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diff --git a/old/67113-0.txt b/old/67113-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 97479e5..0000000 --- a/old/67113-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9531 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Boy, by Marie Corelli - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Boy - A Sketch - -Author: Marie Corelli - -Release Date: January 6, 2022 [eBook #67113] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOY *** - - - - - - BOY - - _PUBLISHER’S NOTE._ - - - _This NEW LONG STORY is the most important volume by MARIE CORELLI - published for some years, and the first issued since the Author’s - serious illness._ - - _May 31, 1900._ - - - - - BOY - - A SKETCH - - _By_ MARIE - CORELLI - - [Illustration: colophon] - - - London - HUTCHINSON & CO - Paternoster Row 1900 - - - PRINTED BY - HAZELL, WATSON, AND VINEY, LD., - LONDON AND AYLESBURY. - - - To - - MY DEAREST FRIEND IN THE WORLD - - BERTHA VYVER - - WHO HAS KNOWN ALL MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD - AND HAS BEEN THE WITNESS OF ALL MY - LITERARY WORK FROM ITS - VERY BEGINNING - - THIS SIMPLE STORY - - IS - - GRATEFULLY AND LOVINGLY DEDICATED - - - - - BOY - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -It is said by many people who are supposed to “know things,” that our -life is frequently, if not always, influenced by the first impressions -we ourselves receive of its value or worthlessness. Some folks, -presuming to be wiser even than the wisest, go so far as to affirm that -if you, while still an infant in long clothes, happen to take a disgust -at the manner and customs of your parents, you will inevitably be -disgusted at most events and persons throughout the remainder of your -earthly pilgrimage. If any truth exists in such a statement, then “Boy” -had excellent cause to be profoundly disappointed in his prospects at a -very early outset of his career. He sat in what is sometimes called a -“feeding-chair,” wedged in by a bar which guarded him from falling -forward or tumbling out upon the floor, and the said bar was provided -with an ingenious piece of wood, which was partially hollowed out in -such wise as to keep him firm by his fat waist, as well as to provide a -resting-place for the plateful of bread-and-milk which he was enjoying -as much as circumstances would permit him to enjoy anything. Every now -and then he beat the plate solemnly with his spoon, as though -improvising a barbaric melody on a new sort of tom-tom,--and lifting a -pair of large, angelic blue eyes upwards, till their limpid light seemed -to meet and mix with the gold-glint of his tangled curls, he murmured -pathetically,-- - -“Oh, Poo Sing! Does ’oo feels ill? Does ’oo feels bad? Oh, Poo Sing!” - -Now, “Poo Sing” was not a Japanese toy, or a doll, or a bird, or any -innocent object of a kind to attract a child’s fancy; “Poo Sing” was -nothing but a Man, and a disreputable creature even at that “Poo Sing” -was Boy’s father, and “Poo Sing” was for the moment--to put it quite -mildly--blind drunk. “Poo Sing” had taken his coat and waistcoat off, -and had pulled out the ends of his shirt in a graceful white festoon all -round the waistband of his trousers. “Poo Sing” had also apparently done -some hard combing to his hair, for the bulk of it stood somewhat up on -end, and a few grizzled and wiry locks strayed in disorderly fashion -across his inflamed nose and puffy eyelids, this effect emphasising the -already half-foolish, half-infuriated expression of his face. “Poo Sing” -staggered to and fro, his heavy body scarcely seeming to belong to his -uncertain legs, and between sundry attacks of hiccough, he trolled out -scraps of song, now high, now low, sometimes in a quavering falsetto, -sometimes in a threatening bass; while Boy listened to him wonderingly, -and regarded his divers antics over the bar of the “feeding-chair” with -serious compassion,--the dulcet murmur of, “Does ’oo feels bad? Poo -Sing!” recurring at intervals between mouthfuls of bread-and-milk and -the rhythmic beat of the spoon. They were a strangely assorted -couple,--Boy and “Poo Sing,” albeit they were father and son. Boy, with -his fair round visage and bright halo of hair, looked more like a -child-angel than a mortal,--and “Poo Sing,” in his then condition, -resembled no known beast upon earth, since no beast ever gets -voluntarily drunk, save Man. Yet it must not for a moment be imagined -that “Poo Sing” was not a gentleman. He _was_ a gentleman,--most -distinctly,--most emphatically. He would have told you so himself, had -you presumed to doubt it, with any amount of oaths to press home the -fact. He would have spluttered at you somewhat in the following terms:-- - -“My father was a gentleman,--and my grandfather was a gentleman--and my -great-grandfather was a gentleman--and d----n you, sir, our people were -all gentlemen, every sanguinary man-jack of them, back to the twelfth -century! No tommy-rot with me! None of your mean, skulking, -money-grubbing Yankee millionaires in _our_ lot! Why, you d----d -rascal! Call me a gentleman!--I should pretty much think so! I am a -D’Arcy-Muir,--and I have the blood of kings in my veins--d----n you!” - -Gentleman! Of course he was a gentleman! His language proved it. And his -language was the first lesson in English Boy received, though he was not -aware of its full significance. So that when two or three years later on -Boy cried out “D----n rascal papa!” quite suddenly and vociferously, he -had no consciousness of saying anything that was not the height of -filial tenderness and politeness. To be a D’Arcy-Muir, meant to be the -descendant of a long line of knights and noblemen who had once upon a -time possessed huge castles with deep dungeons, where serfs and close -kindred could be conveniently imprisoned and murdered at leisure without -distinction as to character or quality;--knights and noblemen who some -generations onward were transformed into “six-bottle-men” who thought it -seemly to roll under their dining-tables dead drunk every evening, and -who, having merged themselves and their “blue blood” into this present -nineteenth-century Captain the Honourable James D’Arcy-Muir, the father -of Boy,--were, we must suppose, in their condition of departed spirits, -perfectly satisfied that they had bestowed a blessing upon the world by -the careful production of such a “gentleman” and Christian. - -Captain the Honourable, mindful of his race and breeding, took care to -marry a lady,--whose ancestry was only just in a slight degree lower -than his own. She could not trace her lineage back to the twelfth -century, still she came of what is sometimes called a good old stock, -and she was handsome enough as a girl, though always large, lazy and -unintelligent. Indolence was her chief characteristic;--she hated any -sort of trouble. She only washed herself under protest, as a sort of -concession to the civilisation of the day. She had been gifted with an -abundance of beautiful hair, of a somewhat coarse texture, yet rich in -colour and naturally curly,--it was “a nuisance,” she averred,--and as -soon as she married, she cut it short “to save the bother of doing it in -the morning” as she herself stated. Until she had secured a husband, she -had complied sufficiently with the rules of society to keep