless and hurried, gave him no time to address her—she burst into -her little speech with all the eager temerity of fear.</p> - -<p>“If you please, Sir Langham, I have something to say to you,” said -Agnes. “You must have been deceived in us—you do not know who we are. -We do not belong to great people—we have never before been in a house -like Mrs Edgerley’s. I came to tell you at once, for we did not think it -honest that you should not know.”</p> - -<p>“Know—know what?” cried Sir Langham. Never guardsman before was filled -with such illimitable amaze.</p> - -<p>Agnes had recovered her self-possession to some extent. “I mean, sir,” -she said earnestly, her face flushing as she spoke, “that we wish you to -know who we belong to, and that we are not of your rank, nor like the -people here. My father is in the City, and we live at Islington, in -Bellevue. We are able to live as we desire to live,” said Agnes with a -little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>{60}</span> natural pride, standing very erect, and blushing more deeply -than ever, “but we are what people at the Willows would call <i>poor</i>.”</p> - -<p>Her amazed companion stood gazing at her with a blank face of wonder. -“Eh?” said Sir Langham. He could not for his life make it out.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you do not understand me,” said Agnes, who began now to be -more at her ease than Sir Langham was, “but what I have said is quite -true. My father is an honourable man, whom we have all a right to be -proud of, but he has only—only a very little income every year. I meant -to have told every one at first, for we did not want to deceive—but -there was no opportunity, and whenever Marian told me, we made up our -minds that you ought to know. I mean,” said Agnes proudly, with a -strange momentary impression that she was taller than Sir Langham, who -stood before her biting the head of his cane, with a look of the -blankest discomfiture—“I mean that we forget altogether what you said -to my sister, and understand that you have been deceived.”</p> - -<p>She was somewhat premature, however, in her contempt. Sir Langham, -overpowered with the most complete amazement, had <i>yet</i>, at all events, -no desire whatever that Marian should forget what he had said to her. -“Stop,” said the guardsman, with his voice somewhat husky; “do you mean -that your father is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>{61}</span> not a friend of Lord Winterbourne’s? He is a squire -in Banburyshire—I know all about it—or how could you be here?”</p> - -<p>“He is not a squire in Banburyshire; he is in an office in the City—and -they asked us here because I had written a book,” said Agnes, with a -little sadness and great humility. “My father is not a friend of Lord -Winterbourne’s; but yet I think he knew him long ago.”</p> - -<p>At these last words Sir Langham brightened a little. “Miss Atheling, I -don’t want to believe you,” said the honest guardsman; “I’ll ask Lord -Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Lord Winterbourne knows nothing of us,” said Agnes, with an involuntary -shudder of dislike; “and now I have told you, Sir Langham, and there is -nothing more to say.”</p> - -<p>As she turned to leave him, the dismayed lover awoke out of his blank -astonishment. “Nothing more—not a word—not a message; what did she -say?” cried Sir Langham, reddening to his hair, and casting a wistful -look at the house where Marian was. He followed her sister with an -appealing gesture, yet paused in the midst of it. The unfortunate -guardsman had never been in circumstances so utterly perplexing; he -could not, would not, give up his love—and yet!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>{62}</span></p> - -<p>“Marian said nothing—nothing more than I have been obliged to say,” -said Agnes. She turned away now, and left him with a proud and rapid -step, inspired with injured pride and involuntary resentment. Agnes did -not quite know what she had expected of Sir Langham, but it surely was -something different from this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /><br /> -<small>AN EXPERIMENT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> there was a wonderful difference between this high-minded and -impetuous girl, as she crossed the lawn with a hasty foot, which almost -scorned to sink into its velvet softness, and the disturbed and -bewildered individual who remained behind her in the bowery path where -this interview had taken place. Sir Langham Portland had no very bigoted -regard for birth, and no avaricious love of money. He was a very good -fellow after his kind, as Sir Langhams go, and would not have done a -dishonourable thing, with full knowledge of it, for the three kingdoms; -but Sir Langham was a guardsman, a man of fashion, a man of the world; -he was not so blinded by passion as to be quite oblivious of what -befalls a man who marries a pretty face; he was not wealthy enough or -great enough to indulge such a whim with impunity, and the beauty which -was enough to elevate a Banburyshire Hall, was not sufficient to gild -over the unmentionable enormity<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a>{64}</span> of a house in Islington and a father in -the City. Fathers in the City who are made of gold may be sufficiently -tolerable, but a City papa who was <i>poor</i>, and had “only a very small -income every year,” as Agnes said, was an unimaginable monster, scarcely -realisable to the brilliant intellect of Sir Langham. This unfortunate -young gentleman wandered about Mrs Edgerley’s bit of shrubbery, tearing -off leaves and twigs on every side of him, musing much in his perturbed -and cloudy understanding, and totally unable to make it out. Let nobody -suppose he had given up Marian; that would have made a settlement of the -question. But Sir Langham was not disposed to give up his beauty, and -not disposed to make a <i>mésalliance</i>; and between the terror of losing -her and the terror of everybody’s sneer and compassion if he gained her, -the unhappy lover vibrated painfully, quite unable to come to any -decision, or make up his mighty mind one way or the other. He stripped -off the leaves of the helpless bushes, but it did him no service; he -twisted his mustache, but there was no enlightenment to be gained from -that interesting appendage; he collected all his dazzled wits to the -consideration of what sort of creature a man might be who was in an -office in the City. Finally, a very brilliant and original idea struck -upon the heavy intelligence of Sir Langham. He turned briskly out of the -byways of the shrubbery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>{65}</span> and said to himself with animation, “I’ll go -and see!”</p> - -<p>When Agnes entered again the little dressing-room where her beautiful -sister still bent over her book, Marian glanced up at her inquiringly, -and finding no information elicited by that, waited a little, then rose, -and came shyly to her side. “I only want to know,” said Marian, “not -because I care; but what did he say?”</p> - -<p>“He was surprised,” said Agnes proudly, turning her head away; and Agnes -would say nothing more, though Marian lingered by her, and tried various -hints and measures of persuasion. Agnes was extremely stately, and, as -Marian said, “just a little cross,” all day. It was rather too bad to be -cross, if she was so, to the innocent mischief-maker, who might be the -principal sufferer. But Agnes had made up her mind to suffer no talk -about Sir Langham; she had quite given him up, and judged him with the -most uncompromising harshness. “Yes!” cried Agnes (to herself), with -lofty and poetic indignation, “this I suppose is what these fashionable -people call love!”</p> - -<p>She was wrong, as might have been expected; for that poor honest Sir -Langham, galloping through the dusty roads in the blazing heat of an -August afternoon, was quite as genuine in this proof of his affection<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>{66}</span> -as many a knight of romance. It was quite a serious matter to this poor -young man of fashion, before whose tantalised and tortured imagination -some small imp of an attendant Cupid perpetually held up the sweetest -fancy-portrait of that sweetest of fair faces. This visionary tormentor -tugged at his very heart-strings as the white summer dust rose up in a -cloud, marking his progress along the whole long line of the Richmond -road. He was not going to slay the dragon, the enemy of his -princess—that would have been easy work. He was, unfortunate Sir -Langham! bound on a despairing enterprise to find out the house which -was not a hall in Banburyshire, to make acquaintance, if possible, with -the papa who was in the City, and to see “if it would do.”</p> - -<p>He knew as little, in reality, about the life which Agnes and Marian -lived at home, and about their father’s house and all its homely -economics and quiet happiness, as if he had been a New Zealand chief -instead of a guardsman—and galloped along as gravely as if he were -going to a funeral, with, all the way, that wicked little imp of a -Cupidon tugging at his heart.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling was alone with her two babies, sighing a little, and full -of weariness for the return of the girls; but Susan, better instructed -this time, ushered the magnificent visitor into the best room. He stood -gazing upon it in blank amazement; upon the haircloth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>{67}</span> sofa, and the -folded leaf of the big old mahogany table in the corner; and the -coloured glass candlesticks and flower-vases on the mantel-shelf. Mrs -Atheling, who was a little fluttered, and the rosy boy, who clung to her -skirts, and, spite of her audible entreaties in the passage, would not -suffer her to enter without him, rather increased the consternation of -Sir Langham. She was comely; she had a soft voice; a manner quite -unpretending and simple, as good in its natural quietness as the highest -breeding; yet Sir Langham, at sight of her, heaved from the depths of -his capacious bosom a mighty sigh. It would not do; that little wretch -of a Cupid, what a wrench it gave him as he tried to cast it out! If it -had been a disorderly house or a slatternly mother, Sir Langham might -have taken some faint comfort from the thought of rescuing his beautiful -Marian from a family unworthy of her; but even to his hazy understanding -it became instantly perceptible that this was a home not to be parted -with, and a mother much beloved. Marian, a prince might have been glad -to marry; but Sir Langham could not screw his fortitude to the pitch of -marrying all that little, tidy, well-ordered house in Bellevue.</p> - -<p>So he made a great bungle of his visit, and invented a story about being -in town on business, and calling to carry the Miss Athelings’ messages -for home; and made the best he could of so bad a business by a very -expeditious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>{68}</span> retreat. Anything that he did say was about Agnes; and the -mother, though a little puzzled and startled by the visit, was content -to set it down to the popularity of her young genius. “I suppose he -wanted to see what kind of people she belonged to,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a smile of satisfaction, as she looked round her best room, and -drew back with her into the other parlour the rosy little rogues who -held on by her gown. She was perfectly correct in her supposition; but, -alas! how far astray in the issue of the same.</p> - -<p>Sir Langham went to his club—went to the opera—could not rest -anywhere, and floundered about like a man bewitched. It would not do—it -would not do; but the merciless little Cupid hung on by his -heart-strings, and would not be off for all the biddings of the -guardsman. He did not return to Richmond; he was heartily ashamed of -himself—heartily sick of all the so-called pleasures with which he -tried to cheat his disappointment. But Sir Langham had a certain kind of -good sense though he was in love, so he applied himself to forgetting -“the whole business,” and made up his mind finally that it would not do.</p> - -<p>The sisters at the Willows, when they found that Sir Langham did not -appear that night, and that no one knew anything of him, made their own -conclusions on the subject, but did not say a word even to each other. -Agnes sat apart silently indignant, and full of a sublime<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>{69}</span> disdain. -Marian, with, a deeper colour than usual on her cheek, was, on the -contrary, a great deal more animated than was her wont, and attracted -everybody’s admiration. Had anybody cared to think of the matter, it -would have been the elder sister, and not the younger, whom the common -imagination could have supposed to have lost a lover; but they went to -rest very early that night, and spent no pleasant hour in the pleasant -gossip which never failed between them. Sir Langham was not to be spoken -of; and Agnes lay awake, wondering what Marian’s feelings were, long -after Marian, forgetting all about her momentary pique and anger, was -fast and sweet asleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>{70}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /><br /> -<small>GOING HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> now it had come to an end—all the novelty, the splendour, and the -excitement of this first visit—and Agnes and Marian were about to go -home. They were very much pleased, and yet a little disappointed—glad -and eager to return to their mother, yet feeling it would have been -something of a compliment to be asked to remain.</p> - -<p>Rachel, who was a great deal more vehement and demonstrative than either -of them, threw herself into their arms with violent tears. “I have been -so happy since ever I knew you,” said Rachel—“so happy, I scarcely -thought it right when I was not with Louis—and I think I could almost -like to be your servant, and go home with you. I could do anything for -you.”</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“No; it is quite true,” cried poor Rachel—“<i>quite</i> true. I should like -to be your servant, and live with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>{71}</span> your mother. Oh! I ought to say,” she -continued, raising herself with a little start and thrill of terror, -“that if we were in a different position, and could meet people like -equals, I should be so glad—so very glad to be friends.”</p> - -<p>“But how odd Rachel would think it to live in Bellevue,” said Marian, -coming to the rescue with a little happy ridicule, which did better than -gravity, “and to see no one, even in the street, but the milkman and the -greengrocer’s boy! for Rachel only thinks of the Willows and -Winterbourne; she does not know in the least how things look in -Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>Rachel was beguiled into a laugh—a very unusual indulgence. “When you -say that, I think it is a very little cottage like one of the cottages -in the village; but you know that is all wrong. Oh, when do you think -you will go to Winterbourne?”</p> - -<p>“We will write and tell you,” said Agnes, “all about it, and how many -are going; for I do not suppose Charlie will come, after all; and you -will write to us—how often? Every other day?”</p> - -<p>Rachel turned very red, then very pale, and looked at them with -considerable dismay. “Write!” she said, with a falter in her voice; -“I—I never thought of that—I never wrote to any one; I daresay I -should do it very badly. Oh no; I shall be sure to find out whenever you -come to the Old Wood Lodge.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>{72}</span></p> - -<p>“But we shall hear nothing of you,” said Agnes. “Why should you not -write to us? I am sure you do to your brother at home.”</p> - -<p>“I do <i>not</i>,” said Rachel, once more drawing herself up, and with -flashing eyes. “No one can write letters to us, who have no name.”</p> - -<p>She was not to be moved from this point; she repeated the same words -again and again, though with a very wistful and yielding look in her -face. All for Louis! Her companions were obliged to give up the -question, after all.</p> - -<p>So there was another weeping, sobbing, vehement embrace, and Rachel -disappeared without a word into the big bare room down -stairs—disappeared to fall again, without a struggle, into her former -forlorn life—to yield on her own account, and to struggle with fierce -haughtiness for the credit of Louis—leaving the two sisters very -thoughtful and compassionate, and full of a sudden eager generous -impulse to run away with and take her home.</p> - -<p>“Home—to mamma! It would be like heaven to Rachel,” said Agnes, in a -little enthusiasm, with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Ay, but it would not be like the Willows,” said the most practical -Marian; and they both looked out with a smile and a sigh upon the -beautiful sunshiny lawn, the river in an ecstasy of light and -brightness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>{73}</span> the little island with all its ruffled willow-leaves, and -bethought themselves, finding some amusement in the contrast, of Laurel -House, and Myrtle Cottage, and the close secluded walls of Bellevue.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling had sent the Fly for her daughters—the old Islingtonian -fly, with the old white horse, and the coachman with his shiny hat. This -vehicle, which had once been a chariot of the gods, looked somewhat -shabby as it stood in the broad sunshine before the door of the Willows, -accustomed to the fairy coach of Mrs Edgerley. They laughed to -themselves very quietly when they caught their first glimpse of it, yet -in a momentary weakness were half ashamed; for even Agnes’s honest -determination to let everybody know their true “rank in life” was not -troubled by any fear lest this respectable vehicle should be taken for -their own carriage <i>now</i>.</p> - -<p>“Going, my love?” cried Mrs Edgerley; “the fatal hour—has it really -come so soon?—You leave us all <i>desolée</i>, of course; how <i>shall</i> we -exist to-day? And it was so good of you to come. Remember! we shall be -dying till we have a new tale from the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>. I -long to see it. I know it will be charming, or it could not be -yours.—And, my love, you look quite lovely—such roses! I think you -quite the most exquisite little creature in the world. Remember me to -your excellent mamma. Is your carriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>{74}</span> waiting? Ah, I am miserable to -part with you. Farewell—that dreadful word—farewell!”</p> - -<p>Again that light perfumy touch waved over one blushing cheek and then -another. Mrs Edgerley continued to wave her hand and make them pretty -signals till they reached the door, whither they hastened as quickly and -as quietly as possible, not desiring any escort; but few were the -privileged people in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and no one cared to do -the girls so much honour. Outside the house their friend the gardener -waited with two bouquets, so rare and beautiful that the timid -recipients of the same, making him their humble thanks, scarcely knew -how to express sufficient gratitude. Some one was arriving as they -departed—some one who, making the discovery of their presence, stalked -towards them, almost stumbling over Agnes, who happened to be nearest to -him. “Going away?” said a dismayed voice at a considerable altitude. Mr -Endicott’s thin head positively vibrated with mortification; he -stretched it towards Marian, who stood before him smiling over her -flowers, and fixed a look of solemn reproach upon her. “I am aware that -beauty and youth flee often from the presence of one who looks upon life -with a studious eye. This disappointment is not without its object. You -are going away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Marian, laughing, but with a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>{75}</span> charitable compassion -for her own particular victim, “and you are just arriving? It is very -odd—you should have come yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Permit me,” said Mr Endicott moodily;—“no; I am satisfied. This -experience is well—I am glad to know it. To us, Miss Atheling,” said -the solemn Yankee, as he gave his valuable assistance to Agnes—“to us -this play and sport of fortune is but the proper training. Our business -is not to enjoy; we bear these disappointments for the world.”</p> - -<p>He put them into their humble carriage, and bowed at them solemnly. Poor -Mr Endicott! He did not blush, but grew green as he stood looking after -the slow equipage ere he turned to the disenchanted Willows. Though he -was about to visit people of distinction, the American young gentleman, -being in love, did not care to enter upon this new scene of observation -and note-making at this moment; so he turned into the road, and walked -on in the white cloud of dust raised by the wheels of the fly. The dust -itself had a sentiment in it, and belonged to Marian; and Mr Endicott -began the painful manufacture of a sonnet, expressing this “experience,” -on the very spot.</p> - -<p>“But <i>you</i> ought not to laugh at him, Marian, even though other people -do,” said Agnes, with superior virtue.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” said the saucy beauty; “I laughed at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>{76}</span> Sir Langham—and I am -sure <i>he</i> deserved it,” she added in an under-tone.</p> - -<p>“Marian,” said Agnes, “I think—you have named him yourself, or I should -not have done it—we had better not say anything about Sir Langham to -mamma.”</p> - -<p>“I do not care at all who names him,” said Marian, pouting; but she made -no answer to the serious proposition: so it became tacitly agreed -between them that nothing was to be said of the superb runaway lover -when they got home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>{77}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /><br /> -<small>HOME.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> now they were at home—the Fly dismissed, the trunks unfastened, and -Agnes and Marian sitting with Mamma in the old parlour, as if they had -never been away. Yes, they had been away—both of them had come in with -a little start and exclamation to this familiar room, which somehow had -shrunk out of its proper proportions, and looked strangely dull, -dwarfed, and sombre. It was very strange; they had lived here for years, -and knew every corner of every chair and every table—and they had only -been gone a fortnight—yet what a difference in the well-known room!</p> - -<p>“Somebody has been doing something to the house,” said Marian -involuntarily; and Agnes paused in echoing the sentiment, as she caught -a glimpse of a rising cloud on her mother’s comely brow.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, children, I am grieved to see how soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>{78}</span> you have learned to -despise your home,” said Mrs Atheling; and the good mother reddened, and -contracted her forehead. She had watched them with a little jealousy -from their first entrance, and they, to tell the truth, had been visibly -struck with the smallness and the dulness of the family rooms.</p> - -<p>“Despise!” cried Marian, kneeling down, and leaning her beautiful head -and her clasped arms upon her mother’s knee. “Despise!” said Agnes, -putting her arm over Mrs Atheling’s shoulder from behind her chair; “oh, -mamma, you ought to know better!—we who have learned that there are -people in the world who have neither a mother nor a home!”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, what is the matter?” said Mrs Atheling; and she began to -smooth the beautiful falling hair, which came straying over her old -black silk lap, like Danae’s shower of gold.</p> - -<p>“Nothing at all—only the room is a little smaller, and the carpet a -little older than it used to be,” said Agnes; “but, mamma, because we -notice that, you do not think surely that we are less glad to be at -home.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, still a little piqued; “your great -friend, when he called the other day, did not seem to think there was -anything amiss about the house.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>{79}</span></p> - -<p>“Our great friend!” The girls looked at each other with dismay—who -could it be?</p> - -<p>“His card is on the mantelpiece,” said Mrs Atheling. “He had not very -much to say, but he seemed a pleasant young man—Sir Something—Sir -Langham; but, indeed, my dear, though, of course, I was pleased to see -him, I am not at all sure how far such acquaintances are proper for -you.”</p> - -<p>“He was scarcely <i>my</i> acquaintance, mamma,” said Agnes, sorrowfully -looking down from behind her mother’s chair upon Marian, who had hid her -face in Mrs Atheling’s lap, and made no sign.</p> - -<p>“For our rank in life is so different,” pursued the prudent mother; “and -even though I might have some natural ambition for you, I do not think, -Agnes, that it would really be wishing you well to wish that you should -form connections so far out of the sphere of your own family as <i>that</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma, it was not me,” said Agnes again, softly and under her breath.</p> - -<p>“It was no one!” cried Marian, rising up hastily, and suddenly seizing -and clipping into an ornamental cross Sir Langham’s card, which was upon -the mantelpiece. “See, Agnes, it will do to wind silk upon; and nobody -cares the least in the world for Sir Langham. Mamma, he used to be like -Harry Oswald—that is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>{80}</span>—and we were very glad when he went away from -the Willows, both Agnes and I.”</p> - -<p>At this statement, made as it was with a blush and a little confusion, -Mrs Atheling herself reddened slightly, and instantly left the subject. -It was easy enough to warn her children of the evils of a possible -connection with people of superior condition; but when such a thing -fluttered really and visibly upon the verge of her horizon, Mrs Atheling -was struck dumb. To see her pretty Marian a lady—a baronet’s wife—the -bride of that superb Sir Langham—it was not in the nature of mortal -mother to hear without emotion of such an extraordinary possibility. The -ambitious imagination kindled at once in the heart of Mrs Atheling: she -held her peace.</p> - -<p>And the girls, to tell the truth, were very considerably excited about -this visit of Sir Langham’s. What did it mean? After a little time they -strayed into the best room, and stood together looking at it with -feelings by no means satisfactory. The family parlour was the family -parlour, and, in spite of all that it lacked, possessed something of -home and kindness which was not to be found in all the luxurious -apartments of the Willows. But, alas! there was nothing but meagre -gentility, blank good order, and unloveliness, in this sacred and -reserved apartment, where Bell and Beau never threw the charm of their -childhood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>{81}</span> nor Mrs Atheling dispersed the kindly clippings of her -work-basket. The girls consulted each other with dismayed looks—even -Rachel, if she came, could not stand against the chill of this grim -parlour. Marian pulled the poor haircloth sofa into another position, -and altered with impatience the stiff mahogany chairs. They scarcely -liked to say to each other how entirely changed was their ideal, or how -they shrank from the melancholy state of the best room. “Sir Langham was -here, Agnes,” said Marian; and within her own mind the young beauty -almost added, “No wonder he ran away!”</p> - -<p>“It is home—it is our own house,” said Agnes, getting up for the -occasion a little pride.</p> - -<p>Marian shrugged her pretty shoulders. “But Susan had better bring any -one who calls into the other room.”</p> - -<p>Yes, the other room, when they returned to it, had brightened again -marvellously. Mrs Atheling had put on her new gown, and had a pink -ribbon in her cap. As she sat by the window with her work-basket, she -was pleasanter to look at than a dozen pictures; and the sweetest -Raphael in the world was not so sweet as these two little lovely fairies -playing upon the faded old rug at the feet of Mamma. Not all the -luxuries and all the prettinesses of Mrs Edgerley’s drawingrooms,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>{82}</span> not -even the river lying in the sunshine, and the ruffled silvery willows -drooping round their little island, were a fit balance to this dearest -little group, the mother and the children, who made beautiful beyond all -telling the sombre face of home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>{83}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /><br /> -<small>A NEW ERA.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> came to be rather an exciting business to Agnes and Marian making -their report of what had happened at the Willows—for it was difficult -to distract Mamma’s attention from Sir Langham, and Papa was almost -angrily interested in everything which touched upon Lord Winterbourne. -Rachel, of course, was a very prominent figure in their picture; but Mrs -Atheling was still extremely doubtful, and questioned much whether it -was proper to permit such an acquaintance to her daughters. She was very -particular in her inquiries concerning this poor girl—much approved of -Rachel’s consciousness of her own equivocal position—thought it “a very -proper feeling,” and received evidence with some solemnity as to her -“manners” and “principles.” The girls described their friend according -to the best of their ability; but as neither of them had any great -insight into character, we will not pretend to say that their audience<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>{84}</span> -were greatly enlightened,—and extremely doubtful was the mind of Mrs -Atheling. “My dear, I might be very sorry for her, but it would not be -proper for me to forget you in my sympathy for her,” said Mamma, gravely -and with dignity. Like so many tender-hearted mothers, Mrs Atheling took -great credit to herself for an imaginary severity, and made up her mind -that she was proof to the assaults of pity—she who at the bottom was -the most credulous of all, when she came to hear a story of distress.</p> - -<p>And Papa, who had been moved at once to forbid their acquaintance with -children of Lord Winterbourne’s, changed his mind, and became very much -interested when he heard of Rachel’s horror of the supposed -relationship. When they came to this part of the story, Mrs Atheling was -scandalised, but Papa was full of pity. He said “Poor child!” softly, -and with emotion; while Charlie pricked his big ear to listen, though no -one was favoured with the sentiments on this subject of the big boy.</p> - -<p>“And about the Rector and the old lady who lives at Abingford—papa, why -did you never tell us about these people?” said Marian; “for I am sure -you must know very well who Aunt Bridget’s neighbours were in the Old -Wood Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“I know nothing about the Riverses,” said Papa hastily—and Mr Atheling -himself, sober-minded man<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>{85}</span> though he was, grew red with an angry -glow—“there was a time when I hated the name,” he added in an impetuous -and rapid undertone, and then he looked up as though he was perfectly -aware of the restraining look of caution which his wife immediately -turned upon him.</p> - -<p>“Such neighbours as are proper for us you will find out when we get -there,” said Mrs Atheling quietly. “Papa has not been at Winterbourne -for twenty years, and we have had too many things to think of since then -to remember people whom we scarcely knew.”</p> - -<p>“Then, I suppose, since papa hated the name once, and Rachel hates it -now, they must be a very wicked family,” said Marian; “but I hope the -Rector is not very bad, for Agnes’s sake.”</p> - -<p>This little piece of malice called for instant explanation, and Marian -was very peremptorily checked by father and mother. “A girl may say a -foolish thing to other girls,” said Mamma, “and I am afraid this Rachel, -poor thing, must have been very badly brought up; but you ought to know -better than to repeat a piece of nonsense like that.”</p> - -<p>“When are we to go, mamma?” said Agnes, coming in to cover the blush, -half of shame and half of displeasure, with which Marian submitted to -this reproof; “it is August now, and soon it will be autumn instead of -summer: we shall be going out of town<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>{86}</span> when all the fashionable people -go—but I would rather it was May.”</p> - -<p>“It cannot be May this year,” said Mrs Atheling, involuntarily -brightening; “but papa is to take a holiday—three weeks; my dears, I do -not think I have been so pleased at anything since Bell and Beau.”</p> - -<p>Since Bell and Beau! what an era that was! And this, too, was a new -beginning, perhaps more momentous, though not such a sweet and great -revulsion, out of the darkness into the light. Mamma’s manner of dating -her joys cast them all back into thought and quietness; and Agnes’s -heart beat high with a secret and mercenary pleasure, exulting like a -miser over her hundred and fifty pounds. At this moment, and at many -another moment when the young author had clean forgotten <i>Hope -Hazlewood</i>, the thought came upon her with positive delight of the -little hoard in Papa’s hands, safely laid up in the office, one whole -hundred pounds’ worth of family good and gladness still; for she had not -the same elevated regard for art as her sister’s American admirer—she -was not, by any means, in her own estimation, or in anybody else’s, a -representative woman; and Agnes, who began already to think rather -meanly of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, and press on with the impatience of genius -towards a higher excellence, had the greatest satisfaction possible in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>{87}</span> -the earnings of her gentle craft—was it an ignoble delight?</p> - -<p>The next morning the two girls, with prudence and caution, began an -attack upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer touching the best room. At -first Mrs Atheling was entirely horrified at their extravagant ideas. -The best room!—what could be desired that was not already attained in -that most respectable apartment? but the young rebels held their ground. -Mamma put down her work upon her knee, and listened to them quietly. It -was not a good sign—she made no interruption as they spoke of mirrors -and curtains, carpets and ottomans, couches and easy-chairs: she heard -them all to the end with unexampled patience—she only said, “My dears, -when you are done I will tell you what I have to say.”</p> - -<p>What she did say was conclusive upon the subject, though it was met by -many remonstrances. “We are going to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Mrs -Atheling, “and I promise you you shall go into Oxford when we are there, -and get some things to make old Aunt Bridget’s parlour look a little -more like yourselves: but even a hundred pounds, though it is quite a -little fortune, will not last for ever—and to furnish <i>two</i> rooms! My -dears, you do not know any better; but, of course, it is quite -ridiculous, and cannot be done.”</p> - -<p>Thus ended at present their plan for making a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>{88}</span> drawing-room out -of the best room; for Mamma’s judgment, though it was decisive, was -reasonable, and they could make no stand against it. They did all they -could do under the circumstances; for the first time, and with -compunction, they secretly instructed Susan against the long-standing -general order of the head of the house. Strangers were no longer to be -ushered into the sacred stranger’s apartment; but before Susan had any -chance of obeying these schismatical orders, Agnes and Marian themselves -were falling into their old familiarity with the old walls and the -sombre furniture, and were no longer disposed to criticise, especially -as all their minds and all their endeavours were at present set upon the -family holiday—the conjoint household visit to the country—the -glorious prospect of taking possession of the Old Wood Lodge.</p> - -<p>In Bellevue, Charlie alone was to be left behind—Charlie, who had not -been long enough in Mr Foggo’s office to ask for a holiday, and who did -not want one very much, if truth must be told; for neither early hours -nor late hours told upon the iron constitution of the big boy. When they -pitied him who must stay behind, the young gentleman said, “Stuff! -Susan, I suppose, can make my coffee as well as any of you,” said -Charlie; but nobody was offended that he limited the advantages of their -society to coffee-making; and even Mrs Atheling, in spite of her -motherly anxieties,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>{89}</span> left her house and her son with comfortable -confidence. Harm might happen to the house, Susan being in it, who was -by no means so careful as she ought to be of her fire and her candle; -but nobody feared any harm to the heir and hope of the house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>{90}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE OLD WOOD LODGE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> it was late in August, a sultry day, oppressive and thundery, when -this little family of travellers made their first entry into the Old -Wood Lodge.</p> - -<p>It stood upon the verge of a wood, and the side of a hill, looking down -into what was not so much a valley as a low amphitheatre, watered by a -maze of rivers, and centred in a famous and wonderful old town. The -trees behind the little house had burning spots of autumn colour here -and there among the masses of green—colour which scarcely bore its due -weight and distinction in the tremulous pale atmosphere which waited for -the storm; and the leaves cowered and shivered together, and one -terrified bird flew wildly in among them, seeking refuge. Under the -shadow of three trees stood the low house of two stories, half stone and -half timber, with one quaint projecting window in the roof, and a -luxuriant little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>{91}</span> garden round it. But it was impossible to pause, as -the new proprietors intended to have done, to note all the external -features of their little inheritance. They hurried in, eager to be under -shelter before the thunder; and as Mrs Atheling, somewhat timid of it, -hurried over the threshold, the first big drops fell heavily among the -late roses which covered the front of the house. They were all awed by -the coming storm; and they were not acquainted any of them with the -louder crash and fiercer blaze of a thunderstorm in the country. They -came hastily into Miss Bridget’s little parlour, scarcely seeing what -like it was, as the ominous still darkness gathered in the sky, and sat -down, very silently, in corners, all except Mr Atheling, whose duty it -was to be courageous, and who was neither so timid as his wife, nor so -sensitive as his daughters. Then came the storm in earnest—wild -lightning rending the black sky in sheets and streams of flames—fearful -cannonades of thunder, nature’s grand forces besieging some rebellious -city in the skies. Then gleams of light shone wild and ghastly in all -the pallid rivers, and lighted up with an eerie illumination the spires -and pinnacles of the picturesque old town; and the succeeding darkness -pressed down like a positive weight upon the Old Wood Lodge and its new -inmates, who scarcely perceived yet the old furniture of the old -sitting-room, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>{92}</span> the trim old maid of Miss Bridget Atheling curtsying -at the door.</p> - -<p>“A strange welcome!” said Papa, hastily retreating from the window, -where he had just been met and half blinded by a sudden flash; and Mamma -gathered her babies under her wings, and called to the girls to come -closer to her, in that one safe corner which was neither near the -window, the fireplace, nor the door.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was a strange welcome—and the mind of Agnes, imaginative and -rapid, threw an eager glance into the future out of that corner of -safety and darkness. A thunderstorm, a convulsion of nature! was there -any fitness in this beginning? They were as innocent a household as ever -came into a countryside; but who could tell what should happen to them -there?</p> - -<p>Some one else seemed to share the natural thought. “I wonder, mamma, if -this is all for us,” whispered Marian, half frightened, half jesting. -“Are we to make a great revolution in Winterbourne? It looks like it, to -see this storm.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs Atheling, who thought it profane to show any levity during a -thunderstorm, checked her pretty daughter with a peremptory “Hush, -child!” and drew her babies closer into her arms. Mrs Atheling’s -thoughts had no leisure to stray to Winterbourne; save for Charlie—and -it was not to be supposed that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>{93}</span> this same thunder threatened -Bellevue—all her anxieties were here.</p> - -<p>But as the din out of doors calmed down, and even as the girls became -accustomed to it, and were able to share in Papa’s calculations as to -the gradual retreat of the thunder as it rolled farther and farther -away, they began to find out and notice the room within which they had -crowded. It had only one window, and was somewhat dark, the small panes -being over-hung and half obscured by a wild forest of clematis, and -sundry stray branches, still bristling with buds, of that pale monthly -rose with evergreen leaves, which covered half the front of the house. -The fireplace had a rather fantastic grate of clear steel, with bright -brass ornaments, so clear and so resplendent as it only could be made by -the labour of years, and was filled, instead of a fire, with soft green -moss, daintily ornamented with the yellow everlasting flowers. Hannah -did not know that these were <i>immortelles</i>, and consecrated to the -memory of the dead. It was only her rural and old-maidenly fashion of -decoration, for the same little rustling posies, dry and unfading, were -in the little flower-glasses on the high mantel-shelf, before the little -old dark-complexioned mirror, with little black-and-white transparencies -set in the slender gilding of its frame, which reflected nothing but a -slope of the roof, and one dark portrait hanging as high up as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a>{94}</span> itself -upon the opposite wall. It put the room oddly out of proportion, this -mirror, attracting the eye to its high strip of light, and deluding the -unwary to many a stumble; and Agnes already sat fixedly looking at it, -and at the dark and wrinkled portrait reflected from the other wall.</p> - -<p>Before the fireplace, where there was no fire, stood a large -old-fashioned easy-chair, with no one in it. Are you very sure there is -no one in it?—for Papa himself has a certain awe of that -strangely-placed seat, which seems to have stood before that same -fireplace for many a year. In the twilight, Agnes, if you were -alone—you, who of all the family are most inclined to a little -visionary superstition, you would find it very hard to keep from -trembling, or to persuade yourself that Miss Bridget was not there, -where she had spent half a lifetime, sitting in that heavy old -easy-chair.</p> - -<p>The carpet was a faded but rich and soft old Turkey carpet, the -furniture was slender and spider-legged, made of old bright mahogany, as -black and as polished as ebony. There was an old cabinet in one corner, -with brass rings and ornaments; and in another an old musical -instrument, of which the girls were not learned enough to know the -precise species, though it belonged to the genus piano. The one small -square table in the middle of the room was covered with a table-cover, -richly embroidered, but the silk was faded,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>{95}</span> and the bits of gold were -black and dull; and there were other little tables, round and square, -with spiral legs and a tripod of feet, one holding a china jar, one a -big book, and one a case of stuffed birds. On the whole, the room had -somewhat the look of a rather refined and very prim old lady. The things -in it were all of a delicate kind and antique fashion. It was not in the -slightest degree like these fair and fresh young girls, but on the whole -it was a place of which people like those, with a wholesome love of -ancestry, had very good occasion to be proud.</p> - -<p>And at the door stood Hannah, in a black gown and great white apron, -smoothing down the same with her hands, and bobbing a kindly curtsy. -Hannah’s eyes were running over with delight and anxiety to get at Bell -and Beau. She passed over all the rest of the family to yearn over the -little ones. “Eh, bless us!” cried Hannah, as, the thunder over, Mrs -Atheling began to bestir herself—“children in the house!” It was -something almost too ecstatic for her elderly imagination. She -volunteered to carry them both up-stairs with the most eager attention. -“I ain’t so much used to childer,” said Hannah, “but, bless ye, ma’am, I -love ’um all the same;” and with an instinctive knowledge of this love, -Beau condescended to grasp Hannah’s spotless white apron, and Bell to -mount into her arms. Then the whole family procession<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>{96}</span> went up-stairs to -look at the bedrooms—the voices of the girls and the sweet chorus of -the babies making the strangest echoes in the lonely house. Hannah -acknowledged afterwards, that, half with grief for Miss Bridget, and -half for joy of this new life beginning, it would have been a great -relief to her to sit down upon the attic stairs and have “a good cry.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>{97}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /><br /> -<small>WITHIN AND WITHOUT.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> upper floor of the Old Wood Lodge consisted of three rooms; one as -large as the parlour down stairs, one smaller, and one, looking to the -back, very small indeed. The little one was a lumber-room, and quite -unfurnished; the other two were in perfect accordance with the -sitting-room. The best bedroom contained a bed of state, with very -slender fluted pillars of the same black ebony-like wood, lifting on -high a solemn canopy of that ponderous substance called moreen, and -still to be found in country inns and seaside lodgings—the colour dark -green, with a binding of faded violet. Hangings of the same darkened the -low broad lattice window, and chairs of the same were ranged like ghosts -along the wall. It was rather a funereal apartment, and the eager -investigators were somewhat relieved to find an old-fashioned “tent,” -with hangings of old chintz, gay with gigantic flowers, in the next -room. But the windows!—the broad plain lying low down<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>{98}</span> at their feet, -twinkling to the first faint sun-ray which ventured out after the -storm—the cluster of spires and towers over which the light brightened -and strengthened, striking bold upon the heavy dome which gave a -ponderous central point to the landscape, and splintering into a million -rays from the pinnacles of Magdalen and St Mary’s noble spire, all wet -and gleaming with the thunder rain. What a scene it was!—how the -passing light kindled all the wan waters, and singled out, for a -momentary illumination, one after another of the lesser landmarks of -that world unknown. These gazers were not skilled to distinguish between -Gothic sham and Gothic real, nor knew much of the distinguishing -differences of noble and ignoble architecture. After all, at this -distance, it did not much matter—for one by one, as the sunshine found -them out, they rose up from the gleaming mist, picturesque and various, -like the fairy towers and distant splendours of a morning dream.</p> - -<p>“I told you it was pretty, Agnes,” said Mr Atheling, who felt himself -the exhibitor of the whole scene, and looked on with delight at the -success of his private view. Papa, who was to the manner born, felt -himself applauded in the admiration of his daughters, and carried Beau -upon his shoulder down the creaking narrow staircase, with a certain -pride and exultation, calling the reluctant girls to follow him. For -lo!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>{99}</span> upon Miss Bridget’s centre table was laid out “such a tea!” as -Hannah in all her remembrance had never produced before. Fresh home-made -cakes, fresh little pats of butter from the nearest farm—cream! and to -crown all, a great china dish full of the last of the strawberries, -blushing behind their fresh wet leaves. Hannah, when she had lingered as -long as her punctilious good-breeding would permit, and long enough to -be very wrathful with Mrs Atheling for intercepting a shower of -strawberries from the plates of Bell and Beau, retired to her kitchen -slowly, and drawing a chair before the fire, though the evening still -was sultry, threw her white apron over her head, and had her deferred -and relieving “cry.” “Bless you, I’ll love ’um all,” said Hannah, with a -succession of sobs, addressing either herself or some unseen familiar, -with whom she was in the habit of holding long conversations. “But it -ain’t Miss Bridget—that’s the truth!”</p> - -<p>The ground was wet, the trees were damp, everything had been deluged -with the shower of the thunderstorm, and Mrs Atheling did not at all -think it prudent that her daughters should go out, though she yielded to -them. They went first through the fertile garden, where Marian thought -“everything” grew—but were obliged to pause in their researches and -somewhat ignorant guesses what everything was, by the unknown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span> charm of -that sweet rural atmosphere “after the rain.” Though it was very near -sunset, the birds were all a-twitter in the neighbouring trees, and -everywhere around them rose such a breath of fragrance—open-air -fragrance, fresh and cool and sweet, as different from the incense of -Mrs Edgerley’s conservatory as it was from anything in Bellevue. Running -waters trickled somewhere out of sight—it was only the “running of the -paths after rain;” and yonder, like a queen, sitting low in a sweet -humility, was the silent town, with all its crowning towers. The -sunshine, which still lingered on Hannah’s projecting window in the -roof, had left Oxford half an hour ago—and down over the black dome, -the heaven-y-piercing spire and lofty cupola, came soft and grey the -shadow of the night.</p> - -<p>But behind them, through a thick network of foliage, there were gleams -and sparkles of gold, touching tenderly some favourite leaves with a -green like the green of spring, and throwing the rest into a shadowy -blackness against the half-smothered light. Marian ran into the house to -call Hannah, begging her to guide them up into the wood. Agnes, less -curious, stood with her hand upon the gate, looking down over this -wonderful valley, and wondering if she had not seen it some time in a -dream.</p> - -<p>“Bless you, miss, if it was to the world’s end!” cried Hannah; “but it -ain’t fit for walking, no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span> nor a desert; the roads is woeful by -Badgeley; look you here!—nought in this wide world but mud and clay.”</p> - -<p>Marian looked in dismay at the muddy road. “It will not be dry for a -week,” said the disappointed beauty; “but, Hannah, come here, now that I -have got you out, and tell us what every place is—Agnes, here’s -Hannah—and, if you please, which is the village, and which is the Hall, -and where is the Old Wood House?”</p> - -<p>“Do you see them white chimneys—and smokes?” said Hannah; “they’re -a-cooking their dinner just, though tea-time’s past—that’s the -Rector’s. But, bless your heart, you ain’t likely to see the Hall from -here. There’s all the park and all the trees atween us and my lord’s.”</p> - -<p>“Do the people like him, Hannah?” asked Agnes abruptly, thinking of her -friend.</p> - -<p>Hannah paused with a look of alarm. “The people—don’t mind nothink -about him,” said Hannah slowly. “Bless us, miss, you gave me such a -turn!”</p> - -<p>Agnes looked curiously in the old woman’s face, to see what the occasion -of this “turn” might be. Marian, paying no such attention, leaned over -the low mossy gate, looking in the direction of the Old Wood House. They -were quite disposed to enjoy the freedom of the “country,” and were -neither shawled nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span> bonneted, though the fresh dewy air began to feel -the chill of night. Marian leaned out over the gate, with her little -hand thrust up under her hair, looking into the distance with her -beautiful smiling eyes. The road which passed this gate was a grassy and -almost terraced path, used by very few people, and disappearing abruptly -in an angle just after it had passed the Lodge. Suddenly emerging from -this angle, with a step which fell noiselessly on the wet grass, meeting -the startled gaze of Marian in an instantaneous and ghostlike -appearance, came forth what she could see only as, against the light, -the figure of a man hastening towards the high-road. He also seemed to -start as he perceived the young unknown figures in the garden, but his -course was too rapid to permit any interchange of curiosity. Marian did -not think he looked at her at all as she withdrew hastily from the gate, -and he certainly did not pause an instant in his rapid walk; but as he -passed he lifted his hat—a singular gesture of courtesy, addressed to -no one, like the salutation of a young king—and disappeared in another -moment as suddenly as he came. Agnes, attracted by her sister’s low -unconscious exclamation, saw him as well as Marian—and saw him as -little—for neither knew anything at all of his appearance, save so far -as a vague idea of height, rapidity—and the noble small head, for an -instant uncovered, impressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span> their imagination. Both paused with a -breathless impulse of respect, and a slight apprehensiveness, till they -were sure he must be out of hearing, and then both turned to Hannah, -standing in the shadow and the twilight, and growing gradually -indistinct all but her white apron, with one unanimous exclamation, “Who -is that?”</p> - -<p>Hannah smoothed down her apron once more, and made another bob of a -curtsy, apparently intended for the stranger. “Miss,” said Hannah, -gravely, “that’s Mr Louis—bless his heart!”</p> - -<p>Then the old woman turned and went in, leaving the girls by themselves -in the garden. They were a little timid of the great calm and silence; -they almost fancied they were “by themselves,”—not in the garden only, -but in this whole apparent noiseless world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /><br /> -<small>THE PARLOUR.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> with an excitement which they could not control, the two girls -hastened in to the Old Lodge, and to Miss Bridget’s dim parlour, where -the two candles shed their faint summer-evening light over Mr Atheling -reading an old newspaper, and Mamma reclining in the great old -easy-chair. The abstracted mirror, as loftily withdrawn from common life -as Mr Endicott, refused to give any reflection of these good people -sitting far below in their middle-aged and respectable quietness, but -owned a momentary vision of Agnes and Marian, as they came in with a -little haste and eagerness at the half-open door.</p> - -<p>But, after all, to be very much excited, to hasten in to tell one’s -father and mother, with the heart beating faster than usual against -one’s breast, and to have one’s story calmly received with an “Indeed, -my dear!” is rather damping to youthful enthusiasm; and really, to tell -the truth, there was nothing at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span> extraordinary in the fact of Louis -passing by a door so near the great house which was his own distasteful -home. It was not at all a marvellous circumstance; and as for his -salutation, though that was remarkable, and caught their imagination, -Marian whispered that she had no doubt it was Louis’s “way.”</p> - -<p>They began, accordingly, to look at the slender row of books in one -small open shelf above the little cabinet. The books were in old rich -bindings, and were of a kind of reading quite unknown to Agnes and -Marian. There were two (odd) volumes of the <i>Spectator</i>, <i>Rasselas</i>, the -Poems of Shenstone, the Sermons of Blair; besides these, a French copy -of Thomas-à-Kempis, the <i>Holy Living and Dying</i> of Jeremy Taylor, and -one of the quaint little books of Sir Thomas Browne. Thrust in hastily -beside these ancient and well-attired volumes were two which looked -surreptitious, and which were consequently examined with the greatest -eagerness. One turned out, somewhat disappointingly, to be a volume of -Italian exercises, an old, old school-book, inscribed, in a small, -pretty, but somewhat faltering feminine handwriting—handwriting of the -last century—with the name of Anastasia Rivers, with a B. A. beneath, -which doubtless stood for Bridget Atheling, though it seemed to imply, -with a kindly sort of blundering comicality sad enough now, that -Anastasia Rivers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> though she was no great hand at her exercises, had -taken a degree. The other volume was of more immediate interest. It was -one of those good and exemplary novels, ameliorated Pamelas, which -virtuous old ladies were wont to put into the hands of virtuous young -ones, and which was calculated to “instruct as well as to amuse” the -unfortunate mind of youth. Marian seized upon this <i>Fatherless Fanny</i> -with an instant appropriation, and in ten minutes was deep in its -endless perplexities. Agnes, who would have been very glad of the novel, -languidly took down the <i>Spectator</i> instead. Yes, we are obliged to -confess—languidly; for, with an excited mind upon a lovely summer -night, with all the stars shining without, and only two pale candles -within, and Mamma visibly dropping to sleep in the easy-chair—who, we -demand, would not prefer, even to Steele and Addison, the mazy mysteries -of the Minerva Press?</p> - -<p>And Agnes did not get on with her reading; she saw visibly before her -eyes Marian skimming with an eager interest the pages of her novel. She -heard Papa rustling his newspaper, watched the faint flicker of the -candles, and was aware of the very gentle nod by which Mamma gave -evidence of the condition of <i>her</i> thoughts. Agnes’s imagination, never -averse to wandering, strayed off into speculations concerning the old -lady and her old pupil, and all the life, unknown and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span> unrecorded, which -had happed within these quiet walls. Altogether it was somewhat hard to -understand the connection between the Athelings and the -Riverses—whether some secret of family history lay involved in it, or -if it was only the familiar bond formed a generation ago between teacher -and child. And this Louis!—his sudden appearance and disappearance—his -princely recognition as of new subjects. Agnes made nothing whatever of -her <i>Spectator</i>—her mind was possessed and restless—and by-and-by, -curious, impatient, and a little excited, she left the room with an idea -of hastening up-stairs to the chamber window, and looking out upon the -night. But the door of the kitchen stood invitingly open, and Hannah, -who had been waiting, slightly expectant of some visit, was to be seen -within, rising up hastily with old-fashioned respect and a little -wistfulness. Agnes, though she was a young lady of literary tastes, and -liked to look out upon moon and stars with the vague sentiment of youth, -had, notwithstanding, a wholesome relish for gossip, and was more -pleased with talk of other people than we are disposed to confess; so -she had small hesitation in changing her course and joining Hannah—that -homely Hannah bobbing her odd little curtsy, and smoothing down her -bright white apron, in the full glow of the kitchen-fire.</p> - -<p>The kitchen was indeed the only really bright room in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span> the Old Wood -Lodge, having one strip of carpet only on its white and sanded floor, a -large deal table, white and spotless, and wooden chairs hard and clear -as Hannah’s own toil-worn but most kindly hands. There was an -old-fashioned settle by the chimney corner, a small bit of looking-glass -hanging up by the window, and gleams of ruddy copper, and homely covers -of white metal, polished as bright as silver, ornamenting the walls. -Hannah wiped a chair which needed no wiping, and set it directly in -front of the fire for “Miss,” but would not on any account be so -“unmannerly” as to sit down herself in the young lady’s presence. Agnes -wisely contented herself with leaning on the chair, and smiled with a -little embarrassment at Hannah’s courtesy; it was not at all -disagreeable, but it was somewhat different from Susan at home.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been looking at ’um, miss,” said Hannah, “sleeping like angels; -there ain’t no difference that I can see; they look, as nigh as can be, -both of an age.”</p> - -<p>“They are twins,” said Agnes, finding out, with a smile, that Hannah’s -thoughts were taken up, not about Louis and Rachel, but Bell and Beau.</p> - -<p>At this information Hannah brightened into positive delight. “Childer’s -ne’er been in this house,” said Hannah, “till this day; and twins is a -double blessing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span> There ain’t no more, miss? But bless us all, the time -between them darlins and you!”</p> - -<p>“We have one brother, besides—and a great many little brothers and -sisters in heaven,” said Agnes, growing very grave, as they all did when -they spoke of the dead.</p> - -<p>Hannah drew closer with a sympathetic curiosity. “If that ain’t a -heart-break, there’s none in this world,” said Hannah. “Bless their dear -hearts, it’s best for them. Was it a fever then, miss, or a catching -sickness? Dear, dear, it’s all one, when they’re gone, what it was.”</p> - -<p>“Hannah, you must never speak of it to mamma,” said Agnes; “we used to -be so sad—so sad! till God sent Bell and Beau. Do you know Miss Rachel -at the Hall? her brother and she are twins too.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, miss,” said Hannah, with a slight curtsy, and becoming at once -very laconic.</p> - -<p>“And <i>we</i> know her,” said Agnes, a little confused by the old woman’s -sudden quietness. “I suppose that was her brother who passed to-night.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, poor lad!” Hannah’s heart seemed once more a little moved. “They -say miss is to be a play-actress, and I can’t abide her for giving in to -it; but Mr Louis, bless him! he ought to be a king.”</p> - -<p>“You like him, then?” asked Agnes eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Ay, poor boy!” Hannah went away hastily to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span> table, where, in a -china basin, in their cool crisp green, lay the homely salads of the -garden, about to be arranged for supper. A tray covered with a -snow-white cloth, and a small pile of eggs, waited in hospitable -preparation for the same meal. Hannah, who had been so long in -possession, felt like a humble mistress of the house, exercising the -utmost bounties of her hospitality towards her new guests. “Least said’s -best about them, dear,” said Hannah, growing more familiar as she grew a -little excited—“but, Lord bless us, it’s enough to craze a poor body to -see the likes of him, with such a spirit, kept out o’ his rights.”</p> - -<p>“What are his rights, Hannah?” cried Agnes, with new and anxious -interest: this threw quite a new light upon the subject.</p> - -<p>Hannah turned round a little perplexed. “Tell the truth, I dun know no -more nor a baby,” said Hannah; “but Miss Bridget, she was well acquaint -in all the ways of them, and she ever upheld, when his name was named, -that my lord kep’ him out of his rights.”