herself -tidily dressed;--but both before and after her boy was born, she easily -relapsed into the slovenly condition which she considered “comfort,” and -which was her habitual nature. Truth to tell, she had no incentive or -ambition to appear at her best. She had not been married to Captain the -Honourable D’Arcy-Muir one week before she discovered his partiality for -strong drink, and being far too lymphatic to urge resistance, she sank -into a state of passive resignation to circumstances. What was the good -of a pretty “toilette”? Her husband never noticed how she -dressed,--whether she wore satin or sackcloth was a matter of equal -indifference to him,--so, finding that a short skirt and loose-fitting -blouse formed a comfortable sort of “get-about” costume, she adopted -it, and stuck to it morning, noon, and night. Always inclined to -_embonpoint_, she managed to get extremely stout in a very short time; -and chancing to read in a journal an article on “hygiene,” which -eloquently proved that corsets were harmful and really dangerous to -health, she decided to do without them. So that by the time Boy was four -years old, Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, in her continual study of personal ease, -had developed a loose, floppy sort of figure, which the easy fitting -blouse covered, but did not disguise;--to save all possibility of corns -she encased her somewhat large feet in soft felt slippers,--swept the -short hair from off her brows, did without collars and cuffs, and -“managed” her small house in Hereford Square in her own fashion, which -“managing” meant having everything at sixes and sevens,--meals served at -all hours,--and a general preparation for the gradual destruction of -Boy’s digestion by giving him his bread-and-milk and other nourishment -at moments when he least expected it. - -Thus, it may be conceded by those who know anything about married life -and housekeeping, that Boy began his career among curious surroundings. -From his “feeding-chair” he saw strange sights,--sights which often -puzzled him, and caused him to beat monotonous time on his plate with -his baton-spoon in order to distract his little brain. Two large looming -figures occupied his horizon--“Muzzy” and “Poo Sing.” “Muzzy” was the -easy-going stout lady with the felt slippers, who gave him his -bread-and-milk and said he was _her_ boy,--“Poo Sing” was, in the few -tranquil moments of his existence, understood to be “Dads” or “Papa.” -Boy somehow could never call him either “Dads” or “Papa” when he was -seized by his staggering fits; such terms were not sufficiently -compassionate for an unfortunate gentleman who was subject to a malady -which would not allow him to keep steady on his feet without clutching -at the sideboard or the mantelpiece. Boy had been told by “Muzzy” that -when “Papa” rolled about the room he was “very ill,”--and the most -eloquent language could not fittingly describe the innocent and tender -emotions of pity in Boy’s mind when he beheld the progenitor of his -being thus cruelly afflicted! Were it possible to touch a drunkard’s -heart in the mid career of his drunkenness, then the gentle murmur of -“Poo Sing!” from the fresh rosy lips of a little child, and that child -his own son, might have moved to a sense of uneasy shame and remorse the -particularly tough and fibrous nature of Captain the Honourable -D’Arcy-Muir. But Captain the Honourable was of that ancient and noble -birth which may be seen asserting itself in rowdy theatre-parties at -restaurants in Piccadilly,--and he, with the rest of his distinguished -set, said openly “D----n sentiment!” As for any sacredness in the life -of a child, or any idea of grave responsibility resting upon him as a -father, for that child’s future, such primitive notions never occurred -to him. Sometimes when Boy stared at him very persistently with solemnly -enquiring grave blue eyes, he would become suddenly and violently -irritated, and would demand, “What is the little beggar staring at? -Looks like a d----d idiot!” - -Then pouring more whisky out of the ever-present bottle into the -ever-present glass, he would yell to his wife, “See here, old -woman! This child is going to be an infernal idiot! A regular -water-on-the-brain, knock-down idiot! Staring at me for all the world as -if I were a gorilla! He’s over-fed,--that’s what’s the matter! Guzzling -on bread-and-milk till he can’t get a drop more down. Never saw such a -d----d little pig in all my d----d life!” - -Thus would this gentleman of irreproachable descent bawl forth, the -while Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, provokingly passive, irritatingly flabby, and -indolently inert, preserved a discreet silence. Such behaviour on her -husband’s part was of daily occurrence,--“She knew James’s little ways,” -she would remark to any sympathising friends who chanced to discourse -with her on the delicate and honeyed bliss of her matrimonial life. “Why -did you marry him?” was the question often asked of her, whereat she -would answer betwixt a sigh and a yawn,--“Really I don’t know! He seemed -quite as decent as most men, and he belongs to a splendid family!” “Did -you ever love him?” was another query once put to her by a daring -interlocutor inclined rather to romance than reality. Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir -looked politely surprised. - -“Love! Oh, I don’t think that had very much to do with it,” she said. -“One doesn’t think about love after one is fifteen or sixteen. That’s -all goosey-goosey-gander, you know!” - -And a placid smile of superior wisdom lit up her fat face as she thus -clinched the would-be heart-searching enquiries of the mere -sentimentalist. Because, after all, as she argued, if Jim _would_ get -drunk it was no use attempting to thwart him,--he was master of himself -and of his own actions. When, after a good heavy bout of it, he was laid -up in bed with a galloping pulse, throbbing veins, parched tongue, and a -half-crazed brain, that also was no business of hers. She had made no -attempt to either restrain or guide him, because she knew it was no use -trying to do either. If he did not drink in the house, he would drink -outside the house;--if he did not drink openly, he would drink on the -sly,--few men ever took a woman’s advice for their good, though they -would take all women’s recommendations to the bad. Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir was -perfectly aware of this peculiar code of man’s morals, as also of the -strange limitations of man’s logic, and knowing these things was content -to make herself as bodily comfortable as she could, and let other -matters go as an untoward fate ordained. Thus it happened that it was -only Boy who really thought at all seriously concerning the puzzle of -existence. Boy, whose proper Christian name was Robert, seemed nearly -always preoccupied about something or other. Judging by the generally -wistful expression of his small features, it might be presumed that he -had memories. Probably most children have, though they are incapable of -expressing them. The enormous gulf of difference between the very young -and their elders, exists not only on account of the disparity in -years,--but also because the elders have retained, for the most part, -nothing more on their minds than the quickly crowding and vanishing -impressions of this present world,--while the children are, we may -imagine, busy with vague recollections of something better than the -immediate condition of things,--recollections which occasionally move -them to wonder why their surroundings have become so suddenly and -strangely altered. It is impossible not to see, in the eyes of many of -these little human creatures, a look of infinite perplexity, sorrow and -enquiry,--a look which gradually fades away as they grow older and more -accustomed to the ordinary commonplace business of natural existence, -while the delicate and dim memories of the Soul in a former state wax -faint and indistinct, never to recur again, perhaps, till death -re-flashes them on the interior sight with the repeated and everlasting -assurance that “here is not our rest.” Boy had thoughts of the past, -though none of the future;--he was quite sure that all was not formerly -as it appeared to him now,--that there was a time, set far away among -rainbow eternities, when “Muzzy” and “Poo Sing” were _non est_,--when -indeed “Muzzy” and “Poo Sing” would have seemed the wildest incoherences -and maddest impossibilities. How it had chanced that the rainbow -eternities had dispersed for awhile,--had rolled back as it were into -space, and had allowed the strange spectacle of “Muzzy” and “Poo Sing” -to intervene, was more than Boy could explain, consciously or -unconsciously. But he was certain he had not always known these two now -apparently necessary personages,--and he was equally certain he had -known some sort of beings infinitely more interesting than they could -ever be. Fully impressed by this inward conviction, he often dwelt upon -it in his own mind,--and this it was that gave him the lovely far-away -look in his dreamy blue eyes,--the tender little quivering smile on his -rosy mouth, and the whole serene and wise expression of his fair and -chubby countenance. Scarcely four years old as he was, it was evident -that he had the intuition of some truer life than those around him -dreamed of,--the halo of divine things was still about him,--the “God’s -image” was just freshly stamped on the bright new coin of his -being,--and it remained for the coming years to witness how long the -brightness would last in the hands of the untrustworthy individuals who -had it in possession. For it is a dangerous fallacy to aver that every -man has the making of his destiny in his own hands: to a certain extent -he has, no doubt, and with education and firm resolve, he can do much to -keep down the Beast and develop the Angel,--but a terrific -responsibility rests upon those often voluntarily reckless beings, his -parents, who, without taking thought, use the God’s privilege of giving -life, while utterly failing to perceive the means offered to them for -developing and preserving that life under the wisest and most harmonious -conditions. It is certainly true that many parents do what they call -their “best” for their children,--that is, they work for them, and -educate them, and “place” them advantageously, as they think, in -life,--but they are apt to forget that this “life” they set store by, is -not only a question of food, clothing, money, and position,--its central -pivot is Thought,--and thought begins with the first brain-pulsations. -There is no use or sense in denying the fact,--it is so. Therefore the -progenitors of those living thought-cells cannot possibly shirk the -moral obligation which they take upon themselves from the very moment of -a child’s birth. “The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the -children” is often quoted as a merciless axiom,--but it is merely the -declaration of a natural law, which, if broken, brings punishment in its -train. - -Boy, lately arrived from the Infinite, was guiltless of his present -dubious surroundings. He did not make his “honourable” father a -drunkard, or his mother a sloven. He came into the world designed, -perchance, to be the redemption of both his parents, had they received -his innocent presence in that spirit. But they did not. They accepted -him as a natural result of marriage, and took no more heed of him than a -pair of monkeys casually observant of their first offspring. They, by -virtue of the evolution theory, should, as human beings, have been on a -scale higher than the Simian ancestor,--but Captain D’Arcy-Muir was not -even on a par with that hairy personage, inasmuch as the bygone -aboriginal monkey, not being aware of strong drink, could not degrade -himself that way. As long as Boy was fed, clothed, taken out, and put to -bed regularly, “Muzzy” and “Poo Sing” considered they were doing all -their necessary duty by him. “Muzzy” would indeed have been profoundly -astonished if she had known that Boy took her clothing into his -consideration, and wondered why hooks were often off, and buttons often -gone from her garments, and why her hair was so like some of the -stuffing of the old arm-chair,--woolly sort of stuffing, which was -coming through the leather for want of mending. Boy used to compare -“Muzzy” with another lady who sometimes came to visit him,--Miss Letitia -Leslie,--a wonderful vision to Boy’s admiring eyes,--a rustling, -glistening dream, made up of soft dove-coloured silk and violet-scented -old lace, and tender, calm blue eyes, and small hands with big diamonds -flashing on their dainty whiteness,--“Miss Letty,” as she was generally -called, and “that purse-proud old maid,” as Captain the Honourable -frequently designated her. Boy had his own title for her,--it was -“Kiss-Letty,” instead of “Miss Letty,”--and he would often ask, in dull -moments when the numerous perplexities of his small mind became too -entangled for him to bear--“Where is Kiss-Letty? Me wants Kiss-Letty! -Kiss-Letty loves Boy,--Boy loves Kiss-Letty!” - -And to hear him sweetly meandering along in this fashion, the -uninitiated stranger might have imagined “Kiss-Letty” to be a kind of -fairy,--an elf, born of moonlight and lilies, rather than what she -really was, a spinster of forty-five, who made no pretences to be a whit -younger than she was,--a spinster who was perfectly content to wear her -own beautiful grey hair, and to wish for no “touching up” on the -delicate worn pallor of her cheeks--a spinster, moreover, who was proud -of her spinsterhood, as it was the sign of her unbroken fidelity to a -dead man who had loved her. Miss Letitia Leslie had had her history, her -own private tragedy of tears and heart-break; but the depths of sorrow -in her soul had turned to sweetness instead of sourness,--her own grief -had taught her to be compassionate of all griefs, and the unkind sword -of fate that had pierced her gentle breast rendered her delicately -cautious of ever wounding, by so much as a word or a look, the -sensitive feelings of others. Death and circumstance had made her the -independent mistress of a large fortune, which she used lavishly for the -private doing of good where evil abounded. Into the foul and festering -slums of the great city--into the shabby dwellings of poorly paid clerks -and half-starved curates,--up among the barely furnished attics where -struggling artists worked for scanty livelihood and the distant hope of -fame, “Kiss-Letty” took her sweet and gracious presence, wearing a smile -that was a very good reflex of God’s sunshine, and speaking comfort in a -voice as tender as that of any imagined angel bringing God’s messages. -Much of the grinding of the ceaseless wheel of tribulation did Miss -Letitia see, as she went to and fro on her various errands of mercy and -friendship; but perhaps among all the haunts and homes where her -personality was familiar, her interest had seldom been more strongly -aroused than in the ill-ordered household in Hereford Square, where -Captain the Honourable D’Arcy-Muir drank and swore, and his wife -“slovened” the hours away in muddle and misanthropy. For here was -Boy,--Boy, a soft, smiling morsel of helpless life and innocent -expectancy,--Boy, who stretched out plump mottled arms to “Kiss-Letty,” -and said, chucklingly, “Ullo!”