</p> - -<p>“And what did <i>he</i> say?” asked Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Nay, child,” said the old woman, “it ain’t no business of mine to tell -tales; and Miss Bridget had more sense nor all the men of larning I ever -heard tell of. She knew better than to put wickedness into his mind. -He’s a handsome lad and a kind, is Mr Louis;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span> but I wouldn’t be my lord, -no, not for all Banburyshire, if I’d done that boy a wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Then, do you think Lord Winterbourne has <i>not</i> done him a wrong?” said -Agnes, thoroughly bewildered.</p> - -<p>Hannah turned round upon her suddenly, with a handful of herbs and a -knife in her other hand. “Miss, he’s an unlawful child!” said Hannah, -with the most melodramatic effectiveness. Agnes involuntarily drew back -a step, and felt the blood rush to her face. When she had delivered -herself of this startling whisper, Hannah returned to her homely -occupation, talking in an under-tone all the while.</p> - -<p>“Ay, poor lad, there’s none can mend that,” said Hannah; “he’s kep’ out -of his rights, and never a man can help him. If it ain’t enough to put -him wild, <i>I</i> dun know.”</p> - -<p>“And are you quite sure of that? Does everybody think him a son of Lord -Winterbourne’s?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Well, miss, my lord’s not like to own to it—to shame hisself,” said -Hannah; “but they’re none so full of charity at the Hall as to bother -with other folkses children. My lord’s kep’ him since they were babies, -and sent the lawyer hisself to fetch him when Mr Louis ran away. Bless -you, no; there ain’t no doubt about it. Whose son else could he be?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span></p> - -<p>“But if that was true, he would have no rights. And what did Miss -Bridget mean by rights?” asked Agnes, in a very low tone, blushing, and -half ashamed to speak of such a subject at all.</p> - -<p>Hannah, however, who did not share in all the opinions of -respectability, but had a leaning rather, in the servant view of the -question, to the pariah of the great old house, took up somewhat sharply -this unguarded opinion. “Miss,” said Hannah, “you’ll not tell me that -there ain’t no rights belonging Mr Louis. The queen on the throne would -be glad of the likes of him for a prince and an heir; and Miss Bridget -was well acquaint in all the ways of the Riverses, and was as fine to -hear as a printed book: for the matter of that,” added Hannah, solemnly, -“Miss Taesie, though she would not go through the park-gates to save her -life, had a leaning to Mr Louis too.”</p> - -<p>“And who is Miss Taesie?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Miss,” said Hannah, in a very grave and reproving tone, “you’re little -acquaint with our ways; it ain’t my business to go into stories—you ask -your papa.”</p> - -<p>“So I will, Hannah; but who is Miss Taesie?” asked Agnes again, with a -smile.</p> - -<p>Hannah answered only by placing her salad on the tray, and carrying it -solemnly to the parlour. Amused and interested, Agnes stood by the -kitchen fireside<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span> thinking over what she had heard, and smiling as she -mused; for Miss Taesie, no doubt, was the Honourable Anastasia Rivers, -beneath whose name, in the old exercise-book, stood that odd B. A.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /><br /> -<small>WINTERBOURNE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day the family walked forth in a body, to make acquaintance -with the “new neighbourhood.” There was Papa and Mamma first of all, Mrs -Atheling extremely well dressed, and in all the cheerful excitement of -an unaccustomed holiday; and then came Agnes and Marian, pleased and -curious—and, wild with delight, little Bell and Beau. Hannah, who was -very near as much delighted as the children, stood at the door looking -after them as they turned the angle of the grassy path. When they were -quite out of sight, Hannah returned to her kitchen with a brisk step, to -compound the most delicious of possible puddings for their early dinner. -It was worth while now to exercise those half-forgotten gifts of cookery -which had been lost upon Miss Bridget; and when everything was ready, -Hannah, instead of her black ribbon, put new white bows in her cap. At -sight of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span> the young people, and, above all, the children, and in the -strange delightful bustle of “a full house,” hard-featured Hannah, kind -and homely, renewed her youth.</p> - -<p>The father and mother sent their children on before them, and made -progress slowly, recalling and remembering everything. As for Agnes and -Marian, they hastened forward with irregular and fluctuating -curiosity—loitering one moment, and running another, but, after their -different fashion, taking note of all they saw. And between the vanguard -and the rearguard a most unsteady main body, fluttering over the grass -like two butterflies, as they ran back and forward from Agnes and Marian -to Papa and Mamma “with flichterin’ noise and glee,” came Bell and Beau. -These small people, with handfuls of buttercups and clovertops always -running through their rosy little fingers, were to be traced along their -devious and uncertain path by the droppings of these humble posies, and -were in a state of perfect and unalloyed ecstasy. The little family -procession came past the Old Wood House, which was a large white square -building, a great deal loftier, larger, and more pretending than their -own; in fact, a great house in comparison with their cottage. Round two -sides of it appeared the prettiest of trim gardens—a little world of -velvet lawn, clipped yews, and glowing flower-beds. The windows were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span> -entirely obscured with close Venetian blinds, partially excused by the -sunshine, but turning a most jealous and inscrutable blankness to the -eyes of the new inhabitants; and close behind the house clustered the -trees of the park. As they passed, looking earnestly at the house, some -one came out—a very young man, unmistakably clerical, with a stiff -white band under his monkish chin, a waistcoat which was very High -Church, and the blandest of habitual smiles. He looked at the strangers -urbanely, with a half intention of addressing them. The girls were not -learned in Church politics, yet they recognised the priestly appearance -of the smiling young clergyman; and Agnes, for her part, contemplated -him with a secret disappointment and dismay. Mr Rivers himself was said -to be High Church. Could this be Mr Rivers? He passed, however, and left -them to guess vainly; and Papa and Mamma, whose slow and steady pace -threatened every now and then to outstrip these irregular, rapid young -footsteps, came up and pressed them onward. “How strange!” Marian -exclaimed involuntarily: “if that is he, I am disappointed; but how -funny to meet them <i>both</i>!”</p> - -<p>And then Marian blushed, and laughed aloud, half ashamed to be detected -in this evident allusion to Rachel’s castles in the air. Her laugh -attracted the attention of a countrywoman who just then came out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span> to the -door of a little wayside cottage. She made them a little bob of a -curtsy, like Hannah’s, and asked if they wanted to see the church, -“<span class="lftspc">’</span>cause I don’t think the gentlemen would mind,” said the clerk’s wife, -the privileged bearer of the ecclesiastical keys; and Mr Atheling, -hearing the question, answered over the heads of his daughters, “Yes, -certainly they would go.” So they all went after her dutifully over the -stile, and along a field-path by a rustling growth of wheat, spotted -with red poppies, for which Bell and Beau sighed and cried in vain, and -came at last to a pretty small church, of the architectural style and -period of which this benighted family were most entirely ignorant. Mr -Atheling, indeed, had a vague idea that it was “Gothic,” but would not -have liked to commit himself even to that general principle—for the -days of religious architecture and church restorations were all since Mr -Atheling’s time.</p> - -<p>They went in accordingly under a low round-arched doorway, solemn and -ponderous, entirely unconscious of the “tressured ornament” which -antiquaries came far to see; and, looking with a certain awe at the -heavy and solemn arches of the little old Saxon church, were rather more -personally attracted, we are pained to confess, by a group of gentlemen -within the sacred verge of the chancel, discussing something with -solemnity and earnestness, as if it were a question of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> life and death. -Foremost in this group, but occupying, as it seemed, rather an -explanatory and apologetic place, and listening with evident anxiety to -the deliverance of the others, was a young man of commanding appearance, -extremely tall, with a little of the look of ascetic abstraction which -belongs to the loftier members of the very high High Church. As the -Athelings approached rather timidly under the escort of their humble -guide, this gentleman eyed them, with a mixture of observation and -haughtiness, as they might have been eyed by the proprietor of the -domain. Then he recognised Mr Atheling with such a recognition as the -same reigning lord and master might bestow upon an intruder who was only -mistaken and not presumptuous. The father of the family rose to the -occasion, his colour increased; he drew himself up, and made a formal -but really dignified bow to the young clergyman. The little group of -advisers did not pause a minute in their discussion; and odd words, -which they were not in the habit of hearing, fell upon the ears of Agnes -and Marian. “Bad in an archaic point of view—extremely bad; and I never -can forgive errors of detail; the best examples are so accessible,” said -one gentleman. “I do not agree with you. I remember an instance at -Amiens,” interrupted another. “Amiens, my dear sir!—exactly what I mean -to say,” cried the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span> speaker; “behind the date of Winterbourne a -couple of hundred years—late work—a debased style. In a church of this -period everything ought to be severe.”</p> - -<p>And accordingly there were severe Apostles in the painted windows—those -slender lancet “lights” which at this moment dazzled the eyes of Agnes -and Marian; and the new saints in the new little niches were, so far as -austerity went, a great deal more correct and true to their “period” -than even the old saints, without noses, and sorely worn with weather -and irreverence, who were as genuine early English as the stout old -walls. But Marian Atheling had no comprehension of this kind of -severity. She shrunk away from the altar in its religious gloom—the -altar with its tall candlesticks, and its cloth, which was stiff with -embroidery—marvelling in her innocent imagination over some vague -terror of punishments and penances in a church where “everything ought -to be severe.” Marian took care to be on the other side of her father -and mother, as they passed again the academic group discussing the newly -restored sedilia, which was not quite true in point of “detail,” and -drew a long breath of relief when she was safely outside these dangerous -walls. “The Rector! that was the Rector. Oh Agnes!” cried Marian, as -Papa announced the dreadful intelligence; and the younger sister, -horror-stricken, and with great pity, looked sympathetically in Agnes’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span> -face. Agnes herself was moved to look back at the tall central figure, -using for a dais the elevation of that chancel. She smiled, but she was -a little startled—and the girls went on to the village, and to glance -through the trees at the great park surrounding the Hall, with not -nearly so much conversation as at the beginning of their enterprise. But -it was with a sigh instead of a laugh that Marian repeated, when they -went home to dinner and Hannah’s magnificent pudding—“So, Agnes, we -have seen them both.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE CLERGY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Several</span> weeks after this passed very quietly over the Old Wood Lodge and -its new inhabitants. They saw “Mr Louis,” always a rapid and sudden -apparition, pass now and then before their windows, and sometimes -received again that slight passing courtesy which nobody could return, -as it was addressed to nobody, and only disclosed a certain careless yet -courteous knowledge on the part of the young prince that they were -there; and they saw the Rector on the quiet country Sabbath-days in his -ancient little church, with its old heavy arches, and its new and dainty -restorations, “intoning” after the loftiest fashion, and preaching -strange little sermons of subdued yet often vehement and impatient -eloquence—addresses which came from a caged and fiery spirit, and had -no business there. The Winterbourne villagers gaped at his Reverence as -he flung his thunderbolts over their heads, and his Reverence came down -now and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span> from a wild uncertain voyage heavenward, down, down, with -a sudden dreary plunge, to look at all the blank rustical faces, -slumberous or wondering, and chafe himself with fiery attempts to come -down to their level, and do his duty to his rural flock. With a certain -vague understanding of some great strife and tumult in this dissatisfied -and troubled spirit, Agnes Atheling followed him in the sudden outbursts -of his natural oratory, and in the painful curb and drawing-up by which -he seemed to awake and come to himself. Though she was no student of -character, this young genius could not restrain a throb of sympathy for -the imprisoned and uncertain intellect beating its wings before her very -eyes. Intellect of the very highest order was, without question, errant -in that humble pulpit—errant, eager, disquieted—an eagle flying at the -sun. The simpler soul of genius vaguely comprehended it, and rose with -half-respectful, half-compassionating sympathy, to mark the conflict. -The family mother was not half satisfied with these preachings, and -greatly lamented that the only church within their reach should be so -painfully “high,” and so decidedly objectionable. Mrs Atheling’s soul -was grieved within her at the tall candlesticks, and even the “severe” -Apostles in the windows were somewhat appalling to this excellent -Protestant. She listened with a certain dignified disapproval to the -sermons,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span> not much remarking their special features, but contenting -herself with a general censure. Marian too, who did not pretend to be -intellectual, wondered a little like the other people, and though she -could not resist the excitement of this unusual eloquence, gazed blankly -at the preacher after it was over, not at all sure if it was right, and -marvelling what he could mean. Agnes alone, who could by no means have -told you what he meant—who did not even understand, and certainly could -not have explained in words her own interest in the irregular -prelection—vaguely followed him nevertheless with an intuitive and -unexplainable comprehension. They had never exchanged words, and the -lofty and self-absorbed Rector knew nothing of the tenants of the Old -Wood Lodge; yet he began to look towards the corner whence that -intelligent and watching face flashed upon his maze of vehement and -uncertain thought. He began to look, as a relief, for the upward glance -of those awed yet pitying eyes, which followed him, yet somehow, in -their simplicity, were always before him, steadfastly shining in the -calm and deep assurance of a higher world than his. It was not by any -means, at this moment, a young man and a young woman looking at each -other with the mutual sympathy and mutual difference of nature; it was -Genius, sweet, human, and universal, tender in the dews of youth—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span> -Intellect, nervous, fiery, impatient, straining like a Hercules after -the Divine gift, which came to the other sleeping, as God gives it to -His beloved.</p> - -<p>The Curate of Winterbourne was the most admirable foil to his reverend -principal. This young and fervent churchman would gladly have sat in the -lower seat of the restored sedilia, stone-cold and cushionless, at any -risk of rheumatism, had not his reverence the Rector put a decided -interdict upon so extreme an example of rigid Anglicanism. As it was, -his bland and satisfied youthful face in the reading-desk made the -strangest contrast in the world to that dark, impetuous, and troubled -countenance, lowering in handsome gloom from the pulpit. The common -people, who held the Rector in awe, took comfort in the presence of the -Curate, who knew all the names of all the children, and was rather -pleased than troubled when they made so bold as to speak to him about a -place for Sally, or a ’prenticeship for John. His own proper place in -the world had fallen happily to this urbane and satisfied young -gentleman. He was a parish priest born and intended, and accordingly -there was not a better parish priest in all Banburyshire than the -Reverend Eustace Mead. While the Rector only played and fretted over -these pretty toys of revived Anglicanism, with which he was not able to -occupy his rapid and impetuous intellect, they sufficed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span> make a -pleasant reserve of interest in the life of the Curate, who was by no -means an impersonation of intellect, though he had an acute and -practical little mind of his own, much more at his command than the mind -of Mr Rivers was at his. And the Curate preached devout little sermons, -which the rustical people did not gape at; while the Rector, out of all -question, and to the perception of everybody, was, in the most emphatic -sense of the words, the wrong man in the wrong place.</p> - -<p>So far as time had yet gone, the only intercourse with their neighbours -held by the Athelings was at church, and their nearest neighbours were -those clerical people who occupied the Old Wood House. Mr Rivers was -said to have a sister living with him, but she was “a great invalid,” -and never visible; and on no occasion, since his new parishioners -arrived, had the close Venetian blinds been raised, or the house opened -its eyes. There it stood in the sunshine, in that most verdant of trim -old gardens, which no one ever walked in, nor, according to appearances, -ever saw, with its three rows of closed windows, blankly green, secluded -and forbidding, which no one within ever seemed tempted to open to the -sweetest of morning breezes, or the fragrant coolness of the night. -Agnes, taking the privilege of her craft, was much disposed to suspect -some wonderful secret or mystery<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> in this monkish and ascetic -habitation; but it was not difficult to guess the secret of the Rector, -and there was not a morsel of mystery in the bland countenance of -smiling Mr Mead.</p> - -<p>By this time Mrs Atheling and her children were alone. Papa had -exhausted his holiday, and with a mixture of pleasure and unwillingness -returned to his office duties; and Mamma, though she had so much -enjoyment of the country, which was “so good for the children,” began to -sigh a little for her other household, to marvel much how Susan used her -supremacy, and to be seized with great compunctions now and then as to -the cruelty “of leaving your father and Charlie by themselves so long.” -The only thing which really reconciled the good wife to this desertion, -was the fact that Charlie himself, without any solicitation, and in fact -rather against his will, was to have a week’s holiday at Michaelmas, and -of course looked forward in his turn to the Old Wood Lodge. Mrs Atheling -had made up her mind to return with her son, and was at present in a -state of considerable doubt and perplexity touching Agnes and Marian, -Bell and Beau. The roses on the cheeks of the little people had -blossomed so sweetly since they came to the country, Mrs Atheling almost -thought she could trust her darlings to Hannah, and that “another month -would do them no harm.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /><br /> -<small>A NEW FRIEND.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">September</span> had begun, but my lord and his expected guests had not yet -arrived at the Hall. Much talk and great preparations were reported in -the village, and came in little rivulets of intelligence, through Hannah -and the humble merchants at the place, to the Old Wood Lodge; but Agnes -and Marian, who had not contrived to write to her, knew nothing whatever -of Rachel, and vainly peeped in at the great gates of the park, early -and late, for the small rapid figure which had made so great an -impression upon their youthful fancy. Then came the question, should -they speak to Louis, who was to be seen sometimes with a gun and a -gamekeeper, deep in the gorse and ferns of Badgeley Wood. Hannah said -this act of rebellious freedom had been met by a threat on the part of -my lord to “have him up” for poaching, which threat only quickened the -haughty boy in his love of sport. “You may say what you like, children, -but it is very wrong and very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span> sinful,” said Mrs Atheling, shaking her -head with serious disapproval, “and especially if he brings in some poor -gamekeeper, and risks his children’s bread;” and Mamma was scarcely to -be satisfied with Hannah’s voluble and eager disclaimer—Mr Louis would -put no man in peril. This excellent mother held her prejudices almost as -firmly as her principles, and compassionately added that it was no -wonder—poor boy, considering—for she could not understand how Louis -could be virtuous and illegitimate, and stood out with a repugnance, -scarcely to be overcome, against any friendship between her own children -and these unfortunate orphans at the Hall.</p> - -<p>One of these bright afternoons, the girls were in the garden discussing -eagerly this difficult question; for it would be very sad to bring -Rachel to the house, full of kind and warm expectations, and find her -met by the averted looks of Mamma. Her two daughters, however, though -they were grieved, did not find it at all in their way to criticise the -opinions of their mother; they concerted little loving attacks against -them, but thought of nothing more.</p> - -<p>And these two found great occupation in the garden, where Bell and Beau -played all the day long, and which Mrs Atheling commanded as she sat by -the parlour window with her work-basket. This afternoon the family group -was fated to interruption. One of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span> vehicles ascending the high-road, -which was not far from the house, drew up suddenly at sight of these -young figures in old Miss Bridget’s garden. Even at this distance a -rather rough and very peremptory voice was audible ordering the groom, -and then a singular-looking personage appeared on the grassy path. This -was a very tall woman, dressed in an old-fashioned brown cloth pelisse -and tippet, with an odd bonnet on her head which seemed an original -design, contrived for mere comfort, and owning no fashion at all. She -was not young certainly, but she was not so old either, as the -archæological “detail” of her costume might have warranted a stranger in -supposing. Fifty at the very utmost, perhaps only forty-five, with a -fresh cheek, a bright eye, and all the demeanour of a country gentleman, -this lady advanced upon the curious and timid girls. That her errand was -with them was sufficiently apparent from the moment they saw her, and -they stood together very conscious, under the steady gaze of their -approaching visitor, continuing to occupy themselves a little with the -children, yet scarcely able to turn from this unknown friend. She came -along steadily, without a pause, holding still in her hand the small -riding-whip which had been the sceptre of her sway over the two stout -grey ponies waiting in the high-road—came along steadily to the door, -pushed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span> open the gate, entered upon them without either compliment or -salutation, and only, when she was close upon the girls, paused for an -instant to make the <i>brusque</i> and sudden inquiry, “Well, young people, -who are you?”</p> - -<p>They did not answer for the moment, being surprised in no small degree -by such a question; upon which the stranger repeated it rather more -peremptorily. “We are called Atheling,” said Agnes, with a mixture of -pride and amusement. The lady laid her hand heavily upon the girl’s -shoulder, and turned her half round to the light. “What relation?” said -this singular inquisitor; but while she spoke, there became evident a -little moistening and relaxation of her heavy grey eyelid, as if it was -with a certain emotion she recalled the old owner of the old lodge, whom -she did not name.</p> - -<p>“My father was Miss Bridget’s nephew; she left the house to him,” said -Agnes; and Marian too drew near in wondering regard and sympathy, as two -big drops, like the thunder-rain, fell suddenly and quietly over this -old lady’s cheeks.</p> - -<p>“So! you are Will Atheling’s daughters,” said their visitor, a little -more roughly than before, as if from some shame of her emotion; “and -that is your mother at the window. Where’s Hannah? for I suppose you -don’t know me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span></p> - -<p>“No,” said Agnes, feeling rather guilty; it seemed very evident that -this lady was a person universally known.</p> - -<p>“Will Atheling married—married—whom did he marry?” said the visitor, -making her way to the house, and followed by the girls. “Eh! don’t you -know, children, what was your mother’s name? Franklin? yes, to be sure, -I remember her a timid pretty sort of creature; ah! just like Will.”</p> - -<p>By this time they were at the door of the parlour, which she opened with -an unhesitating hand. Mrs Atheling, who had seen her from the window, -was evidently prepared to receive the stranger, and stood up to greet -her with a little colour rising on her cheek, and, as the girls were -astonished to perceive, water in her eyes.</p> - -<p>This abrupt and big intruder into the family room showed more courtesy -to the mother than she had done to the girls; she made a sudden curtsy, -which expression of respect seemed to fill up all the requirements of -politeness in her eyes, and addressed Mrs Atheling at once, without any -prelude. “Do you remember me?”</p> - -<p>“I think so—Miss Rivers?” said Mrs Atheling with considerable -nervousness.</p> - -<p>“Just so—Anastasia Rivers—once not any older than yourself. -So—so—and here are you and all your children in my old professor’s -room.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span></p> - -<p>“We have made no change in it; everything is left as it was,” said Mrs -Atheling.</p> - -<p>“The more’s the pity,” answered the abrupt and unscrupulous caller. -“Why, it’s not like <i>them</i>—not a bit; as well dress them in her old -gowns, dear old soul! Ay well, it was a long life—no excuse for -grieving; but at the last, you see, at the last, it’s come to its end.”</p> - -<p>“We did not see her,” said Mrs Atheling, with an implied apology for -“want of feeling,” “for more than twenty years. Some one, for some -reason, we cannot tell what, prejudiced her mind against William and -me.”</p> - -<p>“Some one!” said Miss Rivers, with an emphatic toss of her head. “You -don’t know of course who it was. <i>I</i> do: do you wish me to tell you?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling made no answer. She looked down with some confusion, and -began to trifle with the work which all this time had lain idly on her -knee.</p> - -<p>“If there’s any ill turn he can do you now,” said Miss Rivers pointedly, -“he will not miss the chance, take my word for it; and in case he tries -it, let me know. Will Atheling and I are old friends, and I like the -look of the children. Good girls, are they? And is this all your -family?”</p> - -<p>“All I have alive but one boy,” said Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said her visitor, looking up quickly. “Lost<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span> some?—never mind, -child, you’ll find them again; and here am I, in earth and heaven a dry -tree!”</p> - -<p>After a moment’s pause she began to speak again, in an entirely -different tone. “These young ones must come to see me,” said their new -friend—“I like the look of them. You are very pretty, my dear, you are -quite as good as a picture; but I like your sister just as well as you. -Come here, child. Have you had a good education? Are you clever? -Nonsense! Why do you blush? People can’t have brains without knowing of -it. Are you clever, I say?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so,” said Agnes, unable to restrain a smile; “but mamma -does, and so does Marian.” Here she came to an abrupt conclusion, -blushing at herself. Miss Rivers rose up from her seat, and stood before -her, looking down into the shy eyes of the young genius with all the -penetrating steadiness of her own.</p> - -<p>“I like an honest girl,” said the Honourable Anastasia, patting Agnes’s -shoulder rather heavily with her strong hand. “Marian—is she called -Marian? That’s not an Atheling name. Why didn’t you call her Bride?”</p> - -<p>“She is named for me,” said Mrs Atheling with some dignity. And then she -added, faltering, “We had a Bridget too; but——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said Miss Rivers, lifting her hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span> quickly—“never mind, -you’ll find them again. She’s very pretty—prettier than any one I know -about Banburyshire; but for heaven’s sake, child, mind what you’re -about, and don’t let any one put nonsense in your head. Your mother -could tell you what comes of such folly, and so could I. By the by, -children, you are much of an age. Do you know anything of those poor -children at the Hall?”</p> - -<p>“We know Rachel,” said Agnes eagerly. “We met her at Richmond, and were -very fond of her; and I suppose she is coming here.”</p> - -<p>“Rachel!” said Miss Rivers, with a little contempt. “I mean the boy. Has -Will Atheling seen the boy?”</p> - -<p>“My husband met him once when he came here first,” said Mrs Atheling; -“and he fancied—fancied—imagined—he was like——”</p> - -<p>“My father!” The words were uttered with an earnestness and energy which -brought a deep colour over those unyouthful cheeks. “Yes, to be -sure—every one says the same. I’d give half my fortune to know the true -story of that boy!”</p> - -<p>“Rachel says,” interposed Agnes, eagerly taking advantage of anything -which could be of service to her friend, “that Louis will not believe -that they belong to Lord Winterbourne.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span></p> - -<p>The eyes of the Honourable Anastasia flashed positive lightning; then a -shadow came over her face. “That’s nothing,” she said abruptly. “No one -who could help it would be content to belong to <i>him</i>. Now, I’ll send -some day for the children: send them over to see me, will you? Ah, -where’s Hannah—does she suit you? She was very good to <i>her</i>, dear old -soul!”</p> - -<p>“And she is very good to the children,” said Mrs Atheling, as she -followed her visitor punctiliously to the door. When they reached it, -Miss Rivers turned suddenly round upon her—</p> - -<p>“You are not rich, are you? Don’t be offended; but, if you are able, -change all this. I’m glad to see you in the house; but this, you know, -<i>this</i> is like her gowns and her turbans—make a change.”</p> - -<p>Here Hannah appeared from her kitchen, curtsying deeply to Miss Taesie, -who held a conversation with her at the gate; and finally went away, -with her steady step and her riding-whip, having first plucked one of -the late pale roses from the wall. Mrs Atheling came in with a degree of -agitation not at all usual to the family mother. “The first time I ever -saw her,” said Mrs Atheling, “when I was a young girl newly married, and -she a proud young beauty just on the eve of the same. I remember her, in -her hat and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span> her riding-habit, pulling a rose from Aunt Bridget’s -porch—and there it is again.”</p> - -<p>“Ma’am,” said Hannah, coming in to spread the table, “Miss Taesie never -comes here, late or early, but she gathers a rose.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /><br /> -<small>GOSSIP.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">But</span>, mamma, if she was just on the eve of the same, why is she only -Miss Rivers now?” asked Marian, very curious on this subject of -betrothments and marriages.</p> - -<p>“It is a very long story, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling. As a general -principle, Mamma was not understood to have any special aversion to long -stories, but she certainly showed no inclination whatever to enter into -this.</p> - -<p>“So much the better if you will tell it, mamma,” said Agnes; and they -came close to her, with their pretty bits of needlework, and their looks -of interest; it was not in the heart of woman to refuse.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dears,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little reluctance, “somehow -we seem to be brought into the very midst of it again, though we have -scarcely heard their names for twenty years. This lady, though she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span> is -almost as old as he is, is niece to Lord Winterbourne. The old lord was -only his stepbrother, and a great deal older than he—and Miss Anastasia -was the only child of the old lord. You may suppose how disappointed he -was, with all his great estates entailed, and the title—and nothing but -a daughter; and everybody said, when the old lady died, that he would -marry again.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Did</i> he marry again?” said Marian, as Mamma came to a sudden and -unexpected pause.</p> - -<p>“No, my dear; for then trouble came,” said Mrs Atheling. “Miss Anastasia -was a beautiful young lady, always very proud, and very wise and -sensible, but a great beauty for all that; and she was to be married to -a young gentleman, a baronet and a very great man, out of Warwickshire. -The present lord was then the Honourable Reginald Rivers, and dreadful -wild. Somehow, I cannot tell how it was, he and Sir Frederick -quarrelled, and then they fought; and after his wound that fine young -gentleman fell into a wasting and a consumption, and died at -twenty-five; and that is the reason why Miss Anastasia has never been -married, and I am afraid, though it is so very wrong to say so, <i>hates</i> -Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mamma! I am sure I should, if I had been like her!” cried Marian, -almost moved to tears.</p> - -<p>“No, my darling, not to hate him,” said Mrs Atheling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span> shaking her head, -“or you would forget all you have been taught since you were a child.”</p> - -<p>“I do not understand him, mamma,” said Agnes: “does everybody hate -him—has he done wrong to every one?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling sighed. “My dears, if I tell you, you must forget it again, -and never mention it to any one. Papa had a pretty young sister, little -Bride, as they all called her, the sweetest girl I ever saw. Mr Reginald -come courting her a long time, but at last she found out—oh girls! oh, -children!—that what he meant was not true love, but something that it -would be a shame and a sin so much as to name; and it broke her dear -heart, and she died. Her grave is at Winterbourne; that was what papa -and I went to see the first day.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma,” cried Agnes, starting up in great excitement and agitation, -“why did you suffer us to know any one belonging to such a man?”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, a little discomposed by this appeal. -“I thought it was for the best. Coming here, we were sure to be thrown -into their way—and perhaps he may have repented. And then Mrs Edgerley -was very kind to you, and I did not think it right, for the father’s -sake, to judge harshly of the child.”</p> - -<p>Marian, who had covered her face with her hands,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span> looked up now with -abashed and glistening eyes. “Is that why papa dislikes him so?” said -Marian, very low, and still sheltering with her raised hands her -dismayed and blushing face.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling hesitated a moment. “Yes,” she said doubtfully, after a -pause of consideration—“yes; that and other things.”</p> - -<p>But the inquiry of the girls could not elicit from Mamma what were the -other things which were sufficient to share with this as motives of Mr -Atheling’s dislike. They were inexpressibly shocked and troubled by the -story, as people are who, contemplating evil at a visionary distance, -and having only a visionary belief in it, suddenly find a visible gulf -yawning at their own feet; and Agnes could not help thinking, with -horror and disgust, of being in the same room with this man of guilt, -and of that polluting kiss of his, from which Rachel shrank as from the -touch of pestilence. “Such a man ought to be marked and singled out,” -cried Agnes, with unreasoning youthful eloquence: “no one should dare to -bring him into the same atmosphere with pure-minded people; everybody -ought to be warned of who and what he was.”</p> - -<p>“Nay; God has not done so,” said Mrs Atheling with a sigh. “He has -offended God more than he ever could offend man, but God bears with him. -I often say so to your father when we speak of the past.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> Ought we, who -are so sinful ourselves, to have less patience than God?”</p> - -<p>After this the girls were very silent, saying nothing, and much absorbed -with their own thoughts. Marian, who perhaps for the moment found a -certain analogy between her father’s pretty sister and herself, was -wrapt in breathless horror of the whole catastrophe. Her mind glanced -back upon Sir Langham—her fancy started forward into the future; but -though the young beauty for the moment was greatly appalled and -startled, she could not believe in the possibility of anything at all -like this “happening to me!” Agnes, for her part, took quite a different -view of the matter. The first suggestion of her eager fancy was, what -could be done for Louis and Rachel, to deliver them from the presence -and control of such a man? Innocently and instinctively her thoughts -turned upon her own gift, and the certain modest amount of power it gave -her. Louis might get a situation like Charlie, and be helped until he -was able for the full weight of his own life; and Rachel, another -sister, could come home to Bellevue. So Agnes, who at this present -moment was writing in little bits, much interrupted and broken in upon, -her second story, rose into a delightful anticipatory triumph, not of -its fame or success, though these things did glance laughingly across -her innocent imagination, but of its mere ignoble coined recompense,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span> -and of all the great things for these two poor orphans which might be -done in Bellevue.</p> - -<p>And while the mother and the daughters sat at work in the shady little -parlour, where the sunshine did not enter, but where a sidelong -reflection of one waving bough of clematis, dusty with blossom, waved -across the little sloping mirror, high on the wall, Hannah sat outside -the open door, watching with visible delight, and sometimes joining for -an instant with awkward kindliness, the sports of Bell and Beau. They -rolled about on the soft grass, ran about on the garden paths, tumbled -over each other and over everything in their way, but, with the happy -immunity of children in the country, “took no harm.” Hannah had some -work in her great white apron, but did not so much as look at it. She -had no eye for a rare passenger upon the grassy byway, and scarcely -heard the salutation of the Rector’s man. All Hannah’s soul and thoughts -were wrapt up in the “blessed babies,” who made her old life blossom and -rejoice; and it was without any intervention of their generally -punctilious attendant that a light and rapid step came gliding over the -threshold of the Lodge, and a quiet little knock sounded lightly on the -parlour door. “May I come in, please?” said a voice which seemed to -Agnes to be speaking out of her dream; and Mrs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span> Atheling had not time to -buckle on her armour of objection when the door opened, and the same -little light rapid figure came bounding into the arms of her daughters. -Once there, it was not very difficult to reach to the good mother’s -kindly heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /><br /> -<small>RACHEL.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Yes</span>, I only came to-day,” said Rachel, who kept her eyes wistfully upon -Mrs Atheling, though she spoke to Agnes. “They made me go to town after -you left, and then kept me <i>so</i> long at the Willows. Next season they -say I am to come out, and somebody has offered me an engagement; but -indeed, indeed,” cried Rachel, suddenly firing with one of her outbursts -of unexpected energy, “I never will!”</p> - -<p>The girls scarcely knew what answer to make in presence of their mother. -They had not been trained to have independent friendships, and now -waited anxiously, turning silent looks of appeal upon Mamma. Mamma all -at once had become exceedingly industrious, and neither looked up nor -spoke.</p> - -<p>“But then you might live in London, perhaps, instead of here; and I -should be very glad if you were near us,” said Agnes, with a good deal -of timidity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span> Agnes, indeed, was not thinking what she said—her whole -attention wandered to her mother.</p> - -<p>“I do not mind for myself,” said Rachel, with a deep sigh. “I do not -think I should care if there were a hundred people to hear me sing, -instead of a dozen, for I know very well not one of them would care -anything for <i>me</i>; but I have to remember Louis. I cannot disgrace -Louis. It is bad enough for him as it is, without adding any more.”</p> - -<p>Again there was a pause. Rachel’s poor little palpitating heart beat -very loud and very high. “I thought I should be welcome when I came -here,” she said, freezing half into her unnatural haughtiness, and half -with an unconscious and pitiful tone of appeal; “but I never intruded -upon any one—never! and if you do not wish me to be here, I can go -away.”</p> - -<p>She turned to go away as she spoke, her little figure rising and -swelling with great subdued emotion; but Mrs Atheling immediately rose -and stretched out her hand to detain her. “Do not go away, my dear; the -girls are very fond of you,” said Mrs Atheling; and it cost this good -mother, with her ideas of propriety, a very considerable struggle with -herself to say these simple words.</p> - -<p>Rachel stood before her a moment irresolute and uncertain, not appearing -even to hear what Agnes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> Marian, assured by this encouragement, -hastened to say. The contest was violent while it lasted between Louis’s -sister, who was his representative, and the natural little humble child -Rachel, who had no pride, and only wanted the kindly succour of love; -but at last nature won the day. She seized upon Mrs Atheling’s hand -hastily and kissed it, with a pretty appealing gesture. “They do -everything you tell them,” cried Rachel suddenly. “I never had any -mother—never even when we were babies. Oh, will you tell me sometimes -what I ought to do?”</p> - -<p>It was said afterwards in the family that at this appeal Mamma, fairly -vanquished and overcome, “almost cried;” and certain it was that Rachel -immediately took possession of the stool beside her, and remained there -not only during this visit, but on every after occasion when she came. -She brightened immediately into all her old anxious communicativeness, -concealing nothing, but pouring out her whole heart.</p> - -<p>“Louis told me he had seen you in the garden,” said Rachel, with a low -laugh of pleasure; “but when I asked which it was, he said he knew -nothing of Agnes and Marian, but only he had seen a vision looking over -the old gate. I never know what Louis means when he speaks nonsense,” -said Rachel, with an unusual brightness; “and I am so glad. I never -heard him speak so much nonsense since we came to the Hall.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span></p> - -<p>“And are you left in the Hall all by yourselves, two young creatures?” -asked Mrs Atheling, with curiosity. “It must be very melancholy for -you.”</p> - -<p>“Not to be alone!” cried Rachel. “But very soon my lord is coming, with -a great household of people; and then—I almost faint when I think upon -it. What shall I do?”</p> - -<p>“But, Rachel, Mrs Edgerley is very kind to you,” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>Rachel answered after her usual fashion: “I do not care at all for -myself—it is nothing to me; but Louis—oh, Louis!—if he is ever seen, -the people stare at him as they would at a horse or a hound; and Lord -Winterbourne tries to have an opportunity to speak and order him away, -and when he shoots, he says he will put him in prison. And then Louis -knows when they send for me, and sometimes stands under the window and -hears me singing, and is white with rage to hear; and then he says he -cannot bear it, and must go away, and then I go down upon my knees to -him. I know how it will happen—everything, everything! It makes him mad -to have to bear it. Oh, I wish I knew anything that I could do!”</p> - -<p>“Mamma,” said Agnes earnestly, “Rachel used to tell us all this at the -Willows. Do you not think he ought to go away?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling shook her head in perplexity; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> instead of answering, -asked a question, “Does he not think it his duty, my dear, to obey -your—your father?” said Mamma doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“But he is not our father—oh no, no, indeed he is not! I should know he -was not, even without Louis,” cried Rachel, unaware what a violent -affirmation this was. “Louis says we could not have any father who would -not be a disgrace to us, being as we are—and Louis must be right; but -even though he might be a bad man, he could not be like Lord -Winterbourne. He takes pleasure in humiliating us—he never cared for us -all our life.”</p> - -<p>There was something very touching in this entire identification of these -two solitary existences which still were but one life; and Rachel was -not Rachel till she came to the very last words. Before that, with the -strange and constantly varying doubleness of her sisterly character, she -had been once again the representative of Louis. One thing struck them -all as they looked at her small features, fired with this sudden -inspiration of Louis’s pride and spirit. About as different as -possible—at the extreme antipodes of unresemblance—were their two -visitors of this day,—this small little fairy, nervous, timid, and -doubtful, fatherless, homeless, and without so much as a name, and that -assured and commanding old lady, owning no superior, and as secure of -her own position and authority as any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span> reigning monarch. Yes, they were -about as dissimilar as two human creatures could be; yet the lookers-on -were startled to recognise that subtle link of likeness, seldom a -likeness of features, which people call family resemblance. Could it -have come through this man, who was so repugnant to them both?</p> - -<p>“They are all coming down on Monday next week,” said Rachel, “so we have -just three days all to ourselves; and I thought, perhaps—perhaps, if -you please to let me, I might bring Louis to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Surely, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“Oh, thank you!—thank you very much!” cried Rachel, once more bestowing -an eager yet shy caress upon that motherly hand. “Louis is not like me -at all,” added the anxious sister, afraid lest he should suffer by any -preconceived notion of resemblance. “He is a man; and old Miss Bridget -used to call him a noble brave boy, like what you read of in books. I do -not know,” said Rachel, “I never read of any one, even in a book, like -Louis. I think he ought to be a king.”</p> - -<p>“But, indeed, Rachel,” said Agnes, “I am quite sure you are wrong. Ask -mamma. You ought to let him go away.”</p> - -<p>“Do <i>you</i> think so?” said Rachel wistfully, looking up in Mrs Atheling’s -face.</p> - -<p>But Mrs Atheling, though under any other circumstances<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span> she would of -course have insisted upon the absolute propriety of a young man “making -his own way,” paused, much perplexed, and answered nothing for the -moment. “My dears,” she said at last, very doubtfully, “I do not know at -all what to say. You should have some one who could advise you better; -and it depends on the young gentleman’s inclinations, and a great many -things beside that I am not able to judge of; for, indeed, though it may -only be my old-fashioned notions, I do not like to hear of young people -going against the advice of their friends.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /><br /> -<small>THE YOUNG PRINCE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">It</span> may be supposed that, after all they had heard of him, the Athelings -prepared themselves with a little excitement for the visit of Louis. -Even Mrs Atheling, who disapproved of him, could not prevent herself -from wandering astray in long speculations about the old lord—and it -seemed less improper to wonder and inquire concerning a boy, whom the -Honourable Anastasia herself inquired after and wondered at. As for the -girls, Louis had come to be an ideal hero to both of them. The adored -and wonderful brother of Rachel—though Rachel was only a girl, and -scarcely so wise as themselves—the admiration of Miss Bridget, and the -anxiety of Miss Anastasia, though these were only a couple of old -ladies, united in a half deification of the lordly young stranger, whose -own appearance and manner were enough to have awakened a certain -romantic interest in their simple young hearts. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> were extremely -concerned to-night about their homely tea-table—that everything should -look its best and brightest; and even contrived, unknown to Hannah, to -filch and convert into a temporary cake-basket that small rich old -silver salver, which had been wont to stand upon one of Miss Bridget’s -little tables for cards. Then they robbed the garden for a sufficient -bouquet of flowers; and then Agnes, half against her sister’s will, wove -in one of those pale roses to Marian’s beautiful hair. Marian, though -she made a laughing protest against this, and pretended to be totally -indifferent to the important question, which dress she should wear? -clearly recognised herself as the heroine of the evening. <i>She</i> knew -very well, if no one else did, what was the vision which Louis had seen -at the old gate, and came down to Miss Bridget’s prim old parlour in her -pretty light muslin dress with the rose in her hair, looking, in her -little flutter and palpitation, as sweet a “vision of delight” as ever -appeared to the eyes of man.</p> - -<p>And Louis came—came—condescended to take tea—stayed some two hours or -so, and then took his departure, hurriedly promising to come back for -his sister. This much-anticipated hero—could it be possible that his -going away was the greatest relief to them all, and that no one of the -little party felt at all comfortable or at ease till he was gone? It was -most<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> strange and deplorable, yet it was most true beyond the -possibility of question; for Louis, with all a young man’s sensitive -pride stung into bitterness by his position, haughtily repelled the -interest and kindness of all these women. He was angry at Rachel—poor -little anxious timid Rachel, who almost looked happy when they crossed -this kindly threshold—for supposing these friends of hers, who were all -women, could be companions for him; he was angry at himself for his -anger; he was in the haughtiest and darkest frame of his naturally -impetuous temper, rather disposed to receive as an insult any overture -of friendship, and fiercely to plume himself upon his separated and -orphaned state. They were all entirely discomfited and taken aback by -their stately visitor, whom they had been disposed to receive with the -warmest cordiality, and treat as one whom it was in their power to be -kind to. Though his sister did so much violence to her natural feelings -that she might hold her ground as his representative, Louis did not by -any means acknowledge her deputyship. In entire opposition to her -earnest and anxious frankness, Louis closed himself up with a jealous -and repellant reserve; said nothing he could help saying, and speaking, -when he did speak, with a cold and indifferent dignity; did not so much -as refer to the Hall or Lord Winterbourne, and checked Rachel, when she -was about to do so,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span> with an almost imperceptible gesture, peremptory -and full of displeasure. Poor Rachel, constantly referring to him with -her eyes, and feeling the ground entirely taken from beneath her feet, -sat pale and anxious, full of apprehension and dismay. Marian, who was -not accustomed to see her own pretty self treated with such absolute -unconcern, took down <i>Fatherless Fanny</i> from the bookshelf, and played -with it, half reading, half “pretending,” at one of the little tables. -Agnes, after many vain attempts to draw Rachel’s unmanageable brother -into conversation, gave it up at last, and sat still by Rachel’s side in -embarrassed silence. Mamma betook herself steadily to her work-basket. -The conversation fell away into mere questions addressed to Louis, and -answers in monosyllables, so that it was an extreme relief to every -member of the little party when this impracticable visitor rose at last, -bowed to them all, and hastened away.</p> - -<p>Rachel sat perfectly silent till the sound of his steps had died upon -the road; then she burst out in a vehement apologetic outcry. “Oh, don’t -be angry with him—don’t, please,” said Rachel; “he thinks I have been -trying to persuade you to be kind to him, and he cannot bear <i>that</i> even -from me; and indeed, indeed you may believe me, it is quite true! I -never saw him, except once or twice, in such a humour before.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span></p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, with that dignified tone which Mamma could -assume when it was necessary, to the utter discomfiture of her -opponent—“my dear, we are very glad to see your brother, but of course -it can be nothing whatever to us the kind of humour he is in; that is -quite his own concern.”</p> - -<p>Poor Rachel now, having no other resource, cried. She was only herself -in this uncomfortable moment. She could no longer remember Louis’s pride -or Louis’s dignity; for a moment the poor little subject heart felt a -pang of resentment against the object of its idolatry, such as little -Rachel had sometimes felt when Louis was “naughty,” and she, his -unfortunate little shadow, innocently shared in his punishment; but now, -as at every former time, the personal trouble of the patient little -sister yielded to the dread that Louis “was not understood.” “You will -know him better some time,” she said, drying her sorrowful appealing -eyes. So far as appearances went at this moment, it did not seem quite -desirable to know him better, and nobody said a word in return.</p> - -<p>After this the three girls went out together to the garden, still lying -sweet in the calm of the long summer twilight, under a young moon and -some early stars. They did not speak a great deal. They were all -considerably absorbed with thoughts of this same<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span> hero, who, after all, -had not taken an effective method of keeping their interest alive.</p> - -<p>And Marian did not know how or whence it was that this doubtful and -uncertain paladin came to her side in the pleasant darkness, but was -startled by his voice in her ear as she leaned once more over the low -garden-gate. “It was here I saw you first,” said Louis, and Marian’s -heart leaped in her breast, half with the suddenness of the words, half -with—something else. Louis, who had been so haughty and ungracious all -the evening—Louis, Rachel’s idol, everybody’s superior—yet he spoke -low in the startled ear of Marian, as if that first seeing had been an -era in his life.</p> - -<p>“Come with us,” said Louis, as Rachel at sight of him hastened to get -her bonnet—“come along this enchanted road a dozen steps into -fairyland, and back again. I forget everything, even myself, on such a -night.”</p> - -<p>And they went, scarcely answering, yet more satisfied with this brief -reference to their knowledge of him, than if the king had forsaken his -nature, and become as confidential as Rachel. They went their dozen -steps on what was merely the terraced pathway, soft, dark, and grassy, -to Agnes and Rachel, who went first in anxious conversation, but which -the other two,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> coming silently behind, had probably a different idea -of. Marian at least could not help cogitating these same adjectives, -with a faint inquiry within herself, what it was which could make this -an enchanted road or fairyland.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /><br /> -<small>A BEGINNING.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning, while the mother and daughters were still in the full -fervour of discussion about this same remarkable Louis, he himself was -seen for the first time in the early daylight passing the window, with -that singular rapidity of step which he possessed in common with his -sister. They ceased their argument after seeing him—why, no one could -have told; but quite unresolved as the question was, and though Mamma’s -first judgment, unsoftened by that twilight walk, was still decidedly -unfavourable to Louis, they all dropped the subject tacitly and at once. -Then Mamma went about various domestic occupations; then Agnes dropped -into the chair which stood before that writing-book upon the table, and, -with an attention much broken and distracted, gradually fell away into -her own ideal world; and then Marian, leading Bell and Beau with -meditative hands, glided forth softly to the garden, with downcast face -and drooping eyes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span> full of thought. The children ran away from her at -once when their little feet touched the grass, but Marian went straying -along the paths, absorbed in her meditation, her pretty arms hanging by -her side, her pretty head bent, her light fair figure gliding softly in -shadow over the low mossy paling and the close-clipped hedge within. She -was thinking only what it was most natural she should think, about the -stranger of last night; yet now and then into the stream of her musing -dropped, with the strangest disturbance and commotion, these few quiet -words spoken in her ear,—“It was here I saw you first.” How many times, -then, had Louis seen her? and why did he recollect so well that first -occasion? and what did he mean?</p> - -<p>While she was busy with these fancies, all at once, Marian could not -tell how, as suddenly as he appeared last night, Louis was here -again—here, within the garden of the Old Wood Lodge, walking by -Marian’s side, a second long shadow upon the close-clipped hedge and the -mossy paling, rousing her to a guilty consciousness that she had been -thinking of him, which brought blush after blush in a flutter of “sweet -shamefacednesse” to her cheek, and weighed down still more heavily the -shy and dreamy lids of these beautiful eyes.</p> - -<p>The most unaccountable thing in the world! but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span> Marian, who had received -with perfect coolness the homage of Sir Langham, and whose conscience -smote her with no compunctions for the slaying of the gifted American, -had strangely lost her self-possession to-day. She only replied in the -sedatest and gravest manner possible to the questions of her -companion—looked anxiously at the parlour window for an opportunity of -calling Agnes, and with the greatest embarrassment longed for the -presence of some one to end this <i>tête-à-tête</i>. Louis, on the contrary, -exerted himself for her amusement, and was as different from the Louis -of last night as it was possible to conceive.</p> - -<p>“Ay, there it is,” said Louis, who had just asked her what she knew of -Oxford—“there it is, the seat of learning, thrusting up all its -pinnacles to the sun; but I think, if the world were wise, this glitter -and shining might point to the dark, dark ignorance outside of it, even -more than to the little glow within.”</p> - -<p>Now this was not much in Marian’s way—but her young squire, who would -have submitted himself willingly to her guidance had she given any, was -not yet acquainted at all with the ways of Marian.</p> - -<p>She said, simply looking at the big dome sullenly throwing off the -sunbeams, and at the glancing arrowheads, of more impressible and -delicate kind, “I think it is very pretty, with all those different -spires and towers; but do you mean it is the poor people who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span> are so -very ignorant? It seems as though people could scarcely help learning -who live there.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, the poor people—I mean all of us,” said Louis slowly, and with a -certain painful emphasis. “A great many of the villagers, it is true, -have never been to school; but I do not count a man ignorant who knows -what he has to do, and how to do it, though he never reads a book, nor -has pen in hand all his life. I save my pity for a more unfortunate -ignorance than that.”</p> - -<p>“But that is very bad,” said Marian decidedly, “because there is more to -do than just to work, and we ought to know about—about a great many -things. Agnes knows better than I.”</p> - -<p>This was said very abruptly, and meant that Agnes knew better what -Marian meant to say than she herself did. The youth at her side, -however, showed no inclination for any interpreter. He seemed, indeed, -to be rather pleased than otherwise with this breaking off.</p> - -<p>“When I was away, I was in strange enough quarters, and learnt something -about knowledge,” said Louis, “though not much knowledge itself—heaven -help me! I suppose I was not worthy of that.”</p> - -<p>“And did you really run away?” asked Marian, growing bolder with this -quickening of personal interest.</p> - -<p>“I really ran away,” said the young man, a hot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> flush passing for an -instant over his brow; and then he smiled—a kind of daring desperate -smile, which seemed to say “what I have done once I can do again.”</p> - -<p>“And what did you do?” said Marian, continuing her inquiries: she forgot -her shyness in following up this story, which she knew and did not know.</p> - -<p>“What all the village lads do who get into scrapes and break the hearts -of the old women,” said Louis, with a somewhat bitter jesting. “I listed -for a soldier—but there was not even an old woman to break her heart -for me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there was Rachel!” cried Marian eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, there was Rachel, my good little sister,” answered the -young man; “but her kind heart would have mended again had they let me -alone. It would have been better for us both.”