--(an exclamation he had picked up from -the friendly policeman at the corner of the square, who greeted him thus -when he went out in his perambulator)--“Ullo! ’Ows ’oo, Kiss-Letty? -Wants Boy out! Kiss-Letty take Boy wiz her walk-talk.” - -Which observation, rendered into heavier English, implied that Boy -politely enquired after Miss Letitia’s health, and desired to go out -walking and likewise talking with that lady. - -And no one in all the world responded more promptly or more lovingly to -Boy’s delightful amenities than Miss Letitia did. The wisely-sweet -expression of the child’s face fascinated her,--she saw in Boy the -possibilities of noble manhood, graced perhaps by the rarest gifts of -genius. Believers in hereditary development would have asked her how she -could imagine it possible for a child born of such parents to possess an -ideal or exceptionally endowed nature? To which she would have replied -that she did not believe in the heritage so much as the environment of -life. Here she was partly wrong and partly right. Such inexplicable -things happen in the evolution of one particular human being from a -whole chain of other human beings that it is impossible to gauge -correctly the result of the whole. Why, for example, the poet Keats -should have had such indifferent parentage will always be somewhat of a -mystery. And why men, lineally descended from “ancient, noble and -honourable” families should, in this day, have degenerated into -turf-gamblers, drunkards and social rascals generally, is also a -bewildering conundrum. In the case of Keats, birth and environment were -against him,--in the case of the modern aristocrat birth and environment -are with him. The one has become an English classic; the other is an -English disgrace. Who shall clear up the darkness surrounding the -working of this law? Miss Letitia made no attempt to penetrate such -physiological obscurities,--she simply argued that for Boy to be brought -up in a “muddle,” and set face to face with the ever-present -whisky-bottle, was decidedly injurious to his future prospects. The -D’Arcy-Muirs were poor, though they had “expectations,”--she, Miss -Letitia, was rich. She had no relatives,--no one in the world had the -least claim upon her,--and she had serious thoughts of adopting Boy. -Would his parents part with him? That was a knotty point, a delicate and -very doubtful question. But she had considered it for some time -carefully, and had come to the reasonable conclusion that, as Boy seemed -to be rather in the way of his father and mother than otherwise, and -that moreover, as her terms of adoption were inclusive of making him her -sole heir, it was probable she might gain the victory. And the very day -on which this true narrative begins, when Captain the Honourable was -executing his whisky war-dance to the accompaniment of his son’s -murmured “Poo Sing!” and rhythmic spoon-tapping, was the one selected by -the gentle lady to commence operations, or, as she put it, “to break the -proposition gradually” to the strange parents whose daily lives -furnished such a singular example of wedded felicity to their observant -offspring. When her dainty brougham, drawn by its sleek and spirited -roans, drew up at the door of the house in Hereford Square, there were -various signs even outside that habitation to fill the order-loving -spirit of Miss Letitia with doubtful qualms and hesitations. To begin -with, there was not a blind in any of the windows that was drawn up -straight; they were all awry. This gave the dwelling a generally -squinting, leering, look which was not pleasant. Then again, the -doorsteps were dirty. There were strange, smeary pieces of paper -floating down the area, in grimy companionship with broken bits of -straw. The bell-handle hung out of its socket, somewhat like an eye -undergoing the latest surgical operation for cataract. There were recent -traces of coal on the pavement,--a ton had evidently just been shot down -the “hole-into-the-cellar” arrangement which some brilliant British -“bright idea” has invented for the greater accumulation of dirt in the -streets; and the coal-men had not troubled to “clean up” after the -performance. Miss Letitia, stepping lightly out of her carriage, was -compelled to crunch the heels of her pretty little _brodequins_ in -coal-dust, and soil the delicate edge of her frilled silk petticoat in -the same. Cautiously she handled the helpless-looking bell-pull, with -the result that a hollow tinkling sound awakened the interior echoes. -The door opened, and a slatternly maid-servant appeared. - -“Is Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir----?” - -“Yes, ’m, at home to you, ’m, of course, ’m. But she’s hout to most, on -account of master’s bein’ orful bad. Orful bad he is. Step in, please -’m.” - -Whereupon Miss Letitia “stepped in,” asking pleasantly as she did so,-- - -“And how is dear Boy?” - -“Oh, jes’ the same, ’m! Allus smilin’ an’ comfoble-like. Never see such -a child for good temper. Seems allus a-thinkin’ pretty. This way, ’m!” - -And she escorted her visitor into a small side-room which Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir called her “boudoir,”--announcing briskly,-- - -“Miss Leslie, ’m!” - -“Dear me!” and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, clad in the usual short skirt and -ill-fitting blouse, rose to receive the in-coming guest. - -“How nice of you, Letitia, to come! So early too! I’m afraid luncheon -has been cleared--” - -“Pray don’t speak of it,” interrupted Miss Leslie--“of course at four -o’clock----” - -“Is it four? Dear me!” and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir smiled sleepily. “Why, then -it’s time for tea. You will have some tea?” - -“Thank you!” murmured Miss Letty, “but don’t put yourself out in any -way. Is Boy----?” - -“Quite well? Oh yes!” and Boy’s mother rang the bell as she spoke. “Boy -is in the dining-room with his father. He has just had his -bread-and-milk. I have left him there because I think he keeps Jim a -little bit in order. Jim is really quite impossible to-day,--but of -course he wouldn’t hurt the child.” - -“Do you mean,” said Miss Letitia, her cheeks growing paler, “that your -husband is ... well!--_you_ know! And that Boy is with him while in that -terrible condition?” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir laughed. - -“Of course! How horrified you look, Letitia! But you have no idea how -useful Boy is in that way. He really saves pounds’ worth of furniture. -When Boy is strapped in his chair, and Jim is on the booze, Jim never -knocks the things about as he would if he were alone,--because you see -he is afraid of upsetting Boy. It is not out of kindness to Boy exactly, -but simply because he hates to hear a child yell. It gets on his nerves. -Then of course Boy thinks his father is ill, and pities him so much that -the two get on together capitally.” - -And this lymphatic lump of a woman laughed again, the while Miss Letitia -gazed blankly at the fireplace and endeavoured to control her indignant -feelings. The maidservant came in just then in answer to the bell. - -“Bring the tea, Gerty,”--commanded her mistress with quite a grand air, -as one who should say “bid the thousand menials in the outer court of -the castle serve me with delicacies on their bended knees.” - -Gerty had a severe cold, and sniffed violently and unbecomingly. - -“Please ’m, the milkman ain’t been yet. This mornin’ he said as he might -be late, as there was a family t’other side of the square as liked their -meals punctual, and he guessed he’d have to go that side first instead -of ours. And there ain’t none left from the mornin’; Master Boy’s ’ad it -all.” - -“Dear, sweet, greedy little pig!” smiled Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir affably. -“Well, you can bring the teacups and the teapot, and the kettle and the -bread-and-butter--and--Oh! there is condensed milk, I know: will you -have condensed milk, Letitia?” - -Miss Letitia responded somewhat primly,-- - -“No, certainly not!” Then, regretting her rather sharp tone of voice, -she added, “You must not think me fanciful, but I cannot bear condensed -milk in my tea. You know I come of an old Devonshire family, and I -believe I grew up on genuine milk and genuine cream.” - -“Oh, but condensed milk is _quite_ genuine!” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir. “I -_love_ it! I eat it on bread-and-butter often instead of jam; you must -not have old maids’ prejudices, Letitia!” And she smiled the provoking -smile of a superior being who knows all the best things of life without -teaching or experience. - -Miss Letty sat patiently under the verdict of “old maids’ prejudices,” -wondering how on earth she was going to broach the subject which was -uppermost in her mind to this woman who seemed for the moment to have -absorbed all the intellect of which she was capable into the bland -consideration of condensed milk. She started the conversation again -hesitatingly. - -“Is Captain D’Arcy-Muir likely to go out presently, do you think?” - -“I’m sure I couldn’t say,” replied Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, still smiling. “You -see he can scarcely stand--he won’t dress himself properly--and he has -just taken to singing: listen!” And she held up a fat forefinger to -invite attention. Miss Letitia had no need to strain her ears for the -extraordinary sounds which came fitfully through the door,--sounds -between a cough and a yell, wherewith were intermingled the familiar -words-- - - “Ole King Co--ole - Was a jo--olly old so--ul!” - -“Pray, pray!” implored Miss Letty nervously,--“do get Boy out of that -room! Really, my dear, it isn’t fit for the child. I beg of you! -I--I--should like to see Boy!” - -“Well, _I_ can’t go and fetch him,” declared Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with a -deeply-injured expression; “I should only get pushed out of the room, or -hit in the eye, if I attempted it when Jim is like this. But I’ll send -Gerty.” - -And as Gerty just then entered with all the necessities for tea, minus -the milk, she added, - -“Fetch Master Boy in here, will you?” - -“Yes, ’m. If he’ll come with me.” - -She disappeared to fulfil her mission. - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir sank back into the depths of her easy-chair with the -manner of one who has done every duty that could possibly be expected of -her. Miss Letitia clasped and unclasped her neatly gloved hands -nervously. The noises of mingled coughing and yelling increased in -ferocity,--and soon they were broken by two widely differing sounds,--a -drunken curse, and a child’s laughter. - -“D----n you, get out of this!” - -“Kiss-Letty! Ooo--ee! My kissy-kissy Kiss-Letty!” - -And escaping from Gerty’s hand, Boy literally danced into the room. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Making straight for Miss Letitia, the jumping bundle of dimples, gold -curls, short knickers and waggling pinafore, came with a wild bound into -that lady’s arms. - -“Oo-ee!” he once more exclaimed--“Vi’lets!” - -And, discovering a bunch of those sweet blossoms half-hidden in the -folds of Miss Leslie’s soft lace necktie, he burrowed his little nose -into them with delighted eagerness,--then looking up again, and smiling -angelically, he repeated in a dulcet murmur, “’Es! Vi’lets! Oo’ is -_vezy_ sweet, zoo Kiss-Letty!” - -Miss Letitia pressed him to her breast, patted him, smoothed his tousled -locks, and took off his loosely-hanging pinafore, thereby disclosing his -whole chubby form, clad in what city tailors euphoniously term a ‘small -gent’s Jack Tar.’ - -“Well, Boy!” she said, her gentle voice trembling with quite a delicious -cooing sweetness--“how are you to-day?” - -“Me vezy well,” answered Boy placidly, twining round his dumpy fingers a -long delicately-linked gold chain which ‘Kiss-Letty’ always wore--“Vezy -well ’sank ’oo!” (this with a big sigh). “Me awfoo’ bozzered” (bothered) -“‘bout Dads! Poo Sing! Vezy--_vezy_ ill!” - -And Boy conveyed such a heartrending expression of deep distress into -his beautiful blue eyes, that Miss Letitia was quite touched, and was -almost persuaded into a sense of pity for the degraded creature who was -“putting a thief into his mouth to steal away his brains,” in the -opposite room. - -“You see, Letitia,” murmured Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with a fat complacent -smile--“You see just how Boy takes it? He and his father are the most -perfect friends in the world!” - -Good Miss Leslie looked as she felt,--pained and puzzled. How was she to -broach the idea she had of adopting Boy, if he was already considered by -his stupid mother to be a sort of stop-gap or “buffer” between herself -and the drunken rages of her “honourable” lord and master? She resolved -to temporize. - -“I have been wondering,” she began gently, as she settled the little -fellow more comfortably on her lap “whether you would let Boy come and -stay with me for a few days----” - -“Stay with _you_!” exclaimed Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir--and so surprised was she -that she actually lifted her bulky form an inch or two out of its sunken -attitude in the arm-chair--“With _you_, Letitia? A child like that? -Why, you would not know in the least what to do with him!” - -“I think I should,” submitted Miss Letty, with a little -smile,--“Besides, of course you could send Gerty with him if you liked. -But I do not think it would be necessary. I have an excellent maid who -is devoted to children;--and then he could have a large room to play -about in--and----” - -“Oh, it would never do!