</p> - -<p>He said this with a painful compression of his lip, which a certain -wistful sympathy in the mind of Marian taught her to recognise as the -sign of tumult and contention in this turbulent spirit. She hastened -with a womanly instinct to direct him to the external circumstances -again.</p> - -<p>“And you were really a soldier—a—not an officer—only a common man.” -Marian shrunk visibly from this, which was an actual and possible -degradation, feared as the last downfall for the “wild sons” of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span> the -respectable families in the neighbourhood of Bellevue.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I belong to a class which has no privileges; there was not a -drummer in the regiment but was of better birth than I,” exclaimed -Louis. “Ah, that is folly—I did very well. In Napoleon’s army, had I -belonged to that day!—but in my time there was neither a general nor a -war.”</p> - -<p>“Surely,” said Marian, who began to be anxious about this unfortunate -young man’s “principles,” “you would not wish for a war?”</p> - -<p>“Should you think it very wrong?” said Louis with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered the young Mentor with immediate decision; for this -conversation befell in those times, not so very long ago, when everybody -declared that such convulsions were over, and that it was impossible, in -the face of civilisation, steamboats, and the electric telegraph, to -entertain the faintest idea of a war.</p> - -<p>They had reached this point in their talk, gradually growing more at -ease and familiar with each other, when it suddenly chanced that Mamma, -passing from her own sleeping-room to that of the girls, paused a moment -to look out at the small middle window in the passage between them, and -looking down, was amazed to see this haughty and misanthropic Louis -passing quietly along the trim pathway of the garden,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span> keeping his place -steadily by Marian’s side. Mrs Atheling was not a mercenary mother, -neither was she one much given to alarm for her daughters, lest they -should make bad marriages or fall into unfortunate love; but Mrs -Atheling, who was scrupulously proper, did not like to see her pretty -Marian in such friendly companionship with “a young man in such an -equivocal position,” even though he was the brother of her friend. “We -may be kind to them,” said Mamma to herself, “but we are not to go any -further; and, indeed, it would be very sad if he should come to more -grief about Marian, poor young man;—how pretty she is!”</p> - -<p>Yes, it was full time Mrs Atheling should hasten down stairs, and, in -the most accidental manner in the world, step out into the garden. -Marian, unfortunate child! with her young roses startled on her sweet -young cheeks by this faint presaging breath of a new existence, had -never been so pretty all her life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE YOUNG PEOPLE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">What</span> Louis did or said, or how he made interest for himself in the -tender heart of Mamma, no one very well knows; yet a certain fact it -was, that from henceforward Mrs Atheling, like Miss Anastasia, became -somewhat contemptuous of Rachel in the interest of Louis, and pursued -eager and long investigations in her own mind—investigations most -fruitless, yet most persevering—touching the old lord and the unknown -conclusion of his life. All that was commonly known of the last years of -the last Lord Winterbourne was, that he had died abroad. Under the -pressure of family calamity he had gone to Italy, and there, people -said, had wandered about for several years, leading a desultory and -unsettled life, entirely out of the knowledge of any of his friends; and -when the present bearer of the title came home, bearing the intelligence -of his elder brother’s death, the most entire oblivion closed down upon -the foreign grave of the old lord. Back<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span> into this darkness Mrs -Atheling, who knew no more than common report, made vain efforts to -strain her kindly eyes, but always returned with a sigh of despair. -“No!” said Mamma, “he might be proud, but he was virtuous and -honourable. I never heard a word said against the old lord. Louis is -like him, but it must only be a chance resemblance. No! Mr Reginald was -always a wild bad man. Poor things! they <i>must</i> be his children; for my -lord, I am sure, never betrayed or deceived any creature all his life.”</p> - -<p>But still she mused and dreamed concerning Louis; he seemed to exercise -a positive fascination over all these elder people; and Mrs Atheling, -more than she had ever desired a friendly gossip with Miss Willsie, -longed to meet once more with the Honourable Anastasia, to talk over her -conjectures and guesses respecting “the boy.”</p> - -<p>In the mean time, Louis himself, relieved from that chaperonship and -anxious introduction by his sister, which the haughty young man could -not endure, made daily increase of his acquaintance with the strangers. -He began to form part of their daily circle, expected and calculated -upon; and somehow the family life seemed to flow in a stronger and -fuller current with the addition of this vigorous element, the young -man, who oddly enough seemed to belong to them rather more than if he -had been their brother. He took<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span> the three girls, who were now so much -like three sisters, on long and wearying excursions through the wood and -over the hill. He did not mind tiring them out, nor was he extremely -fastidious about the roads by which he led them; for, generous at heart -as he was, the young man had the unconscious wilfulness of one who all -his life had known no better guidance than his own will. Sometimes, in -those long walks of theirs, the young Athelings were startled by some -singular characteristic of their squire, bringing to light in him, by a -sudden chance, things of which these gentle-hearted girls had never -dreamed. Once they discovered, lying deep among the great fern-leaves, -all brown and rusty with seed, the bright plumage of some dead game, for -the reception of which a village boy was making a bag of his pinafore. -“Carry it openly,” said Louis, at whose voice the lad started; “and if -any one asks you where it came from, send them to me.” This was his -custom, which all the village knew and profited by; he would not permit -himself to be restrained from the sport, but he scorned to lift the -slain bird, which might be supposed to be Lord Winterbourne’s, and left -it to be picked up by the chance foragers of the hamlet. At the first -perception of this, the girls, we are obliged to confess, were greatly -shocked—tears even came to Marian’s eyes. She said it was cruel, in a -little outbreak of terror, pity, and indignation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span> “Cruel—no!” said -Louis: “did my gun give a sharper wound than one of the score of -fashionable guns that will be waking all the echoes in a day or two?” -But Marian only glanced up at him hurriedly with her shy eyes, and said, -with a half smile, “Perhaps though the wound was no sharper, the poor -bird might have liked another week of life.”</p> - -<p>And the young man looked up into the warm blue sky over-head, all -crossed and trellised with green leaves, and looked around into the deep -September foliage, flaming here and there in a yellow leaf, a point of -fire among the green. “I think it very doubtful,” he said, sinking his -voice, though every one heard him among the noonday hush of the trees, -“if I ever can be so happy again. Do you not suppose it would be -something worth living for, instead of a week or a year of sadder -chances, to be shot upon the wing <i>now</i>?”</p> - -<p>Marian did not say a word, but shrank away among the bushes, clinging to -Rachel’s arm, with a shy instinctive motion. “Choose for yourself,” said -Agnes; “but do not decide so coolly upon the likings of the poor bird. I -am sure, had <i>he</i> been consulted, he would rather have taken his chance -of the guns next week than lain so quiet under the fern-leaves now.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon the blush of youth for his own super-elevated and unreal -sentiment came over Louis’s face. Agnes, by some amusing process common -to young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span> girls who are elder sisters, and whom nobody is in love with, -had made herself out to be older than Louis, and was rather disposed now -and then to interfere for the regulation of this youth’s improper -sentiments, and to give him good advice.</p> - -<p>And Lord Winterbourne arrived: they discovered the fact immediately by -the entire commotion and disturbance of everything about the village, by -the noise of wheels, and the flight of servants, to be descried -instantly in the startled neighbourhood. Then they began to see visions -of sportsmen, and flutters of fine ladies; and even without these -visible and evident signs, it would have been easy enough to read the -information of the arrivals in the clouded and lowering brow of Louis, -and in poor little Rachel’s distress, anxiety, and agitation. She, poor -child, could no longer join their little kindly party in the evening; -and when her brother came without her, he burst into violent outbreaks -of rage, indignation, and despair, dreadful to see. Neither mother nor -daughters knew how to soothe him; for it was even more terrible in their -fancy than in his experience to be the Pariah and child of degradation -in this great house. Moved by the intolerable burden of this his time of -trial, Louis at last threw himself upon the confidence of his new -friends, confided his uncertain and conflicting plans to them, relieved -himself of his passionate resentment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span> and accepted their sympathy. -Every day he came goaded half to madness, vowing his determination to -bear it no longer; but every day, as he sat in the old easy-chair, with -his handsome head half-buried in his hands, a solace, sweet and -indescribable, stole into Louis’s heart; he was inspired to go at the -very same moment that he was impelled to stay, by that same vision which -he had first seen in the summer twilight at the old garden-gate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /><br /> -<small>A MEETING.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">This</span> state of things continued for nearly a fortnight after the arrival -of Lord Winterbourne and his party at the Hall. They saw Mrs Edgerley -passing through the village, and in church; but she either did not see -them, or did not think it necessary to take any notice of the girls. -Knowing better now the early connection between their own family and -Lord Winterbourne’s, they were almost glad of this—almost; yet -certainly it would have been pleasanter to decline <i>her</i> friendly -advances, than to find her, their former patroness, quietly dropping -acquaintance with <i>them</i>.</p> - -<p>The grassy terraced road which led from Winterbourne village to the -highway, and which was fenced on one side by the low wall which -surrounded the stables and outhouses of the Rector, and by the hedge and -paling of the Old Wood Lodge, but on the other side was free and open to -the fields, which sloped down from it to the low willow-dropped banks of -one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span> of those pale rivers, was not a road adapted either for vehicles or -horses. The Rivers family, however, holding themselves monarchs of all -they surveyed, stood upon no punctilio in respect to the pathway of the -villagers, and the family temper, alike in this one particular, brought -about a collision important enough to all parties concerned, and -especially to the Athelings; for one of those days, when a riding-party -from the Hall cantered along the path with a breezy waving and commotion -of veils and feathers and riding-habits, and a pleasant murmur of sound, -voices a little louder than usual under cover of the September gale -mixed only with the jingle of the harness—for the horses’ hoofs struck -no sound but that of a dull tread from the turf of the way—it pleased -Miss Anastasia, at the very hour and moment of their approach, to drive -her two grey ponies to the door of the Old Wood Lodge. Of course, it was -the simplest “accident” in the world, this unpremeditated “chance” -meeting. There was no intention nor foresight whatever in the matter. -When she saw them coming, Miss Anastasia “growled” under her breath, and -marvelled indignantly how they could dream of coming in such a body over -the grassed road of the villagers, cutting it to pieces with their -horses’ hoofs. She never paused to consider how the wheels of her own -substantial vehicle ploughed the road; and for her part, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span> leader of -the fair equestrians brightened with an instant hope of amusement. “Here -is cousin Anastasia, the most learned old lady in Banburyshire. -Delightful! Now, my love, you shall see the lion of the county,” cried -Mrs Edgerley to one of her young companions, not thinking nor caring -whether her voice reached her kinswoman or not. Lord Winterbourne, who -was with his daughter, drew back to the rear of the group instinctively. -Whatever was said of Lord Winterbourne, his worst enemy could not say -that he was brave to meet the comments of those whom he had harmed or -wronged.</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia stepped from her carriage in the most deliberate manner -possible, nodded to Marian and Agnes, who were in the garden—and to -whose defence, seeing so many strangers, hastily appeared their -mother—and stood patting and talking to her ponies, in her brown cloth -pelisse and tippet, and with that oddest of comfortable bonnets upon her -head.</p> - -<p>“Cousin Anastasia, I vow! You dear creature, where have you been all -these ages? Would any one believe it? Ah, how delightful to live always -in the country; what a penalty we pay for town and its pleasures! Could -any one suppose that my charming cousin was actually older than me?”</p> - -<p>And the fashionable beauty, though she did begin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span> to be faded, threw up -her delicate hands with their prettiest gesture, as she pointed to the -stately old lady before her, in her antique dress, and with unconcealed -furrows in her face. Once, perhaps, not even that beautiful complexion -of Mrs Edgerley was sweeter than that of Anastasia Rivers; but her -beauty had gone from her long ago—a thing which she cared not to -retain. She looked up with her kind imperious face, upon which were -undeniable marks of years and age. She perceived with a most evident and -undisguised contempt the titter with which this comparison was greeted. -“Go on your way, Louisa,” said Miss Rivers; “you were pretty once, -whatever people say of you now. Don’t be a fool, child; and I advise you -not to meddle with me.”</p> - -<p>“Delightful! is she not charming?” cried the fine lady, appealing to her -companion; “so fresh, and natural, and eccentric—such an acquisition in -the Hall! Anastasia, dear, do forget your old quarrel. It was not poor -papa’s fault that you were born a woman, though I cannot help confessing -it was a great mistake, <i>certainly</i>; but, only for once, you who are -such a dear, kind, benevolent creature, come to see <i>me</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Go on, Louisa, I advise you,” said the Honourable Anastasia with -extreme self-control. “Poor child, I have no quarrel with you, at all -events. You did not choose your father—there, pass on. I leave the -Hall<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span> to those who choose it; the Old Wood Lodge has more attraction for -me.”</p> - -<p>“And I protest,” cried Mrs Edgerley, “it is my sweet young friend, the -author of ——: my dearest child, what <i>is</i> the name of your book? I have -<i>such</i> a memory. Quite the sweetest story of the season; and I am dying -to hear of another. Are you writing again? Oh, pray say you are. I -should be heartbroken to think of waiting very long for it. You must -come to the Hall. There are some people coming who are dying to know -you, and I positively cannot be disappointed: no one ever disobeys <i>me</i>! -Come here and let me kiss, you pretty creature. Is she not the sweetest -little beauty in the world? and her sister has so much genius; it is -quite delightful! So you know my cousin Anastasia; isn’t she charming? -Now, good morning, coz.—good morning, dear—and be sure you come to the -Hall.”</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia stood aside, watching grimly this unexpected -demonstration of friendship, and keenly criticising Agnes, who coloured -high with youthful dignity and resentment, and Marian, who drew back -abashed, with a painful blush, and a grieved and anxious consciousness -that Louis, unseen but seeing, was a spectator of this salutation, and -somehow would be quite as like to resent Mrs Edgerley’s careless -compliment to herself, “as if I had been his sister.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span> With a steady -observation the old lady kept her eyes upon her young acquaintances till -the horsemen and horsewomen of Mrs Edgerley’s train had passed. Then she -drew herself up to the utmost pitch of her extreme height, and, without -raising her eyes, made a profound curtsy to the last of the train—he on -his part lifted his hat, and bent to his saddle-bow. This was how Lord -Winterbourne and his brother’s daughter recognised each other. Perhaps -the wandering eyes in his bloodless face glanced a moment, shifting and -uncertain as they were, upon the remarkable figure of Miss Rivers, but -they certainly paused to take in, with one fixed yet comprehensive -glance, the mother and the daughters, the children playing in the -garden—the open door of the house—even it was possible he saw Louis, -though Louis had been behind, at the end of the little green, out of -sight, trying to train a wild honeysuckle round an extempore bower. Lord -Winterbourne scarcely paused, and did not offer the slightest apology -for his stare, but they felt, all of them, that he had marked the house, -and laid them under the visionary curse of his evil eye. When he had -passed, Miss Rivers put them in before her, with an imperative gesture. -“Let me know what’s brewing,” said the Honourable Anastasia, as she -reposed herself on the little new sofa in the old parlour. “There’s -mischief in his eye.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /><br /> -<small>THE BREWING OF THE STORM.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> visit of Miss Rivers was the most complimentary attention which she -could show to her new friends, for her visits were few, and paid only to -a very limited number of people, and these all of her own rank and -class. She was extremely curious as to their acquaintance with Mrs -Edgerley, and demanded to know every circumstance from its beginning -until now; and this peremptory old lady was roused to quite an eager and -animated interest in the poor little book of which, Agnes could not -forget, Mrs Edgerley did not remember so much as the name. The -Honourable Anastasia declared abruptly that she never read novels, yet -demanded to have <i>Hope Hazlewood</i> placed without an instant’s delay in -her pony-carriage. “Do it at once, my dear: a thing which is done at the -moment cannot be forgotten,” said Miss Rivers. “You write books,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span> eh? -Well, I asked you if you were clever; why did you not tell me at once?”</p> - -<p>“I did not think you would care; it was not worth while,” said Agnes -with some confusion, and feeling considerably alarmed by the idea of -this formidable old lady’s criticism. Miss Rivers only answered by -hurrying her out with the book, lest it might possibly be forgotten. -When the girls were gone, she turned to Mrs Atheling. “What can he do to -you,” said Miss Anastasia, abruptly, “eh? What’s Will Atheling doing? -Can he harm Will?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mamma, somewhat excited by the prospect of an enemy, yet -confident in the perfect credit and honour of the family father, whose -good name and humble degree of prosperity no enemy could overthrow. -“William has been where he is now for twenty years.”</p> - -<p>“So, so,” said Miss Rivers—“and the boy? Take care of these girls; it -might be in his devilish way to harm them; and I tell you, when you come -to know of it, send me word. So she writes books, this girl of yours? -She is no better than a child. Do you mean to say you are not proud?”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling answered as mothers answer when such questions are put to -them, half with a confession, half with a partly-conscious sophism, -about Agnes being “a good girl, and a great comfort to her papa and -me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span></p> - -<p>The girls, when they had executed their commission, looked doubtingly -for Louis, but found him gone as they expected. While they were still -lingering where he had been, Miss Rivers came to the door again, going -away, and when she had said good-by to Mamma, the old lady turned back -again without a word, and very gravely gathered one of the roses. She -did it with a singular formality and solemness as if it was a religious -observance rather than a matter of private liking; and securing it -somewhere out of sight in the fastenings of her brown pelisse, waved her -hand to them, saying in her peremptory voice, quite loud enough to be -heard at a considerable distance, that she was to send for them in a day -or two. Then she took her seat in the little carriage, and turned her -grey ponies, no very easy matter, towards the high-road. Her easy and -complete mastery over them was an admiration to the girls. “Bless you, -miss, she’d follow the hounds as bold as any squire,” said Hannah; “but -there’s a deal o’ difference in Miss Taesie since the time she broke her -heart.”</p> - -<p>Such an era was like to be rather memorable. The girls thought so, -somewhat solemnly, as they went to their work beside their mother. They -seemed to be coming to graver times themselves, gliding on in an -irresistible noiseless fashion upon their stream of fate.</p> - -<p>Louis came again as usual in the evening. He <i>had</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span> heard Mrs Edgerley, -and did resent her careless freedom, as Marian secretly knew he would; -which fact she who was most concerned, ascertained by his entire and -pointed silence upon the subject, and his vehement and passionate -contempt, notwithstanding, for Mrs Edgerley.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you are safe enough,” he said, speaking to the elder sister. -“You will not break your heart because she has forgotten the name of -your book—but, heaven help them, there are hearts which do! There are -unfortunate fools in this crazy world mad enough to be elated and to be -thrown into misery by a butterfly of a fine lady, who makes reputations. -You think them quite contemptible, do you? but there are such.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose they must be people who have no friends and no home—or to -whom it is of more importance than it is to me,” said Agnes; “for I am -only a woman, and nothing could make me miserable out of this Old Lodge, -or Bellevue.”</p> - -<p>“Ah—that is <i>now</i>,” said Louis quickly, and he glanced with an -instinctive reference at Marian, whose pallid roses and fluctuating mood -already began to testify to some anxiety out of the boundary of these -charmed walls. “The very sight of your security might possibly be hard -enough upon us who have no home—no home! nothing at all under heaven.”</p> - -<p>“Except such trifles as strength and youth and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span> stout heart, a sister -very fond of you, and some—some <i>friends</i>—and heaven itself, after -all, at the end. Oh, Louis!” said Agnes, who on this, as on other -occasions, was much disposed to be this “boy’s” elder sister, and -advised him “for his good.”</p> - -<p>He did not say anything. When he looked up at all from his bending -attitude leaning over the table, it was to glance with fiery devouring -eyes at Marian—poor little sweet Marian, already pale with anxiety for -him. Then he broke out suddenly—“That poor little sister who is very -fond of me—do you know what she is doing at this moment—singing to -them!—like the captives at Babylon, making mirth for the spoilers. And -my friends—— heaven! you heard what that woman ventured to say -to-day.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, who confessed to treating Louis as a “son -of her own,” “think of heaven all the day long, and so much the better -for you—but I cannot have you using in this way such a name.”</p> - -<p>This simple little reproof did more for Louis than a hundred -philosophies. He laughed low, and with emotion took Mrs Atheling’s hand -for a moment between his own—said “thank you, mother,” with a momentary -smile of delight and good pleasure. Then his face suddenly flushed with -a dark and violent colour; he cast an apprehensive yet haughty glance at -Mrs Atheling, and drew his hand away. The stain in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span> his blood was a -ghost by the side of Louis, and scarcely left him for an instant night -nor day.</p> - -<p>When he left them, they went to the door with him as they had been wont -to do, the mother holding a shawl over her cap, the girls with their -fair heads uncovered to the moon. They stood all together at the gate -speaking cheerfully, and sending kind messages to Rachel as they bade -him good-night—and none of the little group noticed a figure suddenly -coming out of the darkness and gliding along past the paling of the -garden. “What, boy, you here?” cried a voice suddenly behind Louis, -which made him start aside, and they all shrank back a little to -recognise in the moonlight the marble-white face of Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, sir, wandering about the country at this hour?” said -the stranger—“what conspiracy goes on here, eh?—what are <i>you</i> doing -with a parcel of women? Home to your den, you skulking young -vagabond—what are you doing here?”</p> - -<p>Marian, the least courageous of the three, moved by a sudden impulse, -which was not courage but terror, laid her hand quickly upon Louis’s -arm. The young man, who had turned his face defiant and furious towards -the intruder, turned in an instant, grasping at the little timid hand as -a man in danger might grasp at a shield invulnerable, “You perceive, my -lord, I am beyond the reach either of your insults or your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span> patronage -here,” said the youth, whose blood was dancing in his veins, and who at -that moment cared less than the merest stranger, who had never heard his -name, for Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“Come, my lad, if you are imposing upon these poor people—I must set -you right,” said the man who was called Louis’s father. “Do you know -what he is, my good woman, that you harbour this idle young rascal in -despite of my known wishes? Home, you young vagabond, home! This boy -is——”</p> - -<p>“My lord, my lord,” interposed Mrs Atheling, in sudden agitation, “if -any disgrace belongs to him, it is yours and not his that you should -publish it. Go away, sir, from my door, where you once did harm enough, -and don’t try to injure the poor boy—perhaps we know who he is better -than you.”</p> - -<p>What put this bold and rash speech into the temperate lips of Mamma, no -one could ever tell; the effect of it, however, was electric. Lord -Winterbourne fell back suddenly, stared at her with his strained eyes in -the moonlight, and swore a muttered and inaudible oath. “Home, you -hound!” he repeated in a mechanical tone, and then, waving his hand with -a threatening and unintelligible gesture, turned to go away. “So long as -the door is yours, my friend, I will take care to make no intrusion upon -it,” he said significantly before he disappeared; and then the shadow -departed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span> out of the moonlight, the stealthy step died on the grass, and -they stood alone again with beating hearts. Mamma took Marian’s hand -from Louis, but not unkindly, and with an affectionate earnestness bade -him go away. He hesitated long, but at length consented, partly for her -entreaty, partly for the sake of Rachel. Under other circumstances this -provocation would have maddened Louis; but he wrung Agnes’s hand with an -excited gaiety as he lingered at the door watching a shadow on the -window whither Marian had gone with her mother. “I had best not meet him -on the road,” said Louis: “there is the Curate—for once, for your sake, -and the sake of what has happened, I will be gracious and take his -company; but to tell the truth, I do not care for anything which can -befall me to-night.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /><br /> -<small>A CRISIS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Marian</span>, whom her mother tenderly put to sleep that night, as if she had -been a child, yet who lay awake in the long cold hours before the dawn -in a vague and indescribable emotion, her heart stirring within her like -something which did not belong to her—a new and strange -existence—slept late the next morning, exhausted and worn out with all -this sudden and stormy influx of unknown feelings. Mamma, who, on the -contrary, was very early astir, came into the bed-chamber of her -daughters at quite an unusual hour, and, thankfully perceiving Marian’s -profound youthful slumber, stood gazing at the beautiful sleeper with -tears in her eyes. Paler than usual, with a shadow under her closed -eyelids, and still a little dew upon the long lashes—with one hand laid -in childish fashion under her cheek, and the other lying, with its -pearly rose-tipped fingers, upon the white coverlid, Marian, but for the -moved and human agitation which evidently<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span> had worn itself into repose, -might have looked like the enchanted beauty of the tale—but indeed she -was rather more like a child who had wept itself to sleep. Her sister, -stealing softly from her side, left her sleeping, and they put the door -ajar that they might hear when she stirred before they went, with hushed -steps and speaking in a whisper, down stairs.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling was disturbed more than she would tell; what she did say, -as Agnes and she sat over their silent breakfast-table, was an expedient -which herself had visibly no faith in. “My dear, we must try to prevent -him saying anything,” said Mrs Atheling, with her anxious brow: it was -not necessary to name names, for neither of them could forget the scene -of last night.</p> - -<p>Then by-and-by Mamma spoke again. “I almost fancy we should go home; she -might forget it if she were away. Agnes, my love, you must persuade him -not to say anything; he pays great attention to what you say.”</p> - -<p>“But, mamma—Marian?” said Agnes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Agnes, Agnes, my dear beautiful child,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden access of emotion, “it was only friendship, sympathy—her kind -heart; she will think no more of it, if nothing occurs to put it into -her head.”</p> - -<p>Agnes did not say anything, though she was extremely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span> doubtful on this -subject; but then it was quite evident that Mamma had no faith in her -own prognostications, and regarded this first inroad into the family -with a mixture of excitement, dread, and agitation which it was not -comfortable to see.</p> - -<p>After their pretended breakfast, mother and daughter once more stole -up-stairs. They had not been in the room a moment, when Marian -woke—woke—started with fright and astonishment to see Agnes dressed, -and her mother standing beside her; and beginning to recollect, suddenly -blushed, and turning away her face, burning with that violent suffusion -of colour, exclaimed, “I could not help it—I could not help it; would -you stand by and see them drive him mad? Oh mamma, mamma!”</p> - -<p>“My darling, no one thinks of blaming you,” said Mrs Atheling, who -trembled a good deal, and looked very anxious. “We were all very sorry -for him, poor fellow; and you only did what you should have done, like a -brave little friend—what I should have done myself, had I been next to -him,” said Mamma, with great gravity and earnestness, but decidedly -overdoing her part.</p> - -<p>This did not seem quite a satisfactory speech to Marian. She turned away -again petulantly, dried her eyes, and with a sidelong glance at Agnes, -asked, “Why did you not wake me?—it looks quite late. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span> am not ill, am -I? I am sure I do not understand it—why did you let me sleep?”</p> - -<p>“Hush, darling! because you were tired and late last night,” said Mamma.</p> - -<p>Now this sympathy and tenderness seemed rather alarming than soothing to -Marian. Her colour varied rapidly, her breath came quick, tears gathered -to her eyes. “Has anything happened while I have been sleeping?” she -asked hastily, and in a very low tone.</p> - -<p>“No, no, my love, nothing at all,” said Mamma tenderly, “only we thought -you must be tired.”</p> - -<p>“Both you and Agnes were as late as me,—why were not you tired?” said -Marian, still with a little jealous fear. “Please, mamma, go away; I -want to get dressed and come down stairs.”</p> - -<p>They left her to dress accordingly, but still with some anxiety and -apprehension, and Mamma waited for Marian in her own room, while Agnes -went down to the parlour—just in time, for as she took her seat, Louis, -flushed and impatient, burst in at the door.</p> - -<p>Louis made a most hasty salutation, and was a great deal too eager and -hurried to be very well bred. He looked round the room with sudden -anxiety and disappointment. “Where is she?—I must see Marian,” cried -Louis. “What! you do not mean to say she is ill, after last night?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span></p> - -<p>“Not ill, but in her own room,” said Agnes, somewhat confused by the -question.</p> - -<p>“I will wait as long as you please, if I must wait,” said Louis -impatiently; “but, Agnes! why should you be against me? Of course, I -forget myself; do you grudge that I should? I forget everything except -last night; let me see Marian. I promise you I will not distress her, -and if she bids me, I will go away.”</p> - -<p>“No, it is not that,” said Agnes with hesitation; “but, Louis, nothing -happened last night—pray do not think of it. Well, then,” she said -earnestly, as his hasty gesture denied what she said, “mamma begs you, -Louis, not to say anything to-day.”</p> - -<p>He turned round upon her with a blank but haughty look. “I -understand—my disgrace must not come here,” he said; “but <i>she</i> did not -mind it; she, the purest lily upon earth! Ah! so that was a dream, was -it? And her mother—her mother says I am to go away?”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed—no,” said Agnes, almost crying. “No, Louis, you know -better; do not misunderstand us. She is so young, so gentle, and tender. -Mamma only asked, for all our sakes, if you would consent not to say -anything <i>now</i>.”</p> - -<p>To this softened form of entreaty the eager young man paid not the -slightest attention. He began to use<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span> the most unblushing cajolery to -win over poor Agnes. It did not seem to be Louis; so entirely changed -was his demeanour. It was only an extremely eager and persevering -specimen of the genus “lover,” without any personal individuality at -all.</p> - -<p>“What! not say anything? Could anybody ask such a sacrifice?” cried this -wilful and impetuous youth. “It might, as you say, be nothing at all, -though it seems life—existence, to me. Not know whether that hand is -mine or another’s—that hand which saved me, perhaps from murder?—for -he is an old man, though he is a fiend incarnate, and I might have -killed him where he stood.”</p> - -<p>“Louis! Louis!” cried Agnes, gazing at him in terror and excitement. He -grew suddenly calm as he caught her eye.</p> - -<p>“It is quite true,” he said with a grave and solemn calmness. “This man, -who has cursed my life, and made it miserable—this man, who dared -insult me before <i>her</i> and you—do you think I could have been a man, -and still have borne that intolerable crown of wrong?”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, he began to pace the little parlour with impatient steps -and a clouded brow. Mrs Atheling, who had heard his voice, but had -restrained her anxious curiosity as long as possible, now came down -quietly, unable to keep back longer. Louis sprang to her side,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span> took her -hand, led her about the room, pleading, reasoning, persuading. Mamma, -whose good heart from the first moment had been an entire and perfect -traitor, was no match at all for Louis. She gave in to him unresistingly -before half his entreaties were over; she did not make even half so good -a stand as Agnes, who secretly was in the young lover’s interest too. -But when they had just come to the conclusion that he should be -permitted to see Marian, Marian herself, whom no one expected, suddenly -entered the room. The young beauty’s pretty brow was lowering more than -any one before had ever seen it lower; a petulant contraction was about -her red lips, and a certain angry dignity, as of an offended child, in -her bearing. “Surely something very strange has happened this morning,” -said Marian, with a little heat; “even mamma looks as if she knew some -wonderful secret. I suppose every one is to hear of it but me.”</p> - -<p>At this speech the dismayed conspirators against Marian’s peace fell -back and separated. The other impetuous principal in the matter hastened -at once to the angry Titania, who only bowed, and did not even look at -him. The truth was, that Marian, much abashed at thought of her own -sudden impulse, was never in a mood less propitious; she felt as if she -herself had not done quite right—as if somehow she had betrayed a -secret of her own, and, now found out and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span> detected, was obliged to use -the readiest means to cover it up again; and, besides, the hasty little -spirit, which had both pride and temper of its own, could not at all -endure the idea of having been petted and excused this morning, as if -“something had happened” last night. Now that it was perfectly evident -nothing had happened—now that Louis stood before her safe, handsome, -and eager, Marian concluded that it was time for her to stand upon her -defence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /><br /> -<small>CLOUDS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> end of it all was, of course—though Louis had an amount of trouble -in the matter which that impetuous young gentleman had not counted -upon—that Marian yielded to his protestations, and came forth full of -the sweetest agitation, tears, and blushes, to be taken to the kind -breast of the mother who was scarcely less agitated, and to be regarded -with a certain momentary awe, amusement, and sympathy by Agnes, whose -visionary youthful reverence for this unknown magician was just tempered -by the equally youthful imp of mischief which plays tricks upon the -same. But Mrs Atheling’s brow grew sadder and sadder with anxiety, as -she looked at the young man who now claimed to call her mother. What he -was to do—how Marian could bear all the chances and changes of the -necessarily long probation before them—what influence Lord Winterbourne -might have upon the fortunes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span> his supposed son—what Papa himself -would say to this sudden betrothal, and how he could reconcile himself -to receive a child, and a disgraced child of his old enemy, into his own -honourable house,—these considerations fluttered the heart and -disturbed the peace of the anxious mother, who already began to blame -herself heavily, yet did not see, after all, what else she could have -done. A son of shame, and of Lord Winterbourne!—a young man hitherto -dependent, with no training, no profession, no fortune, of no use in the -world. And her prettiest Marian!—the sweet face which won homage -everywhere, and which every other face involuntarily smiled to see. -Darker and darker grew the cloud upon the brow of Mrs Atheling; she went -in, out of sight of these two happy young dreamers, with a sick heart. -For the first time in her life she was dismayed at the thought of -writing to her husband, and sat idly in a chair drawn back from her -window, wearying herself out with most vain and unprofitable -speculations as to things which might have been done to avert this fate.</p> - -<p>No very long time elapsed, however, before Mrs Atheling found something -else to occupy her thoughts. Hannah came in to the parlour, solemnly -announcing a man at the door who desired to see her. With a natural -presentiment, very naturally arising from the excited state of her own -mind, Mrs Atheling rose, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span> hastened to the door. The man was an -attorney’s clerk, threadbare and respectable, who gave into her hand an -open paper, and after it a letter. The paper, which she glanced over -with hasty alarm, was a formal notice to quit, on pain of ejection, from -the house called the Old Wood Lodge, the property of Reginald, Lord -Winterbourne. “The property of Lord Winterbourne!—it is our—it is my -husband’s property. What does this mean?” cried Mrs Atheling.</p> - -<p>“I know nothing of the business, but Mr Lewis’s letter will explain it,” -said the messenger, who was civil but not respectful; and the anxious -mistress of the house hastened in with great apprehension and perplexity -to open the letter and see what this explanation was. It was not a very -satisfactory one. With a friendly spirit, yet with a most cautious and -lawyer-like regard to the interest of his immediate client, Mr Lewis, -the same person who had been intrusted with the will of old Miss -Bridget, and who was Lord Winterbourne’s solicitor, announced the -intention of his principal to “resume possession” of Miss Bridget’s -little house. “You will remember,” wrote the lawyer, “that I did not -fail to point out to you at the time the insecure nature of the tenure -by which this little property was held. Granted, as I believe it was, as -a gift simply for the lifetime of Miss Bridget Atheling, she had, in -fact, no right to bequeath it to any one,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span> and so much of her will as -relates to this is null and void. I am informed that there are documents -in existence proving this fact beyond the possibility of dispute, and -that any resistance would be entirely vain. As a friend, I should advise -you not to attempt it; the property is actually of very small value, and -though I speak against the interest of my profession, I think it right -to warn you against entering upon an expensive lawsuit with a man like -Lord Winterbourne, to whom money is no consideration. For the sake of -your family, I appeal to you whether it would not be better, though at a -sacrifice of feeling, to give up without resistance the old house, which -is of very little value to any one, if it were not for my lord’s whim of -having no small proprietors in his neighbourhood. I should be sorry that -he was made acquainted with this communication. I write to you merely -from private feelings, as an old friend.”</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling rose from her seat hastily, holding the papers in her hand. -“Resist him!” she exclaimed—“yes, certainly, to the very last;” but at -that moment there came in at the half-open door a sound of childish -riot, exuberant and unrestrained, which arrested the mother’s words, and -subdued her like a spell. Bell and Beau, rather neglected and thrown -into the shade for the first time in their lives, were indemnifying -themselves in the kitchen, where they reigned over Hannah<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span> with the most -absolute and unhesitating mastery. Mamma fell back again into her seat, -silent, pale, and with pain and terror in her face. Was this the first -beginning of the blight of the Evil Eye?</p> - -<p>And then she remained thinking over it sadly and in silence; sometimes, -disposed to blame herself for her rashness—sometimes with a natural -rising of indignation, disposed to repeat again her first outcry, and -resist this piece of oppression—sometimes starting with the sudden -fright of an anxious and timid mother, and almost persuaded at once, -without further parley, to flee to her own safe home, and give up, -without a word, the new inheritance. But she was not learned in the ways -of the world, in law, or necessary ceremonial. Resist was a mere vague -word to her, meaning she knew not what, and no step occurred to her in -the matter but the general necessity for “consulting a lawyer,” which -was of itself an uncomfortable peril. As she argued with herself, -indeed, Mrs Atheling grew quite hopeless, and gave up the whole matter. -She had known, through many changes, the success of this bad man, and in -her simple mind had no confidence in the abstract power of the law to -maintain the cause, however just, of William Atheling, who would have -hard ado to pay a lawyer’s fees, against Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>Then she called in her daughters, whom Louis then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span> only, and with much -reluctance, consented to leave, and held a long and agitated counsel -with them. The girls were completely dismayed by the news, and mightily -impressed by that new and extraordinary “experience” of a real enemy, -which captivated Agnes’s wandering imagination almost as much as it -oppressed her heart. As for Marian, she sat looking at them blankly, -turning from Mamma to Agnes, and from Agnes to Mamma, with a vague -perception that this was somehow because of Louis, and a very heavy -heartbreaking depression in her agitated thoughts. Marian, though she -was not very imaginative, had caught a tinge of the universal romance at -this crisis of her young life, and, cast down with the instant omen of -misfortune, saw clouds and storms immediately rising through that golden -future, of which Louis’s prophecies had been so pleasant to hear.</p> - -<p>And there could be no doubt that this suddenly formed engagement, hasty, -imprudent, and ill-advised as it was, added a painful complication to -the whole business. If it was known—and who could conceal from the -gossip of the village the constant visits of Louis, or his undisguised -devotion?—then it would set forth evidently in public opposition the -supposed father and son. “But Lord Winterbourne is not his father!” -cried Marian suddenly, with tears and vehemence. Mrs Atheling shook her -head, and said that people<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span> supposed so at least, and this would be a -visible sign of war.</p> - -<p>But no one in the family counsel could advise anything in this troubled -moment. Charlie was coming—that was a great relief and comfort. “If -Charlie knows anything, it should be the law,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -sudden joy in the thought that Charlie had been full six months at it, -and ought to be very well informed indeed upon the subject. And then -Agnes brought her blotting-book, and the good mother sat down to write -the most uncomfortable letter she had ever written to her husband in all -these two-and-twenty years. There was Marian’s betrothal, first of all, -which was so very unlike to please him—he who did not even know Louis, -and could form no idea of his personal gifts and compensations—and then -there was the news of this summons, and of the active and powerful enemy -suddenly started up against them. Mrs Atheling took a very long time -composing the letter, but sighed heavily to think how soon Papa would -read it, to the destruction of all his pleasant fancies about his little -home in the country, and his happy children. Charlie was coming—they -had all a certain faith in Charlie, boy though he was; it was the only -comfort in the whole prospect to the anxious eyes of Mamma.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /><br /> -<small>THE REV. LIONEL RIVERS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day, somewhat to the consternation of this disturbed and -troubled family, they were honoured by a most unlooked-for and solemn -visit from the Rector. The Rector, in stature, form, and features, -considerably resembled Miss Anastasia, and was, as she herself -confessed, an undeniable Rivers, bearing all the family features and not -a little of the family temper. He seemed rather puzzled himself to give -a satisfactory reason for his call—saying solemnly that he thought it -right for the priest of the parish to be acquainted with all his -parishioners—words which did not come with half so much unction or -natural propriety from his curved and disdainful lip, as they would have -done from the bland voice of Mr Mead. Then he asked some ordinary -questions how they liked the neighbourhood, addressing himself to Mamma, -though his very grave and somewhat haughty looks were principally -directed to Agnes. Mrs Atheling, in spite of her dislike<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span> of the supreme -altitude of his churchmanship, had a natural respect for the clergyman, -who seemed the natural referee and adviser of people in trouble; and -though he was a Rivers, and the next heir after Lord Winterbourne’s only -son, it by no means followed on that account that the Rector entertained -any affectionate leaning towards Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“I knew your old relative very well,” said the Rector; “she was a woman -of resolute will and decided opinions, though her firmness, I am afraid, -was in the cause of error rather than of truth. I believe she always -entertained a certain regard for me, connected as she was with the -family, though I felt it my duty to warn her against her pernicious -principles before her death.”</p> - -<p>“Her pernicious principles! Was poor Aunt Bridget an unbeliever?” cried -Agnes, with an involuntary interest, and yet an equally involuntary and -natural spirit of opposition to this stately young man.</p> - -<p>“The word is a wide one. No—not an unbeliever, nor even a disbeliever, -so far as I am aware,” said the churchman, “but, even more dangerous -than a positive error of doctrine, holding these fatal delusions -concerning private opinion, which have been the bane of the Church.”</p> - -<p>There was a little pause after this, the unaccustomed audience being -somewhat startled, yet quite unprepared<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span> for controversy, and standing -beside in a little natural awe of the Rector, who ought to know so much -better than they did. Agnes alone felt a stirring of unusual -pugnacity—for once in her life she almost forgot her natural -diffidence, and would have liked nothing better than to throw down her -woman’s glove to the rampant churchman, and make a rash and vehement -onslaught upon him, after the use and wont of feminine controversy.</p> - -<p>“My own conviction is,” said the Rector with a little solemnity, yet -with a dissatisfied and fiery gleam in his eager dark eyes, “that there -is no medium between the infallible authority of the Church and the -wildest turmoil of heresy. This one rock a man may plant his foot -upon—all beyond is a boundless and infinite chaos. Therefore I count it -less perilous to be ill-informed or indifferent concerning some portions -of the creed, than to be shaken in the vital point of the Church’s -authority—the only flood-gate that can be closed against the boiling -tide of error, which, but for this safeguard, would overpower us all.”</p> - -<p>Having made this statement, which somehow he enunciated as if it were a -solemn duty, Mr Rivers left the subject abruptly, and returned to common -things.</p> - -<p>“You are acquainted, I understand,” he said, with haste and a little -emotion, “with my unfortunate young relatives at the Hall?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span></p> - -<p>The question was so abrupt and unlooked for, that all the three, even -Mamma, who was not very much given to blushing, coloured violently. -“Louis and Rachel? Yes; we know them very well,” said Mrs Atheling, with -as much composure as she could summon to meet the emergency—which -certainly was not enough to prevent the young clergyman from discovering -a rather unusual degree of interest in the good mother’s answer. He -looked surprised, and turned a hurried glance upon the girls, who were -equally confused under his scrutiny. It was impossible to say which was -the culprit, if culprit there was. Mr Rivers, who was tall enough at -first, visibly grew a little taller, and became still more stately in -his demeanour than before.</p> - -<p>“I am not given to gossip,” he said, with a faint smile, “yet I had -heard that they were much here, and had given their confidence to your -family. I have not been so favoured myself,” he added, with a slight -curl of disdain upon his handsome lip. “The youth I know nothing of, -except that he has invariably repelled any friendship I could have shown -him; but I feel a great interest in the young lady. Had my sister been -in better health, we might have offered her an asylum, but that is -impossible in our present circumstances. You are doubtless better -acquainted with their prospects and intentions than I am. In case of the -event<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span> which people begin to talk about, what does Lord Winterbourne -intend they should do?”</p> - -<p>“We have not heard of any event—what is it?” cried Mrs Atheling, very -anxiously.</p> - -<p>“I have no better information than common report,” said the Rector; “yet -it is likely enough—and I see no reason to doubt; it is said that Lord -Winterbourne is likely to marry again.”</p> - -<p>They all breathed more freely after this; and poor little Marian, who -had been gazing at Mr Rivers with a blanched face and wide-open eyes, in -terror of some calamity, drooped forward upon the table by which she was -sitting, and hid her face in her hands with sudden relief. Was that all?</p> - -<p>“I was afraid you were about to tell us of some misfortune,” said Mrs -Atheling.</p> - -<p>“It is no misfortune, of course; nor do I suppose they are like to be -very jealous of a new claimant upon Lord Winterbourne’s affections,” -said the Rector; “but it seems unlikely, under their peculiar and most -unhappy circumstances, that they can remain at the Hall.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Marian, in a half whisper, “he will be so very, -<i>very</i> glad to go away!”</p> - -<p>“What I mean,” resumed Mr Rivers, who by no means lost this, though he -took no immediate notice of it—“what I wish is, that you would kindly -undertake<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span> to let them know my very sincere wish to be of service to -them. I cannot at all approve of the demeanour of the young man—yet -there may be excuses for him. If I can assist them in any legitimate -way, I beg you to assure them my best endeavours are at their service.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, sir, thank you—thank you!” cried Mrs Atheling, faltering, -and much moved. “God knows they have need of friends!”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” said the Rector; “it does not often happen—friends are -woeful delusions in most cases—and indeed I have little hope of any man -who does not stand alone.”</p> - -<p>“Yet you offer service,” said Agnes, unable quite to control her -inclination to dispute his dogmatisms; “is not your opinion a -contradiction to your kindness?”</p> - -<p>“I hold no opinions,” said the Rector haughtily, with, for the instant, -a superb absurdity almost equal to Mr Endicott: he perceived it himself, -however, immediately, reddened, flashed his fiery eyes with a half -defiance upon his young questioner, and made an incomprehensible -explanation.</p> - -<p>“I am as little fortified against self-contradiction as my fellows,” -said Mr Rivers, “but I eschew vague opinions; they are dangerous for all -men, and doubly dangerous in a clergyman. I may be wrong in matters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span> of -feeling; opinions I have nothing to do with—they are not in my way.”</p> - -<p>Again there followed a pause, for no one present was at all acquainted -with sentiments like these.</p> - -<p>“I am not sure whether we will continue long here,” said Mrs Atheling, -with a slight hesitation, half afraid of him, yet feeling, in spite of -herself, that she could consult no one so suitably as the Rector. “Lord -Winterbourne is trying to put us away; he says the house was only given -to old Miss Bridget for her life!”</p> - -<p>“Ah! but that is false, is it not?” said the Rector without any -ceremony.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling brightened at once. “We think so,” she said, encouraged by -the perfectly cool tone of this remark, which proved a false statement -on the part of my lord no wonder at all to his reverend relative; “but, -indeed, the lawyer advises us not to contest the matter, since Lord -Winterbourne does not care for expense, and we are not rich. I do not -know what my husband will say; but I am sure I will have a great grudge -at the law if we are forced, against justice, to leave the Old Wood -Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“Papa says it was once the property of the family, long, long before -Aunt Bridget got it from Lord Winterbourne,” said Agnes, with a little -eagerness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span> This shadow of ancestry was rather agreeable to the -imagination of Agnes.</p> - -<p>“And have you done anything—are you doing anything?” said the Hector. -“I should be glad to send my own man of business to you; certainly you -ought not to give up your property without at least a legal opinion upon -the matter.”</p> - -<p>“We expect my son to-morrow,” said Mrs Atheling, with a little pride. -“My son, though he is very young, has a great deal of judgment; and then -he has been—brought up to the law.”</p> - -<p>The Rector bowed gravely as he rose. “In that case, I can only offer my -good wishes,” said the churchman, “and trust that we may long continue -neighbours in spite of Lord Winterbourne. My sister would have been -delighted to call upon you, had she been able, but she is quite a -confirmed invalid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. Good -morning, madam; good morning, Miss Atheling. I am extremely glad to have -met with you.”</p> - -<p>The smallest shade of emphasis in the world invested with a different -character than usual these clergymanly and parochial words: for the -double expression of satisfaction was addressed to Agnes; it was to her -pointedly that his stately but reverential bow bore reference. He had -come to see the family; but he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span> was glad to know Agnes, the intelligent -listener who followed his sermons—the eager bright young eyes which -flashed warfare and defiance on his solemn deliverances—and, unawares -to herself, saw through the pretences of his disturbed and troubled -spirit. Lionel Rivers was not very sensitively alive to the beautiful: -he saw little to attract his eye, much less his heart, in that pretty -drooping Marian, who was to every other observer the sweetest little -downcast princess who ever gained the magic succours of a fairy tale. -The Rector scarcely turned a passing glance upon her, as she sat in her -tender beauty by the table, leaning her beautiful head upon her hands. -But with a different kind of observation from that of Mr Agar, he read -the bright and constant comment on what he said himself, and what others -said, that ran and sparkled in the face of Agnes. She who never had any -lovers, had attracted one at least to watch her looks and her movements -with a jealous eye. He was not “in love,”—not the smallest hairbreadth -in the world. In his present mood, he would gladly have seen her form an -order of sisters, benevolent votaresses of St Frideswide, or of some -unknown goddess of the medieval world, build an antique house in the -“pointed” style, and live a female bishop ruling over the inferior -parish, and being ruled over by the clergy. Such a colleague the Rector -fancied would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span> highly “useful,” and he had never seen any one whom he -could elect to the office with so much satisfaction as Agnes Atheling. -How far she would have felt herself complimented by this idea was -entirely a different question, and one of which the Rector never -thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day was the day of Charlie’s arrival. His mother and sisters -looked for him with anxiety, pleasure, and a little nervousness—much -concerned about Papa’s opinion, and not at all indifferent to Charlie’s -own. Rachel, who for two days past had been in a state of perfectly -flighty and overpowering happiness, joined the Athelings this evening, -at the risk of being “wanted” by Mrs Edgerley, and falling under her -displeasure, with a perfectly innocent and unconscious disregard of any -possible wish on the part of her friends to be alone with their new-come -brother. Rachel could form no idea whatever of that half-wished-for, -half-dreaded judgment of Papa, the anticipation of which so greatly -subdued Marian, and made Mrs Atheling herself so grave and pale. Louis, -with a clearer perception of the family crisis, kept away, though, as -his sister wisely judged, at no great distance, chewing the cud of -desperate and bitter fancy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span> almost half-repenting, for the moment, of -the rash attachment which had put himself and all his disadvantages upon -the judicial examination of a father and a brother. The idea of this -family committee sitting upon him, investigating and commenting upon his -miserable story, galled to the utmost the young man’s fiery spirit. He -had no real idea whatever of that good and affectionate father, who was -to Marian the first of men,—and had not the faintest conception of the -big boy. So it was only an abstract father and brother—the most -disagreeable of the species—at whom Louis chafed in his irritable -imagination. He too had come already out of the first hurried flush of -delight and triumph, to consider the step he had taken. Strangely into -the joy and pride of the young lover’s dream came bitter and heavy -spectres of self-reproach and foreboding—he, who had ventured to bind -to himself the heart of a sensitive and tender girl—he, who had already -thrown a shadow over her young life, filled her with premature -anxieties, and communicated to these young eyes, instead of their -fearless natural brightness, a wistful forecasting gaze into an adverse -world—he, who had not even a name to share with his bride! On this -memorable evening, Louis paced about by himself, crushing down the -rusted fern as he strode through the wood in painful self-communion. The -wind was high among the trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span> and grew wild and fitful as the night -advanced, bringing down showers of leaves into all the hollows, and -raving with the most desolate sound in nature among the high tops of the -Scotch firs, which stood grouped by themselves, a reserved and austere -brotherhood, on one side of Badgeley Wood. Out of this leafy wilderness, -the evening lay quiet enough upon the open fields, the wan gleams of -water, and the deserted highway; but the clouds opened in a clear rift -of wistful, windy, colourless sky, just over Oxford, catching with its -pale half-light the mingled pinnacles and towers. Louis was too much -engrossed either to see or to hear the eerie sights and sounds of the -night, yet they had their influence upon him unawares.