--never--never!” declared Boy’s mother, shaking -her head with a half-reproachful, half-compassionate air. “You see, my -dear Letitia, it is not as if you were married and had children of your -own. You wouldn’t understand how to manage Boy a bit.” - -“You think not?” said Miss Letty patiently. “Well--perhaps I might be a -little ignorant--but would you let me try?” - -“I could not--I really could not!” and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir smoothed her -floppy blouse over her massive bosom with a protective pat of her large -hand. “Boy would simply break his heart without me. Wouldn’t you, Boy?” - -Boy thus adjured, looked round enquiringly. He had been busy arranging -“Kiss-Letty’s” gold chain in loops and twists, such as pleased his -fancy, and thus employed, had failed to follow the conversation. - -“How wouldn’t Boy?” he demanded. - -“Boy wouldn’t like to leave Muzzy,” explained Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir -unctuously--“would he?” - -Boy was still meditatively concerned with the looping of the gold chain. - -“Leave Muzzy?” he queried. “Wha’ for?” - -“What for?” echoed his mother. “To go with Miss Letty--all by your own -self--and no kind good Muzzy to take care of you!” - -Boy stopped twisting the gold chain. Things began to look serious. He -put one rosy finger into his rosier mouth, and started to consider the -question. “No kind good Muzzy to take care of you.” Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir was -her own trumpeter on this occasion. That she was a “kind good Muzzy” was -entirely her own idea. If Boy had been able to express himself with -thorough lucidity, he would most probably have given the palm for -“kindness and goodness,” and “taking care of him,” to the servant Gerty, -rather than to Muzzy. But his little heart told him he ought to love his -Muzzy best of all--and yet--how about “Kiss-Letty”? He hesitated. - -“Me loves Muzzy _vezy_ much,” he murmured, lowering his pretty -eyes,--while his sensitive little underlip began to quiver--“But me -loves Kiss-Letty too. Me _would_ like out wiz Kiss-Letty!” - -And having thus taken courage to declare his true sentiments, he felt -more independent, and raised his golden head with a curious little air -of defiance and appeal intermingled. Just then a diversion occurred in -the entrance of the servant Gerty, carrying a jug. - -“Oh, here _is_ the milk at last!” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, with a sigh of -relief. “Now we can have tea. Gerty, what do you think?--here is Miss -Leslie wanting to take Boy to stay with her for a few days! Did ever you -hear of such a thing!” - -Gerty sniffed her usual sniff, which as she gave it, almost amounted to -an enigma. - -“I should let him go, ’m, if I were you, ’m,” she said, whereat Miss -Letty could have embraced her. “He ain’t doin’ no good ’ere, with the -master on in his tearin’ tantrums an’ swillin’ whisky fit to bust -hisself, an’ really there’s no tellin’ what might happen. Oh yes, ’m,--I -should let him go, ’m!” - -“Would you really?” and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir rose and lolled herself lazily -along to the tea-table--“Well!--Do you want him to-day, Letitia?” - -“Why, yes, I can take him at once,” replied Miss Leslie, quite trembling -with excitement, and commending Gerty to all the special favours of -providence for the evident influence she exerted on the flabby mind of -her mistress--“Nothing will please me better.” - -“Such a funny notion of yours!” smiled Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, hovering over -the tea-things like a sort of large loosely-feathered bird. “You are -such a regular old maid, Letitia, that I should have thought you -wouldn’t have had a child messing about in your beautiful house for the -world. However, if you really want him, take him,--but you must have him -alone--I can’t spare Gerty.” - -Gerty smiled broadly. - -“Oh, Miss Leslie won’t want me, ’m,” she cheerfully declared. “Master -Boy don’t give no trouble. Shall I put his clothes together, ’m? He -ain’t got nothing but his white flannel sailor-suit and two little -shirts and nightgowns.” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir sighed wearily. - -“Oh dear, don’t bother me about such things!” she said. “Just make a -brown-paper parcel of what you think the child will want for a week, and -put it in Miss Leslie’s brougham. You came in your brougham, Letitia? Of -course. Yes. That will be all right. Put it all in the brougham, Gerty.” - -“Yes, ’m. Shall I bring in Master Boy’s hat and overcoat in here?” - -“Certainly. Dear me, what a fuss!” Here Gerty promptly left the room. -“One would think the child was going to the wilds of Africa! Do you take -sugar, Letitia? Yes? Ah, you are not inclined to be at all stout, are -you?”--this with a somewhat envious glance at Miss Leslie’s still -perfectly graceful and _svelte_ figure--“No, I should think you must be -nearly all skin and bone. Now, _I_ can never take sugar. I put on flesh -directly. Here is your tea. Boy, do you want any more milk?” - -Boy had, during the past few minutes, remained in a condition of bland -staring. Vague notions that his “wanting out” with Kiss-Letty was going -to be a granted and accomplished fact, pleased his little brain, but he -had no skill to discourse on his sensations, even in broken language. He -was however too happy to require any extra feeding. He therefore -declined the offer of ‘more milk’ with a negative shake of his gold -curls, and after a little further consideration, clambered off Miss -Letitia’s knee and went to his mother. - -“Me goin’ out wiz Kiss-Letty?” he inquired with a solemn air. - -“Yes. You are going to stay with her in her grand big house, away from -poor Muzzy”--replied the ‘poor Muzzy’ in question, taking a large -mouthful of bread-and-butter and swallowing it down with a gulp of tea. -“And I hope you’ll be a good boy.” - -“‘Ope me be a goo’ boy!” he echoed thoughtfully. “‘Ess! Me tell Dads?” - -Miss Letitia looked startled,--Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir smiled. - -“No. You had better not tell Dads. He is ill, you know. When you come -back he will be quite well.” - -“Sink so?” queried Boy dubiously. - -“Think so? Of course I think so. Now don’t stand staring there. Here’s -your picture-book,--look at that till Gerty brings you your hat and -coat.” - -Boy took the interesting volume offered him, docilely, but without -enthusiasm. He knew it well. Its torn covers,--the impossible beasts and -birds depicted within it,--the extraordinary jumble of rhymes which -Gerty would read to him at odd moments, and which he would afterwards -think about in pained silence,--all these things worried him. There was -a large and elaborately ornamented _B_ in the book, and--twisted in and -out its curly formation--were two designs which were utterly opposed to -each other,--a cricket-bat and a bumble-bee. The ‘poetry’ accompanying -it said-- - - Fetch me the BAT - To kill the RAT. - -After this ferocious couplet came the flamboyant coloured drawing of a -large yellow flower, unlike any flower ever born in any field of the -wide world. The yellow flower being duly considered as a growth of -distinct individuality, other two lines appeared-- - - Look here and see - The BUMBLE-BEE. - -This particular page of his “picture-book” had often puzzled Boy. When -Gerty had first read to him-- - - Fetch me the BAT - To kill the RAT, - -he had at once asked,-- - -“Where rat?” - -Gerty had sought everywhere all over the ornate capital letter and the -other designs on the page for the missing animal,--but in vain. -Therefore she had been reluctantly compelled to admit the depressing -truth,-- - -“There ain’t no rat, Master Boy dear!” - -“_Why_ no rat?” pursued Boy, solemnly. - -Driven to desperation, a bright idea suddenly crossed Gerty’s brain. - -“I ’xpect it’s cos it’s killed,” she said,--“See, Master Boy! It’s ‘a -bat to kill a rat.’ And the rat’s killed!” - -“Poo’ rat!” commented Boy thoughtfully--“Gone! Poo’--Poo’ rat!--gone -altogezzer!” - -He sighed,--and refused to ‘look here and see, the Bumble-bee.’ He -really wished to know _who_ it was that had asked for a bat to kill a -rat, and _why_ that unknown individual had been so furiously inclined. -But he kept these desires to himself; for he had an instinctive sense -that though Gerty was all kindness, she was not quite the person to be -trusted with his closest confidences. - -Just now he went into a corner, picture-book in hand, and sat, watching -his ‘Muzzy’ and ‘Kiss-Letty’ taking tea together. Muzzy’s back was -towards him, and he could not help wondering why it was so big and -broad? Why it was so difficult to get _round_ Muzzy for example? He had -no such trouble with Kiss-Letty. She was so slim and yet so strong,--and -once, when she had lifted him up and carried him from one room to the -other, he felt as though he were ‘throned light in air,’ so easy and -graceful had been the way she bore him. Now Muzzy always took hold of -him as if he were a lump. Not that he argued this fact at all in his -little mind,--he was simply thinking--thinking,--yes, if the sober -truth must be told, he was thinking quite sadly and seriously how it -happened that Muzzy was ugly and Kiss-Letty pretty! It was such a pity -Muzzy was ugly!--for surely it _was_ ugly to have red blotches on the -face, and hair like the arm-chair stuffing? Such a pity--such a pity for -Muzzy? Such a pity too for Boy! Ah, and such a pity it is for all idle, -slovenly women who “let themselves go” and think their children ‘take no -notice’ of indolence, dirt, and discordant colours. The sense of beauty -and fitness was very strong in Boy. Where he got it was a mystery,--it -was certainly not a heritage derived from either of his parents. He did -not know that ‘Kiss-Letty’ was many years older than ‘Muzzy,’--but he -did know that she was ever so much more charming and agreeable to look -at. He judged by appearances,--and these were all in ‘Kiss-Letty’s’ -favour. For in truth the elderly spinster looked a whole decade younger -than the more youthful married woman. Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, though she took -life with such provokingly indifferent ease, ‘wore’ badly,--Miss Leslie, -despite many concealed sorrows and disappointments, wore well. Her face -was still rounded and soft-complexioned,--her eyes were bright and -clear,--while her figure was graceful and her dress choice and elegant. -Boy indeed thought ‘Kiss-Letty’ very beautiful, and he was not without -experience. Several well-known “society beauties” of the classed and -labelled sort, who are hawked about in newspaper ‘fashionable’ columns -as wearing blue or green, or “looking lovely in white,” and “stately in -pink”--were wont to visit Captain the Honourable and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir on -their ‘at-home’ days, and Boy was always taken into the drawing-room to -see them,--but somehow they made no impression on him. They lacked -something--though he could not tell what that something was. None of -them had the smile of Kiss-Letty, or her soft dove-like glance of eye. -Peering at her now from his present corner Boy considered her a very -angel of loveliness. And he was actually going away with her, to her -‘grand big house,’ Muzzy said. Boy tried to think what the ‘grand big -house’ would be like. The nearest approach his imagination could make to -it was Aladdin’s palace, as pictured in one of the ‘fairy landscapes’ of -a certain magic lantern which a very burly gentleman, a Major Desmond, -had brought to him at Christmas. Major Desmond was a large, jovial, -white-haired, white-moustached personage, with a rollicking mellow -laugh, and an immense hand which, whenever it was laid on Boy’s head, -caressed his curls with the gentleness of a south wind touching the -petals of a flower. Muzzy’s hand was hard and heavy indeed compared to -the hand of Major Desmond. Major Desmond was a friend of -Kiss-Letty’s,--that was all Boy knew about him,--that and the -magic-lantern incident. Ruffling and crinkling up the pages of the -too-familiar ‘picture book’ mechanically, Boy went on with his own -little quaint sequence of thought,--till suddenly, just as Muzzy and -Kiss-Letty had finished their tea, a dull crash was heard in the -opposite room, accompanied by a loud oath--then came silence. Boy -trotted out of his corner, his little face pale with fright. - -“Oh _Poo’_ Sing!” he cried. “Dads ill!--Dads hurted! Me go to Dads!” - -“No--no!” and Miss Letty hastened to him and caught him in her -arms--“No, dear! Wait a minute! Wait, darling! Let Mother see first what -is the matter.” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir had risen, and was about to open the door and make some -casual inquiry, when Gerty came in, somewhat pale but giggling. - -“It’s only master, ’m,” she said. “His foot tripped, and down he fell. -He ain’t hurt hisself. He don’t even trouble to get up--he’s just -a-sittin’ on the floor with the whisky-bottle as comfoble as you -please!” - -Miss Letty shuddered as she listened, and clasped Boy more warmly to her -heart, placing her gentle hands against his ears lest he should hear too -much. - -“Papa’s all right, Boy dear,” she said.--“He has just let something fall -on the floor. See?” - -“Zat all?” queried Boy with an anxious look. - -“That’s all. Now”--and Miss Letitia took his dumpy wee hand in her own -and led him across the room--“come along, and we’ll have a nice drive -together, shall we? Gerty, have you got Master Boy’s things?” - -“Yes, ’m.” And Gerty, flopping down on both knees in front of the little -fellow, pulled a miniature overcoat round his tiny form and stuck a -sailor-hat (marked ‘Invincible’ on the ribbon) jauntily on his -head--“There you are, Master Boy, dear! Ain’t you grand, eh? Going away -visiting all by your own self! Quite like a big man!” - -Boy smiled vaguely but sweetly, and turned one of the buttons on his -coat round and round meditatively. Quite like a big man, was he? Well, -he did not feel very big, but on the contrary particularly small--and -especially just now, because Muzzy was standing upright, looking down -upon him with a spacious air of infinite and overwhelming condescension. -Surely Muzzy was a very large woman?