</p> - -<p>In the mean time, and at the same moment, in the quiet country gloaming, -which was odd, but by no means melancholy to him, Charlie trudged -sturdily up the high-road, carrying his own little bag, and thinking his -own thoughts. And down the same road, one talking a good deal, one very -little, and one not at all, the three girls went to meet him, three -light and graceful figures, in dim autumnal dresses—for now the -evenings became somewhat cold—fit figures for this sweet half-light, -which looked pleasant here, though it was so pale and ghostly in the -wood. The first was Rachel, who, greatly exhilarated by her unusual -freedom, and by all that had happened during<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span> these few days past, -almost led the little party, protesting she was sure to know Charlie, -and very near giddy in her unthinking and girlish delight. The second -was Agnes, who was very thoughtful and somewhat grave, yet still could -answer her companion; the third, a step behind, coming along very slow -and downcast, with her veil over her drooping face, and a shadow upon -her palpitating little heart, was Marian, in whose gentle mind was -something very like a heavy and despondent shadow of the tumult which -distracted her betrothed. Yet not that either—for there was no tumult, -but only a pensive and oppressive sadness, under which the young -sufferer remained very still, not caring to say a word. “What would papa -say?” that was the only audible voice in Marian Atheling’s heart.</p> - -<p>“There now, I am sure it is him—there he is,” cried Rachel; and it was -Charlie, beyond dispute, shouldering his carpet-bag. The greeting was -kindly enough, but it was not at all sentimental, which somewhat -disappointed Rachel, at whom Charlie gazed with visible curiosity. When -they turned with him, leading him home, Marian fell still farther back, -and drooped more than ever. Perhaps the big boy was moved with a -momentary sympathy—more likely it was simple mischief. “So,” said -Charlie in her ear, “the Yankee’s cut out.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span></p> - -<p>Marian started a little, looked at him eagerly, and put her hand with an -appealing gesture on his arm. “Oh, Charlie, what did papa say?” asked -Marian, with her heart in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Charlie wavered for a moment between his boyish love of torture and a -certain dormant tenderness at the bottom of his full man’s heart, which -this great event happening to Marian had touched into life all at once. -The kinder sentiment prevailed after a moment’s pause of wicked -intention. “My father was not angry, May,” said the lad; and he drew his -shrinking sister’s pretty hand through his own arm roughly but kindly, -pleased to feel his own boyish strength a support to her. Marian was so -young too—very little beyond the rapid vicissitudes of a child. She -bounded forward on Charlie’s arm at the words, drooping no longer, but -triumphant and at ease in a moment, hurrying him up the ascending -high-road at a pace which did not at all suit Charlie, and outstripping -the entire party in her sudden flight to her mother with the good news. -That Papa should not be angry was all that Marian desired or hoped.</p> - -<p>At the door, in the darkness, the hasty girl ran into Mamma’s arms. “My -father is not angry,” she exclaimed, out of breath, faithfully repeating -Charlie’s words; and then Marian, once more the most serviceable of -domestic managers, hastened to light the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span> candles on the tea-table, to -draw the chairs around this kindly board, to warn Hannah of the approach -of the heir of the house. Hannah came out into the hall to stand behind -Mrs Atheling, and drop a respectful curtsy to the young gentleman. The -punctilious old family attendant would have been inconsolable had she -missed this opportunity of “showing her manners,” and was extremely -grateful to Miss Marian, who did not forget her, though she had so many -things to think of of her own.</p> - -<p>The addition of Rachel slightly embarrassed the family party, and it had -the most marvellous effect upon Charlie, who had never before known any -female society except that of his sisters. Charlie was full three years -younger than the young stranger—distance enough to justify her in -treating him as a boy, and him in conceiving the greatest admiration for -her. Charlie, of all things in the world, grew actually <i>shy</i> in the -company of his sisters’ friend. He became afraid of committing himself, -and at last began partly to believe his mother’s often-repeated -strictures on his “manners.” He did unquestionably look so big, so -<i>brusque</i>, so clumsy, beside this pretty little fairy Rachel, and his -own graceful sisters. Charlie hitched up his great shoulders, retreated -under the shadow of all those cloudy furrows on his brow, and had -actually nothing to say. And Mrs Atheling, occupied with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span> husband’s -long and anxious letter, forbore to question him; and the girls, anxious -as they still were, did not venture to say anything before Rachel. They -were not at all at their ease, and somewhat dull as they sat in the dim -parlour, inventing conversation, and trying not to show their visitor -that she was in the way. But she found it out at last, with a little -uneasy start and blush, and hastened to get her bonnet and say -good-night. No one seemed to fear that it would be difficult to find -Rachel’s escort, who was found accordingly the moment they appeared in -the garden, starting, as he did the first time of their meeting, from -the darkness of the angle at the end of the hedge. Marian ran forward to -him, giving Charlie’s message as it came all rosy and hopeful through -the alembic of her own comforted imagination. “Papa is quite pleased,” -said Marian, with her smiles and her blushes. She did not perceive the -suppressed vexation of Louis’s brow as he tried to brighten at her news. -For Marian could not have understood how this haughty and undisciplined -young spirit could scarcely manage to bow itself to the approbation and -judgment even of Papa.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br /><br /> -<small>A CONSULTATION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">And</span> now, Charlie, my dear boy, I quite calculate on your knowing about -it, since you have been so long at the law,” said Mrs Atheling: “your -father is so much taken up about other matters, that he really says very -little about this. What are we to do?”</p> - -<p>Charlie, whose mobile brow was shifting up and shifting down with all -the marks of violent cogitation, bit his thumb at this, and took time -before he answered it. “The first thing to be done,” said Charlie, with -a little dogmatism, “is to see what evidence can be had—that’s what we -have got to do. Has nobody found any papers of the old lady’s?—she was -sure to have a lot—all your old women have.”</p> - -<p>“No one even thought of looking,” said Agnes, suddenly glancing up at -the old cabinet with all its brass rings—while Marian, restored to all -her gay spirits, promptly took her brother to task for his contempt of -old women. “You ought to see Miss Anastasia—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span>she is a great deal bigger -than you,” cried Marian, pulling a shaggy lock of Charlie’s black hair.</p> - -<p>“Stuff!—who’s Miss Anastasia?” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“And that reminds me,” said Mrs Atheling, “that we ought to have let her -know. Do you remember what she said, Agnes?—she was quite sure my lord -was thinking of something—and we were to let her know.”</p> - -<p>“What about, mother?—and who’s Miss Anastasia?” asked Charlie once -more: he had to repeat his question several times before any answer -came.</p> - -<p>“Who is Miss Anastasia? My dear, I forgot you were a stranger. She -is—well, really I cannot pretend to describe Miss Rivers,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little nervousness. “I have always had a great respect -for her, and so has your father. She is a very remarkable person, -Charlie. I never have known any one like her all my life.”</p> - -<p>“But <i>who</i> is she, mother? Is she any good?” repeated the impatient -youth.</p> - -<p>Mrs Atheling looked at her son with a certain horror.</p> - -<p>“She is one of the most remarkable persons in the county,” said Mrs -Atheling, with all the local spirit of a Banburyshire woman, born and -bred—“she is a great scholar, and a lady of fortune, and the only child -of the old lord. How strange the ways of Providence are, children!—what -a difference it might have made<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span> in everything had Miss Anastasia been -born a man instead of a woman.” “Indeed,” confessed Mamma, breaking off -in an under-tone, “I do really believe it would have been more suitable, -even for herself.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose we’re to come at it at last,” said Charlie despairingly: -“she’s a daughter of the tother lord—now, I want to know what she’s got -to do with us.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling eagerly, and with evident pleasure, “I -wrote to your father, I am sure, all about it. She has called upon us -twice in the most friendly way, and has quite taken a liking for the -girls.”</p> - -<p>“And she was old Aunt Bridget’s pupil, and her great friend; and it was -on account of her that the old lord gave Aunt Bridget this house,” added -Agnes, finding out, though not very cleverly, what Charlie’s questions -meant.</p> - -<p>“And she hates Lord Winterbourne,” said Marian in an expressive -appendix, with a distinct emphasis of sympathy and approval on the -words.</p> - -<p>“Now I call that satisfaction,” said Charlie,—“that’s something like -the thing. So I suppose she must have had to do with the whole business, -and knows all about it—eh? Why didn’t you tell me so at once?—why, -she’s the first person to see, of course. I had better seek her out -to-morrow morning—first thing.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span></p> - -<p>“You!” Mamma looked with motherly anxiety, mixed with disapproval. It -was so impossible, even with the aid of all partialities, to make out -Charlie to be handsome. And Miss Anastasia came of a handsome race, and -had a prejudice in favour of good looks. Then, though his large loose -limbs began to be a little more firmly knitted and less unmanageable, -and though he was now drawing near eighteen, he was still only a boy. -“My dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “she is a very particular old lady, and -takes dislikes sometimes, and very proud besides, and might not desire -to be intruded on; and I think, after all, as you do not know her, and -they do, I think it would be much better if the girls were to go.”</p> - -<p>“The girls!” exclaimed Charlie with a boy’s contempt—“a great deal they -know about the business! You listen to me, mother. I’ve been reading up -hard for six months, and I know something about the evidence that does -for a court of law—women don’t—it’s not in reason; for I’d like to see -the woman that could stand old Foggo’s office, pegging in at these old -fellows for precedent, and all that stuff. You don’t suppose I mind what -your old lady thinks of me—and I know what I want, which is the main -thing, after all. You tell me where she lives—that’s all I want to -know—and see if I don’t make something of it before another day.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span></p> - -<p>“Where she lives?—it is six miles off, Charlie: you don’t know the -way—and, indeed, you don’t know her either, my poor boy.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you trouble about that—that’s my business, mother,” said -Charlie; “and a man can’t lose his way in the country unless he tries—a -long road, and a fingerpost at every crossing. When a man wants to lose -himself, he had better go to the City—there’s no fear in your plain -country roads. You set me on the right way—you know all the places -hereabout—and just for this once, mother, trust me, and let me manage -it my own way.”</p> - -<p>“I always did trust you, Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling evasively; but she -did not half like her son’s enterprise, and greatly objected to put Miss -Anastasia’s friendship in jeopardy by such an intrusion as this.</p> - -<p>However, the young gentleman now declared himself tired, and was -conducted up-stairs in state, by his mother and sisters—first to Mrs -Atheling’s own room to inspect it, and kiss, half reluctantly, half with -genuine fondness, the little slumbering cherub faces of Bell and Beau. -Then he had a glimpse of the snowy decorations of that young-womanly and -pretty apartment of his sisters, and was finally ushered into the little -back-room, his own den, from which the lumber had been cleared on -purpose for his reception. They left him then to his repose, and dreams, -if the couch<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span> of this young gentleman was ever visited by such fairy -visitants, and retired again themselves to that dim parlour, to read -over in conclave Papa’s letter, and hold a final consultation as to what -everybody should do.</p> - -<p>Papa’s letter was very long, very anxious, and very affectionate, and -had cost Papa all the leisure of two long evenings, and all his -unoccupied hours for two days at the office. He blamed his wife a -little, but it was very quietly,—he was grieved for the premature step -the young people had taken, but did not say a great deal about his -grief,—and he was extremely concerned, and evidently did not express -half of his concern, about his pretty Marian, for whom he permitted -himself to say he had expected a very different fate. There was not much -said of personal repugnance to Louis, and little comment upon his -parentage, but they could see well enough that Papa felt the matter very -deeply, and that it needed all his affection for themselves, and all his -charity for the stranger, to reconcile him to it. But they were both -very young, he said, <i>and must do nothing precipitate</i>—which sentence -Papa made very emphatic by a very black and double underscoring, and -which Mrs Atheling, but fortunately not Marian, understood to mean that -it was a possibility almost to be hoped for, that this might turn out -one of those boy-and-girl engagements<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span> made to be broken, and never come -to anything after all.</p> - -<p>It was consolatory certainly, and set their minds at rest, but it was -not a very cheering letter, and by no means justified Marian’s joyful -announcement that “papa was quite pleased.” And so much was the good -father taken up with his child’s fortune, that it was only in a -postscript he took any notice of Lord Winterbourne’s summons and their -precarious holding of the Old Wood Lodge. “We will resist, of course,” -said Papa. He did not know a great deal more about how to resist than -they did, so he wisely left the question to Charlie, and to “another -day.”</p> - -<p>And now came the question, what everybody was to do? which gradually -narrowed into much smaller limits, and became wholly concerned with what -Charlie was to do, and whether he should visit Miss Anastasia. He had -made up his mind to it with no lack of decision. What could his mother -and his sisters say, save make a virtue of necessity, and yield their -assent?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br /><br /> -<small>CHARLIE’S MISSION.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Early</span> on the next morning, accordingly, Charlie set out for Abingford. -It was with difficulty he escaped a general superintendence of his -toilette, and prevailed upon his mother to content herself with brushing -his coat, and putting into something like arrangement the stray locks of -his hair; but at last, tolerably satisfied with his appearance, and -giving him many anxious instructions as to his demeanour towards Miss -Anastasia, Mrs Atheling suffered him to depart upon his important -errand. The road was the plainest of country roads, through the wood and -over the hill, with scarcely a turn to distract the regard of the -traveller. A late September morning, sunny and sweet, with yellow leaves -sometimes dropping down upon the wind, and all the autumn foliage in a -flush of many colours under the cool blue, and floating clouds of a -somewhat dullish yet kindly sky. The deep underground of ferns, where -they were not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span> brown, were feathering away into a rich yellow, which -relieved and brought out all the more strongly the harsh dark green of -these vigorous fronds, rusted with seed; and piles of firewood stood -here and there, tied up in big fagots, provision for the approaching -winter. The birds sang gaily, still stirring among the trees; and now -and then into the still air, and far-off rural hum, came the sharp -report of a gun, or the ringing bark of a dog. Charlie pushed upon his -way, wasting little time in observation, yet observing for all that, -with the novel pleasure of a town-bred lad, and owning a certain -exhilaration in his face, and in his breast, as he sped along the -country road, with its hedges and strips of herbage; that straight, -clear, even road, with its milestones and fingerposts, and one -market-cart coming along in leisurely rural fashion, half a mile off -upon the far-seen way. The walk to Abingford was a long walk even for -Charlie, and it was nearly an hour and a half from the time of his -leaving home, when he began to perceive glimpses through the leaves of a -little maze of water, two or three streams, splitting into fantastic -islands the houses and roofs before him, and came in sight of an old -gateway, with two windows and a high peaked roof over it, which strode -across the way. Charlie, who was entirely unacquainted with such -peculiarities of architecture,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span> made a pause of half-contemptuous boyish -observation, looking up at the windows, and supposing it must be rather -odd to live over an archway. Then he bethought him of asking a loitering -country lad to direct him to the Priory, which was done in the briefest -manner possible, by pointing round the side of the gate to a large door -which almost seemed to form part of it. “There it be,” said Charlie’s -informant, and Charlie immediately made his assault upon the big door.</p> - -<p>Miss Rivers was at home. He was shown into a large dim room full of -books, with open windows, and green blinds let down to the floor, -through which the visitor could only catch an uncertain glimpse of -waving branches, and a lawn which sloped to the pale little river: the -room was hung with portraits, which there was not light enough to see, -and gave back a dull glimmer from the glass of its great bookcases. -There was a large writing-table before the fireplace, and a great -easy-chair placed by it. This was where Miss Anastasia transacted -business; but Charlie had not much time, if he had inclination, for a -particular survey of the apartment, for he could hear a quick and -decided step descending a stair, as it seemed, and crossing over the -hall. “Charles Atheling—who’s <i>Charles</i> Atheling?” said a peremptory -voice outside. “I know no one of the name.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span></p> - -<p>With the words on her lips Miss Anastasia entered the room. She wore a -loose morning-dress, belted round her waist with a buckled girdle, and a -big tippet of the same; and her cap, which was not intended to be -pretty, but only to be comfortable, came down close over her ears, snow -white, and of the finest cambric, but looking very homely and familiar -indeed to the puzzled eyes of Charlie. Not her homely cap, however, nor -her odd dress, could make Miss Anastasia less imperative or formidable. -“Well sir,” she said, coming in upon him without very much ceremony, -“which of the Athelings do you belong to, and what do you want with me?”</p> - -<p>“I belong to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Charlie, almost as briefly, “and -I want to ask what you know about it, and how it came into Aunt -Bridget’s hands.”</p> - -<p>“What I know about it? Of course I know everything about it,” said Miss -Anastasia. “So you’re young Atheling, are you? You’re not at all like -your pretty sisters; not clever either, so far as I can see, eh? What -are you good for, boy?”</p> - -<p>Charlie did not say “stuff!” aloud, but it was only by a strong effort -of self-control. He was not at all disposed to give any answer to the -question. “What has to be done in the mean time is to save my father’s -property,” said Charlie, with a boyish flush of offence.</p> - -<p>“Save it, boy! who’s threatening your father’s property?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span> What! do you -mean to tell me already that he’s fallen foul of Will Atheling?” said -the old lady, drawing her big easy-chair to her big writing-table, and -motioning Charlie to draw near. “Eh? why don’t you speak? tell me the -whole at once.”</p> - -<p>“Lord Winterbourne has sent us notice to leave,” said Charlie; “he says -the Old Wood Lodge was only Aunt Bridget’s for life, and is his now. I -have set the girls to look up the old lady’s papers; we ourselves know -nothing about it, and I concluded the first thing to be done was to come -and ask you.”</p> - -<p>“Good,” said Miss Anastasia; “you were perfectly right. Of course it is -a lie.”</p> - -<p>This was said perfectly in a matter-of-course fashion, without the least -idea, apparently, on the part of the old lady, that there was anything -astonishing in the lie which came from Lord Winterbourne.</p> - -<p>“I know everything about it,” she continued; “my father made over the -little house to my dear old professor, when we supposed she would have -occasion to leave me: <i>that</i> turned out a vain separation, thanks to -<i>him</i> again;” and here Miss Rivers grew white for an instant, and -pressed her lips together. “Please Heaven, my boy, he’ll not be -successful this time. No. I know everything about it; we’ll foil my lord -in this.”</p> - -<p>“But there must have been a deed,” said Charlie; “do you know where the -papers are?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span></p> - -<p>“Papers! I tell you I am acquainted with every circumstance—I myself. -You can call me as a witness,” said the old lady. “No, I can’t tell you -where the papers are. What’s about them? eh? Do you mean to say they are -of more consequence than me?”</p> - -<p>“There are sure to be documents on the other side,” said Charlie; “the -original deed would settle the question, without needing even a trial: -without it Lord Winterbourne has the better chance. Personal testimony -is not equal to documents in a case like this.”</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, drawing herself up to her full -height, “do you think a jury of this county would weigh <i>his</i> word -against mine?”</p> - -<p>Charlie was considerably embarrassed. “I suppose not,” he said, somewhat -abruptly; “but this is not a thing of words. Lord Winterbourne will -never appear at all; but if he has any papers to produce proving his -case, the matter will be settled at once; and unless we have -counterbalancing evidence of the same kind, we’d better give it up -before it comes that length.”</p> - -<p>He said this half impatient, half despairing. Miss Rivers evidently took -up this view of the question with dissatisfaction; but as he persevered -in it, came gradually to turn her thoughts to other means of assisting -him. “But I know of no papers,” she said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span> with disappointment; “my -father’s solicitor, to be sure, he is the man to apply to. I shall make -a point of seeing him to-morrow; and what papers I have I will look -over. By the by, now I remember it, the Old Wood Lodge belonged to her -grandfather or great-grandfather, dear old soul, and came to us by some -mortgage or forfeit. It was given back—<i>restored</i>, not bestowed upon -her. For her life!—I should like to find out now what he means by such -a lie!”</p> - -<p>Charlie, who could throw no light upon this subject, rose to go, -somewhat disappointed, though not at all discouraged. The old lady -stopped him on his way, carried him off to another room, and -administered, half against Charlie’s will, a glass of wine. “Now, young -Atheling, you can go,” said Miss Anastasia. “I’ll remember both you and -your business. What are they bringing you up to? eh?”</p> - -<p>“I’m in a solicitor’s office,” said Charlie.</p> - -<p>“Just so—quite right,” said Miss Anastasia. “Let me see you baffle -<i>him</i>, and I’ll be your first client. Now go away to your pretty -sisters, and tell your mother not to alarm herself. I’ll come to the -Lodge in a day or two; and if there’s documents to be had, you shall -have them. Under any circumstances,” continued the old lady, dismissing -him with a certain stateliness, “you can call <i>me</i>.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span></p> - -<p>But though she was a great lady, and the most remarkable person in the -county, Charlie did not appreciate this permission half so much as he -would have appreciated some bit of wordy parchment. He walked back -again, much less sure of his case than when he set out with the hope of -finding all he wanted at Abingford.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br /><br /> -<small>SEARCH.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">When</span> Charlie reached home again, very tired, and in a somewhat moody -frame of mind, he found the room littered with various old boxes -undergoing examination, and Agnes seated before the cabinet, with a -lapful of letters, and her face bright with interest and excitement, -looking them over. At the present moment, she held something of a very -perplexing nature in her hand, which the trained eye of Charlie caught -instantly, with a flash of triumph. Agnes herself was somewhat excited -about it, and Marian stood behind her, looking over her shoulder, and -vainly trying to decipher the ancient writing. “It’s something, mamma,” -cried Agnes. “I am sure, if Charlie saw it, he would think it something; -but I cannot make out what it is. Here is somebody’s seal and somebody’s -signature, and there, I am sure, that is Atheling; and a date, ‘xiij. of -May, M.D.LXXII.’ What does that mean, Marian? M. a thousand, D. five -hundred; there it is!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span> I am sure it is an old deed—a real something -ancestral—1572!”</p> - -<p>“Give it to me,” said Charlie, stretching his hand for it over her -shoulder. No one had heard him come in.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Charlie, what did Miss Anastasia say?” cried Marian; and Agnes -immediately turned round away from the cabinet, and Mamma laid down her -work. Charlie, however, took full time to examine the yellow old -document they had found, though he did not acknowledge that it posed him -scarcely less than themselves, before he spoke.</p> - -<p>“She said she’d look up her papers, and speak to the old gentleman’s -solicitor. I don’t see that <i>she’s</i> much good to us,” said Charlie. “She -says I might call her as a witness, but what’s the good of a witness -against documents? This has nothing to do with Aunt Bridget, Agnes—have -you found nothing more than this? Why, you know there must have been a -deed of some kind. The old lady could not have been so foolish as to -throw away her title. Property without title-deeds is not worth a straw; -and the man that drew up her will is my lord’s solicitor! I say, he must -be what the Yankees call a smart man, this Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid he has no principle, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling with a -sigh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span></p> - -<p>“And a very bad man—everybody hates him,” said Marian under her breath.</p> - -<p>She spoke so low that she did not receive that reproving look of Mamma -which was wont to check such exclamations. Marian, though she had a will -of her own, and was never like to fall into a mere shadow and reflection -of her lover, as his poor little sister did, had unconsciously imbibed -Louis’s sentiments. She did not know what it was to <i>hate</i>, this -innocent girl. Had she seen Lord Winterbourne thrown from his horse, or -overturned out of his carriage, these ferocious sentiments would have -melted in an instant into help and pity; but in the abstract view of the -matter, Marian pronounced with emotion the great man’s sentence, -“Everybody hates Lord Winterbourne.”</p> - -<p>“That is what the old lady said,” exclaimed Charlie; “she asked me who I -thought would believe him against her? But that’s not the question. I -don’t want to pit one man against another. My father’s worth twenty of -Lord Winterbourne! But that’s no matter. The law cares nothing at all -for his principles. What title has he got, and what title have -you?—that’s what the law’s got to say. Now, I’ll either have something -to put in against him or I’ll not plead. It’s no use taking a step in -the matter without proof.”</p> - -<p>“And won’t that do, Charlie?” asked Mrs Atheling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span> looking wistfully at -the piece of parchment, signed and sealed, which was in Charlie’s hands.</p> - -<p>“That! why, it’s two hundred and fifty years old!” said Charlie. “I -don’t see what it refers to yet, but it’s very clear it can’t be to Miss -Bridget. No, mother, that won’t do.”</p> - -<p>“Then, my dear,” said Mrs Atheling, “I am very sorry to think of it; -but, after all, we have not been very long here, and we might have laid -out more money, and formed more attachments to the place, if we had gone -on much longer; and I think I shall be very glad to get back to -Bellevue. Marian, my love, don’t cry; this need not make any difference -with <i>anything</i>; but I think it is far better just to make up our minds -to it, and give up the Old Wood Lodge.”</p> - -<p>“Mother! do you think I mean that?” cried Charlie; “we must find the -papers, that’s what we must do. My father’s as good an Englishman as the -first lord in the kingdom; I’d not give in to the king unless he was in -the right.”</p> - -<p>“And not even then, unless you could not help it,” said Agnes, laughing; -“but I am not half done yet; there is still a great quantity of -letters—and I should not be at all surprised if this romantic old -cabinet, like an old bureau in a novel, had a secret drawer.”</p> - -<p>Animated by this idea, Marian ran to the antique little piece of -furniture, pressing every projection with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span> her pretty fingers, and -examining into every creak. But there was no secret drawer—a fact which -became all the more apparent when a drawer <i>was</i> discovered, which once -had closed with a spring. The spring was broken, and the once-secret -place was open, desolate, and empty. Miss Bridget, good old lady, had no -secrets, or at least she had not made any provision for them here.</p> - -<p>Agnes went on with her examination the whole afternoon, drawn aside and -deluded to pursue the history of old Aunt Bridget’s life through scores -of yellow old letters, under the pretence that something might be found -in some of them to throw light upon this matter; for a great many -letters of Miss Bridget’s own—careful “studies” for the production -itself—were tied up among the others; and it would have been amusing, -if it had not been sad, to sit on this little eminence of time, looking -over that strange faithful self-record of the little weaknesses, the -ladylike pretences, the grand Johnsonian diction of the old lady who was -dead. Poor old lady! Agnes became quite abashed and ashamed of herself -when she felt a smile stealing over her lip. It seemed something like -profanity to ransack the old cabinet, and smile at it. In its way, this, -as truly as the grass-mound, in Winterbourne churchyard, was Aunt -Bridget’s grave.</p> - -<p>But still nothing could be found. Charlie occupied<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span> himself during the -remainder of the day in giving a necessary notice to Mr Lewis the -solicitor, that they had made up their minds to resist Lord -Winterbourne’s claim; and when the evening closed in, and the candles -were lighted, Louis made his first public appearance since the arrival -of the stranger, somewhat cloudy, and full of all his old haughtiness. -This cloud vanished in an instant at the first glance. Whatever -Charlie’s qualities were, criticism was not one of them; it was clear -that though his “No” might be formidable enough of itself, Charlie had -not been a member of any solemn committee, sitting upon the pretensions -of Louis. He gave no particular regard to Louis even now, but sat poring -over the old deed, deciphering it with the most patient laboriousness, -with his head very close over the paper, and a pair of spectacles -assisting his eyes. The spectacles were lent by Mamma, who kept them, -not secretly, but with a little reserve, in her work-basket, for special -occasions when she had some very fine stitching to do, or was busy with -delicate needlework by candle-light; and nothing could have been more -oddly inappropriate to the face of Charlie, with all the furrows of his -brow rolled down over his eyebrows, and his indomitable upper-lip -pressed hard upon its fellow, than these same spectacles. Then they made -him short-sighted, and were only of use when he leaned closely over the -paper—Charlie did<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span> not mind, though his shoulders ached and his eyes -filled with water. He was making it out!</p> - -<p>And Agnes, for her part, sat absorbed with her lapful of old letters, -reading them all over with passing smiles and gravities, growing into -acquaintance with ever so many extinct affairs,—old stories long ago -come to the one conclusion which unites all men. Though she felt herself -virtuously reading for a purpose, she had forgotten all about the -purpose long ago, and was only wandering on and on by a strange -attraction, as if through a city of the dead. But it was quite -impossible to think of the dead among these yellow old papers—the -littlest trivial things of life were so quite living in them, in these -unconscious natural inferences and implications. And Louis and Marian, -sometimes speaking and often silent, were going through their own -present romance and story; and Mamma, in her sympathetic middle age, -with her work-basket, was tenderly overlooking all. In the little dim -country parlour, lighted with the two candles, what a strange epitome -there was of a whole world and a universal life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br /><br /> -<small>DOUBTS AND FEARS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Louis</span> had not been told till this day of the peril which threatened the -little inheritance of the Athelings. When he did hear of it, the young -man gnashed his teeth with that impotent rage which is agony, desperate -under the oppression which makes even wise men mad. He scorned to say a -word of any further indignities put upon himself; but Rachel told of -them with tears and outcries almost hysterical—how my lord had -challenged him with bitter taunts to put on his livery and earn the -bread he ate—how he had been expelled from his room which he had always -occupied, and had an apartment now among the rooms of the servants—and -how Lord Winterbourne threatened to advertise him publicly as a vagabond -and runaway if he ventured beyond the bounds of the village, or tried to -thrust himself into any society. Poor little Rachel, when she came in -the morning faint and heart-broken to tell her story, could scarcely -speak for tears, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span> was only with great difficulty soothed to a -moderate degree of calm. But still she shrank with the strangest -repugnance from going away. It scarcely could be attachment to the home -of her youth, for it had always been an unhappy shelter—nor could it be -love for any of the family; the little timid spirit feared she knew not -what terrors in the world with which she had so little acquaintance. -Lord Winterbourne to her was not a mere English peer, of influence only -in a certain place and sphere, but an omnipotent oppressor, from whose -power it would be impossible to escape, and whose vigilance could not be -eluded. If she tried to smile at the happy devices of Agnes and Marian, -how to establish herself in their own room at Bellevue, and lodge Louis -close at hand, it was a very wan and sickly smile. She confessed it was -dreadful to think that he should remain, exposed to all these insults; -but she shrank with fear and trembling from the idea of Louis going -away.</p> - -<p>The next evening, just before the sun set, the whole youthful party—for -Rachel, by a rare chance, was not to be “wanted” to-night—strayed along -the grassy road in a body towards the church. Agnes and Marian were both -with Louis, who had been persuaded at last to speak of his own -persecutions, while Rachel came behind with Charlie, kindly pointing out -for him the far-off towers of Oxford, the two rivers wandering in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span> -maze, and all the features of the scene which Charlie did not know, and -amused, sad as she was, in her conscious seniority and womanhood, at the -shyness of the lad. Charlie actually began to be touched with a -wandering breath of sentiment, had been seen within the last two days -reading a poetry book, and was really in a very odd and suspicious -“way.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Louis, upon whom his betrothed and her sister were hanging -eagerly, comforting and persuading—“no; I am not in a worse position. -It stings me at the moment, I confess; but I am filled with contempt for -the man who insults me, and his words lose their power. I could almost -be seduced to stay when he begins to struggle with me after this -downright fashion; but you are perfectly right for all that, and within -a few days I must go away.”</p> - -<p>“A few days? O Louis!” cried Marian, clinging to his arm.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I have a good mind to say to-morrow, to enhance my own value,” -said Louis. “I am tempted—ay, both to go and stay—for sake of the -clinging of these little hands. Never mind, our mother will come home -all the sooner; and what do you suppose I will do?”</p> - -<p>“I think indeed, Louis, you should speak to the Rector,” said Agnes, -with a little anxiety. “O no; it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span> is very cruel of you, and you are -quite wrong; he did not mean to be very kind in that mocking way—he -meant what he said—he wanted to do you service; and so he would, and -vindicate you when you were gone, if you only would cease to be so very -grand for two minutes, and let him know.”</p> - -<p>“Am I so very grand?” said Louis, with a momentary pique. “I have -nothing to do with your rectors—I know what he meant, whatever he might -say.”</p> - -<p>“It is a great deal more than he does himself, I am sure of that,” said -Agnes with a puzzled air. “He means what he says, but he does not always -know what he means; and neither do I.”</p> - -<p>Marian tried a trembling little laugh at her sister’s perplexity, but -they were rather too much moved for laughing, and it did not do.</p> - -<p>“Now, I will tell you what my plan is,” said Louis. “I do not know what -he thinks of me, nor do I expect to find his opinion very favourable; -but as that is all I can look for anywhere, it will be the better -probation for me,” he added, with a rising colour and an air of -haughtiness. “I will not enlist, Marian. I have no longer any dreams of -the marshal’s <i>baton</i> in the soldier’s knapsack. I give up rank and -renown to those who can strive for them. You must be content with such -honour as a man can have in his own person, Marian. When I leave you, I -will go at once to your father.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Louis, will you? I am so glad, so proud!” and again the little -hands pressed his arm, and Marian looked up to him with her radiant -face. He had not felt before how perfectly magnanimous and noble his -resolution was.</p> - -<p>“I think it will be very right,” said Agnes, who was not so -enthusiastic; “and my father will be pleased to see you, Louis, though -you doubt him as you doubt all men. But look, who is this coming here?”</p> - -<p>They were scarcely coming here, seeing they were standing still under -the porch of the church, a pair of very tall figures, very nearly equal -in altitude, though much unlike each other. One of them was the Rector, -who stood with a solemn bored look at the door of his church, which he -had just closed, listening, without any answer save now and then a grave -and ceremonious bow, to the other “individual,” who was talking very -fluently, and sufficiently loud to be heard by others than the Rector. -“Oh, Agnes!” cried Marian, and “Hush, May!” answered her sister; they -both recognised the stranger at a glance.</p> - -<p>“Yes, this is the pride of the old country,” said the voice; “here, sir, -we can still perceive upon the sands of time the footprints of our Saxon -ancestors. I say ours, for my youthful and aspiring nation boasts as the -brightest star in her banner the Anglo-Saxon blood. <i>We</i> preserve the -free institutions—the hatred of superstition,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span> the freedom of private -judgment and public opinion, the great inheritance developed out of the -past; but Old England, sir, a land which I venerate, yet pity, keeps -safe in her own bosom the external traces full of instruction, the -silent poetry of Time—that only poetry which she can refuse to share -with us.”</p> - -<p>To this suitable and appropriate speech, congenial as it must have been -to his feelings, the Rector made no answer, save that most deferential -and solemn bow, and was proceeding with a certain conscientious -haughtiness to show his visitor some other part of the building, when -his eye was attracted by the approaching group. He turned to them -immediately with an air of sudden relief.</p> - -<p>So did Mr Endicott, to whom, to do him justice, not all the old churches -in Banburyshire, nor all the opportunities of speechmaking, nor even -half-a-dozen rectors who were within two steps of a peerage, could have -presented such powerful attractions as did that beautiful blushing face -of Marian Atheling, drooping and falling back under the shadow of Louis. -The Yankee hastened forward with his best greeting.</p> - -<p>“When I remember our last meeting,” said Mr Endicott, bending his thin -head forward with the most unusual deference, that tantalising vision of -what might have been, “I think myself fortunate indeed to have found you -so near your home. I have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span> visiting your renowned city—one of -those twins of learning, whose antiquity is its charm. In my country our -antiquities stretch back into the eternities; but we know nothing of the -fourteenth or the fifteenth century in our young soil. My friend the -Rector has been showing me his church.”</p> - -<p>Mr Endicott’s friend the Rector stared at him with a haughty amazement, -but came forward without saying anything to the new-comers; then he -seemed to pause a moment, doubtful how to address Louis—a doubt which -the young man solved for him instantly by taking off his hat with an -exaggerated and solemn politeness. They bowed to each other loftily, -these two haughty young men, as two duellists might have saluted each -other over their weapons. Then Louis turned his fair companion gently, -and, without saying anything, led her back again on the road they had -just traversed. Agnes followed silently, and feeling very awkward, with -the Rector and Mr Endicott on either hand. The Rector did not say a -word. Agnes only answered in shy monosyllables. The gifted American had -it all his own way.</p> - -<p>“I understand Viscount Winterbourne and Mrs Edgerley are at Winterbourne -Hall,” said Mrs Endicott. “She is a charming person; the union of a -woman of fashion and a woman of literature is one so rarely seen in this -land.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span></p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Agnes, who knew nothing else to say.</p> - -<p>“For myself,” said Mr Endicott solemnly, “I rejoice to find the poetic -gift alike in the palace of the peer and the cottage of the peasant, -bringing home to all hearts the experiences of life; in the sumptuous -apartments of the Hall with Mrs Edgerley, or in the humble parlour of -the worthy and respectable middle class—Miss Atheling, with you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” cried Agnes, starting under this sudden blow, and parrying it with -all the skill she could find. “Do you like Oxford, Mr Endicott? Have you -seen much of the country about here?”</p> - -<p>But it was too late. Mr Endicott caught a shy backward glance of Marian, -and, smothering a mortal jealousy of Louis, eagerly thrust himself -forward to answer it—and the Rector had caught his unfortunate words. -The Rector drew himself up to a still more lofty height, if that was -possible, and walked on by Agnes’s side in a solemn and stately -silence—poor Agnes, who would have revived a little in his presence but -for that arrow of Mr Endicott’s, not knowing whether to address him, or -whether her best policy was to be silent. She went on by his side, -holding down her head, looking very small, very slight, very young, -beside that dignified and stately personage. At last he himself -condescended to speak.</p> - -<p>“Am I to understand, Miss Atheling,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a>{247}</span> Rector, very much in the -same tone as he might have asked poor little Billy Morrell at school, -“Are you the boy who robbed John Parker’s orchard?”—“Am I to -understand, as I should be disposed to conclude from what this person -says, that, like my fashionable cousin at the Hall, you have written -novels?—or is it only the hyperbole of that individual’s ordinary -speech?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Agnes, very guilty, a convicted culprit, yet making bold to -confess her guilt. “I am very sorry he said it, but it is true; only I -have written just one novel. Do you think it wrong?”</p> - -<p>“I think a woman’s intellect ought to be receptive without endeavouring -to produce,” said the Rector, in a slightly acerbated tone. -“Intelligence is the noblest gift of a woman; originality is neither to -be wished nor looked for.”</p> - -<p>“I do not suppose I am very guilty of that either,” said Agnes, -brightening again with that odd touch of pugnacity, as she listened once -more to this haughty tone of dogmatism from the man who held no -opinions. “If you object only to originality, I do not think you need be -angry with me.”</p> - -<p>She was half inclined to play with the lion, but the lion was in a very -ill humour, and would see no sport in the matter. To tell the truth, the -Rector was very much fretted by this unlooked-for intelligence. He felt -as if it were done on purpose, and meant as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a>{248}</span> personal offence to him, -though really, after all, for a superior sister of St Frideswide, this -unfortunate gift of literature was rather a recommendation than -otherwise, as one might have thought.</p> - -<p>So the Rev. Lionel Rivers stalked on beside Agnes past his own door, -following Louis, Marian, and Mr Endicott to the very gate of the Old -Wood Lodge. Then he took off his hat to them all, wished them a -ceremonious good-night, and went home extremely wrathful, and in a most -unpriestly state of mind. He could not endure to think that the common -outer world had gained such a hold upon that predestined Superior of the -sisters of St Frideswide.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>{249}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br /><br /> -<small>SOME PROGRESS.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> a long and most laborious investigation of the old parchment, -Charlie at last triumphantly made it out to be an old conveyance, to a -remote ancestor, of this very little house, and sundry property -adjoining, on which the Athelings had now no claim. More than two -hundred and fifty years ago!—the girls were as much pleased with it as -if it had been an estate, and even Charlie owned a thrill of -gratification. They felt themselves quite long-descended and patrician -people, in right of the ancestor who had held “the family property” in -1572.</p> - -<p>But it was difficult to see what use this could be of in opposition to -the claim of Lord Winterbourne. Half the estates in the country at least -had changed hands during these two hundred and fifty years; and though -it certainly proved beyond dispute that the Old Wood Lodge had once been -the property of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a>{250}</span> Athelings, it threw no light whatever on the title -of Miss Bridget. Mrs Atheling looked round upon the old walls with much -increase of respect; she wondered if they really could be so old as -that; and was quite reverential of her little house, being totally -unacquainted with the periods of domestic architecture, and knowing -nothing whatever of archaic “detail.”</p> - -<p>Miss Anastasia, however, remembered her promise. Only two or three days -after Charlie’s visit to her, the two grey ponies made their appearance -once more at the gate of the Old Wood Lodge. She was not exactly -triumphant, but had a look of satisfaction on her face, and evidently -felt she had gained something. She entered upon her business without a -moment’s delay.</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling, I have brought you all that Mr Temple can furnish me -with,” said Miss Anastasia—“his memorandum taken from my father’s -instructions. He tells me there was a deed distinct and formal, and -offers to bear his witness of it, as I have offered mine.”</p> - -<p>Charlie took eagerly out of her hand the paper she offered to him. “It -is a copy out of his book,” said Miss Anastasia. It was headed thus: -“<i>Mem.</i>—To convey to Miss Bridget Atheling, her heirs and assigns, the -cottage called the Old Wood Lodge, with a certain piece of land -adjoining, to be described—partly as a proof of Lord Winterbourne’s -gratitude for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a>{251}</span> services, partly as restoring property acquired by his -father—to be executed at once.”</p> - -<p>The date was five-and-twenty years ago; and perhaps nothing but justice -to her dead friend and to her living ones could have fortified Miss -Anastasia to return upon that time. She sat still, looking at Charlie -while he read it, with her cheek a little blanched and her eye brighter -than usual. He laid it down with a look of impatience, yet satisfaction. -“Some one,” said Charlie, “either for one side or for the other side, -must have this deed.”</p> - -<p>“Your boy is hard to please,” said Miss Rivers. “I have offered to -appear myself, and so does Mr Temple. What, boy, not content!”</p> - -<p>“It is the next best,” said Charlie; “but still not so good as the deed; -and the deed must exist somewhere; nobody would destroy such a thing. -Where is it likely to be?”</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia, half amused, half with -displeasure, “when I want to collect evidence, you shall do it for me. -Has he had a good education?—eh?”</p> - -<p>“To <i>you</i> I am afraid he will seem a very poor scholar,” said Mrs -Atheling, with a little awe of Miss Anastasia’s learning; “but we did -what we could for him; and he has always been a very industrious boy, -and has studied a good deal himself.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a>{252}</span></p> - -<p>To this aside conversation Charlie paid not the smallest attention, but -ruminated over the lawyer’s memorandum, making faces at it, and bending -all the powers of his mind to the consideration—where to find this -deed! “If it’s not here, nor in her lawyer’s, nor with this old lady, -<i>he’s</i> got it,” pronounced Charlie; but this was entirely a private -process, and he did not say a word aloud.</p> - -<p>“I’ve read her book,” said Miss Rivers, with a glance aside at Agnes; -“it’s a very clever book: I approve of it, though I never read novels: -in my day, girls did no such things—all the better for them now. Yes, -my child, don’t be afraid. I’ll not call you unfeminine—in my opinion, -it’s about the prettiest kind of fancy-work a young woman can do.”</p> - -<p>Under this applause Agnes smiled and brightened; it was a great deal -more agreeable than all the pretty sayings of all the people who were -dying to know the author of <i>Hope Hazlewood</i>, in the brief day of her -reputation at the Willows.</p> - -<p>“And as for the pretty one,” said Miss Anastasia, “she, I suppose, -contents herself with lovers—eh? What is the meaning of this? I suppose -the child’s heart is in it. The worse for her—the worse for her!”</p> - -<p>For Marian had blushed deeply, and then become very pale; her heart was -touched indeed, and she was very despondent. All the other events of the -time<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a>{253}</span> were swallowed up to Marian by one great shadow—Louis was going -away!</p> - -<p>Whereupon Mrs Atheling, unconsciously eager to attract the interest of -Miss Anastasia, who very likely would be kind to the young people, sent -Marian up-stairs upon a hastily-invented errand, and took the old lady -aside to tell her what had happened. Miss Rivers was a good deal -surprised—a little affected. “So—so—so,” she said slowly, “these -reckless young creatures—how ready they are to plunge into all the -griefs of life! And what does Will Atheling say to this nameless boy?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot say my husband is entirely pleased,” said Mrs Atheling, with a -little hesitation; “but he is a very fine young man; and to see our -children happy is the great thing we care for, both William and me.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know it will make her happy?” asked Miss Anastasia somewhat -sharply. “The child flushes and pales again, pretty creature as she is, -like a woman come into her troubles. A great deal safer to write novels! -But what is done can’t be undone; and I am glad to hear of it on account -of the boy.”</p> - -<p>Then Miss Anastasia made a pause, thinking over the matter. “I have -found some traces of my father’s wanderings,” she said again, with a -little emotion: “if the old man was tempted to sin in his old days, -though it would be a shame to hear of, I should still be glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a>{254}</span> to make -sure; and if by any chance,” continued the old lady, reddening with the -maidenly and delicate feeling of which her fifty years could not deprive -her—“if by any chance these unfortunate children should turn out to be -nearly related to me, I will of course think it my duty to provide for -them as if they were lawful children of my father’s house.”</p> - -<p>It cost her a little effort to say this—and Mrs Atheling, not venturing -to make any comment, looked on with respectful sympathy. It was very -well for Miss Anastasia to say, but how far Louis would tolerate a -provision made for him was quite a different question. The silence was -broken again by the old lady herself.</p> - -<p>“This bold boy of yours has set me to look over all my old papers,” said -Miss Anastasia, with a twinkle of satisfaction and amusement in her eye, -as she looked over at Charlie, still making faces at the lawyer’s note. -“Now that I have begun for <i>her</i> sake, dear old soul, I continue for my -own, and for curiosity: I would give a great deal to find out the story -of these children. Young Atheling, if I some time want your services, -will you give them to me?”</p> - -<p>Charlie looked up with a boyish flush of pleasure. “As soon as this -business is settled,” said Charlie. Miss Anastasia, whom his mother -feared to look at lest she should be offended, smiled approvingly; -patted the shoulder of Agnes as she passed her, left “her love for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a>{255}</span> the -other poor child,” and went away. Mrs Atheling looked after her with a -not unnatural degree of complacency. “Now, I think it very likely indeed -that she will either leave them something, or try what she can do for -Louis,” said Mamma; she did not think how impossible it would be to do -anything for Louis, until Louis graciously accepted the service; nor -indeed, that the only thing the young man could do under his -circumstances was to trust to his own exertions solely, and seek service -from none.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a>{256}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br /><br /> -<small>A GREAT DISCOVERY.</small></h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> visit of Miss Rivers was an early one, some time before their -mid-day dinner; and the day went on quietly after its usual fashion, and -fell into the stillness of a sunny afternoon, which looked like a -reminiscence of midsummer among these early October days. Mrs Atheling -sat in her big chair, knitting, with a little drowsiness, a little -stocking—though this was a branch of art in which Hannah was found to -excel, and had begged her mistress to leave to her. Agnes sat at the -table with her blotting-book, busy with her special business; Charlie -was writing out a careful copy of the old deed. The door was open, and -Bell and Beau, under the happy charge of Rachel, ran back and forwards, -out and in, from the parlour to the garden, not omitting now and then a -visit to the kitchen, where Hannah, covered all over with her white bib -and apron, was making cakes for tea. Their merry childish voices and -prattling feet gave no disturbance to the busy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>{257}</span> people in the parlour; -neither did the light fairy step of Rachel, nor even the songs she sang -to them in her wonderful voice—they were all so well accustomed to its -music now. Marian and Louis, who did not like to lose sight of each -other in these last days, were out wandering about the fields, or in the -wood, thinking of little in the world except each other, and that great -uncertain future which Louis penetrated with his fiery glances, and of -which Marian wept and smiled to hear. Mamma sitting at the window, -between the pauses of her knitting and the breaks of her gentle -drowsiness, looked out for them with a little tender anxiety. Marian, -the only one of her children who was “in trouble,” was nearest of all at -that moment to her mother’s heart.</p> - -<p>When suddenly a violent sound of wheels from the high-road broke in upon -the stillness, then a loud voice calling to horses, and then a dull -plunge and heavy roll. Mrs Atheling lifted her startled eyes, drowsy no -longer, to see what was the matter, just in time to behold, what shook -the little house like the shock of a small earthquake, Miss Anastasia’s -two grey horses, trembling with unusual exertion, draw up with a bound -and commotion at the little gate.</p> - -<p>And before the good mother could rise to her feet, wondering what could -be the cause of this second<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a>{258}</span> visit, Miss Rivers herself sprang out of -the carriage, and came into the house like a wind, almost stumbling over -Rachel, and nearly upsetting Bell and Beau. She did not say a word to -either mother or daughter, she only came to the threshold of the -parlour, waved her hand imperiously, and cried, “Young Atheling, I want -<i>you</i>!”</p> - -<p>Charlie was not given to rapid movements, but there was no -misunderstanding the extreme emotion of this old lady. The big boy got -up at once and followed her, for she went out again immediately. Then -Mrs Atheling, sitting at the window in amaze, saw her son and Miss -Anastasia stand together in the garden, conversing with great -earnestness. She showed him a book, which Charlie at first did not seem -to understand, to the great impatience of his companion. Mrs Atheling -drew back troubled, and in the most utter astonishment—what could it -mean?</p> - -<p>“Young Atheling,” said Miss Anastasia abruptly, “I want you to give up -this business of your father’s immediately, and set off to Italy on -mine. I have made a discovery of the most terrible importance: though -you are only a boy I can trust you. Do you hear me?—it is to bring to -his inheritance my father’s son!”</p> - -<p>Charlie looked up in her face astonished, and without comprehension. “My -father’s business is of importance<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a>{259}</span> to us,” he said, with a momentary -sullenness.</p> - -<p>“So it is; my own man of business shall undertake it; but I want an -agent, secret and sure, who is not like to be suspected,” said Miss -Anastasia. “Young Atheling, look here!”</p> - -<p>Charlie looked, but not with enthusiasm. The book she handed him was an -old diary of the most commonplace description, each page divided with -red lines into compartments for three days, with printed headings for -Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and so on, and columns for money. The wind -fluttered the leaves, so that the only entry visible to Charlie was one -relating to some purchase, which he read aloud, bewildered and -wondering. Miss Anastasia, who was extremely moved and excited, looked -furious, and as if she was almost tempted to administer personal -chastisement to the blunderer. She turned over the fluttered leaves with -an impetuous gesture. “Look here,” she said, pointing to the words with -her imperative finger, and reading them aloud in a low, restrained, but -most emphatic voice. The entry was in the same hand, duly dated under -the red line—“Twins—one boy—and Giulietta safe. Thank God. My sweet -young wife.”</p> - -<p>“Now go—fly!” cried Miss Anastasia, “find out their birthday, and then -come to me for money and directions. I will make your fortune, boy; you -shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a>{260}</span> be the richest pettifogger in Christendom. Do you hear me, young -Atheling—do you hear me! He is the true Lord Winterbourne—he is my -father’s lawful son!”</p> - -<p>To say that Charlie was not stunned by this sudden suggestion, or that -there was no answer of young and generous enthusiasm, as well as of -professional eagerness in his mind, to the address of Miss Rivers, would -have been to do him less than justice. “Is it Italy?—I don’t know a -word of Italian,” cried Charlie. “Never mind, I’ll go to-morrow. I can -learn it on the way.”</p> - -<p>The old lady grasped the boy’s rough hand, and stepped again into her -carriage. “Let it be to-morrow,” she said, speaking very low; “tell your -mother, but no one else, and do not, for any consideration, let it come -to the ears of Louis—Louis, my father’s boy!—But I will not see him, -Charlie; fly, boy, as if you had wings!—till you come home. I will meet -you to-morrow at Mr Temple’s office—you know where that is—at twelve -o’clock. Be ready to go immediately, and tell your mother to mention it -to no creature till I see her again.”</p> - -<p>Saying which, Miss Rivers turned her ponies, Charlie hurried into the -house, and his mother sat gazing out of the window, with the most blank -and utter astonishment. Miss Anastasia had not a glance to spare for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a>{261}</span> -the watcher, and took no time to pull her rose from the porch. She drove -home again at full speed, solacing her impatience with the haste of her -progress, and repeating, under her breath, again and again, the same -words. “One boy—and Giulietta safe. My sweet young wife!”</p> - -<p class="c">END OF VOL. II.<br /><br /><br /> - -<small>PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.</small></p> -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Athelings; vol. 2/3, by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATHELINGS; VOL. 2/3 *** - -***** This file should be named 54937-h.htm or 54937-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/3/54937/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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