--might not one say _extra_ large? -Boy stretched out his hand and grasped her skirt, gazing wistfully up at -the bulk above him,--the bulk which now stooped, like an over-full sack -of wheat toppling forward, to kiss him and bid him good-bye. - -“Remember, you’ve never been away from me before, Boy,”--and ‘Muzzy’ -spoke in a kind of injured tone--“so I hope you will be good and -obedient, and keep your clothes clean. And when you get to Miss Leslie’s -house, don’t smear your fingers on the walls, and mind you don’t break -anything. You know it won’t be as it is here, where you can tumble -about as you like all day and play----” - -“Oh, but he _can_!” interposed Miss Leslie hastily--“I assure you he -can!” - -“Pardon me, Letitia, he can _not_”--and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir swelled visibly -with matronly obstinacy as she spoke--“It is not likely that in _your_ -house you can have wooden soldiers all over the floor. It would be -impossible. Boy has very odd ways with his soldiers. He likes to ‘camp -them out’ in different spots of the pattern on the carpet--and of course -it _does_ make a place untidy. When one is a mother, one does not mind -these things”--this with a superior and compassionate air--“but you, -with your precise notions of order, will find it _very_ trying.” - -Miss Leslie protested, with a little smile, that really she had no -particularly ‘precise’ notions of order. - -“Oh yes, you have,” declared Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir emphatically--“Don’t tell -me you haven’t, Letitia,--all old maids are the same. Then there is that -dreadful Cow of Boy’s,--the thing Major Desmond gave him, along with the -magic lantern,--he can do without the lantern, of course--but I really -am afraid he had better take his Cow!” - -Miss Letitia laughed--and a very pretty, musical little laugh she had. - -“Oh, by all means let us have the Cow!” she said gaily. “Where is it, -Boy?” - -Boy looked up, then down,--to the east, to the west, and everywhere -into the air, without committing himself to a reply. Gerty came to the -rescue. - -“I’ll fetch it,” she said briskly. “I saw it on Master Boy’s bed a -minute ago.” - -She left the room, to return again directly with the interesting animal -in question--quite a respectably-sized toy cow with a movable head which -wagged up and down for a long time when set in motion by the touch of a -finger. It had a blue ribbon round its neck, and Boy called it ‘Dunny.’ -He welcomed it now as he saw it with the confiding smile of long and -experienced friendship. - -“Ullo Dunny!” he said--“Wants out wiz Boy? Tum along zen!” And receiving -the pasteboard quadruped in his arms he embraced it with effusion. - -“It is most absurd!” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir grandiosely--“Still it would -be rather awkward for you, Letitia, if he were to start crying for his -Cow!” - -“It would indeed!” and the laughter still lighted up Miss Letitia’s soft -eyes with a keen and merry twinkle--“I would not be without the Cow for -worlds!” - -Something in her voice or smile caused Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir to feel slightly -cross. There was an unmistakable air of youth about this “old maid”--a -sense of fun and a spirit of enjoyment which were not in ‘Muzzy’s’ -composition. And ‘Muzzy’ straightway got an idea into her head that she -was “out of it,” as it were,--that Miss Letitia, Boy and ‘Dunny’ all -understood each other in a manner which she could never grasp, and knew -the way to a fairy-land where she could never follow. And it was with a -touch of snappishness that she said,-- - -“Well!--if you are going, hadn’t you better go? My husband will probably -be coming in here soon,--and he might perhaps make some objection to -Boy’s leaving----” - -“Oh, I won’t run the risk of _that_!” answered Miss Leslie quickly. -“Come along, Boy!--say good-bye to Mother!” - -Holding his ‘Cow’ with one hand to his breast, Boy raised his pretty -little face to be kissed again. - -“Goo’ bye, Muzzy dee-ar!” he murmured--“’Ope Dads better soon! Kiss Dads -for Boy!” - -This was his parting message to the drunkard in the next room,--and -having uttered it, he drew a long breath as of one who prepares to -plunge into unknown seas, and resigned himself to ‘Kiss-Letty,’ who led -him gently along, accommodating her graceful swift step to his toddling -movements, through the hall and outside to her brougham, where the -footman in attendance, smiling broadly at the sight of Boy, lifted the -little fellow in, and seated him cosily on the soft cushions. Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir and the servant Gerty watched his departure from the house -door. - -“I will take every care of him!” called Miss Letitia, as she followed -her small guest into her carriage--“Don’t be at all anxious!” - -She waved her hand,--the footman shut the door, and mounted the -box,--and in another minute the smart little equipage had turned the -corner of Hereford Square and disappeared. Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir remained for -a few seconds on the steps of her house, airing herself largely, and -patronising with a casual glance the clear blue of the afternoon sky. - -“What a vain old woman that Miss Leslie is!” she remarked to -Gerty--“Really she tries to pass herself off as about thirty!” - -Gerty sniffed, as usual. - -“Oh, I don’t think so, ’m!” she said--“I don’t think she tries to pass -herself off as anything, ’m! And I wouldn’t never call her vain. She’s -just the real lady, every inch of her, and of course she can’t help -herself lookin’ nice. And what a mercy it is for Master Boy to be took -away just now!--for I didn’t like to mention it before, ’m, but I don’t -know what we’re goin’ to do with the Cap’en,--he’s goin’ on worse than -ever,--an he’s bin an’ torn nearly every mossel of his clothes off,--an’ -a puffeckly disgraceful sight he is, ’m, lyin’ sprawled on the floor -a-playin’ ‘patience’!” - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Miss Letitia’s house, her “great big house,” as Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir had -expansively described it to Boy, was situated on the sunniest side of -Hans Place. It was tastefully built, and all the window-ledges had -floral boxes delightfully arranged with flowers growing in pots and -hanging baskets, over which on warm bright days spacious -crimson-and-white awnings stretched forth their protective shade, giving -the house-front quite a gay and foreign effect. The door was white, and -a highly-polished brass knocker glinted in the sunshine with an almost -knowing wink, as much as to say--“Use me--And you shall -see--Hospitalitee!” When Miss Letty’s brougham drove up, however, this -same knowing knocker was not called into requisition, for the butler had -heard the approaching wheels, and had seen the approaching trotting -roans through a little spy-window of his own in the hall, so that before -Miss Letty had stepped from the vehicle and had “jumped” her small -visitor out also, the door was opened and the butler himself stood, a -sedate figure of civil welcome on the threshold. Without betraying -himself by so much as a profane smile, this dignitary of the household -accepted the Cow and the brown paper parcel which constituted all Boy’s -belongings. He took them, so to speak, to his manly bosom, and then, -waving away the carriage, coachman, footman and horses with a slight yet -stately gesture, he shut the house door and followed his “lady” and the -“young gentleman” through the hall into a room which beamed with light, -warmth and elegance,--Miss Letty’s morning-room or boudoir--where, with -undisturbed serenity he set the Cow on the table between a cabinet -portrait of Mr. Balfour and a small bronze statuette of Mercury. The Cow -looked rather out of place there, but it did not matter. - -“Will you take tea, Madam?” he asked, in a voice rendered mellifluous by -the constant and careful practice of domestic gentleness. - -“No, thank you, Plimpton,” replied Miss Letty cheerfully; “we have had -tea. Just ring the bell for Margaret, will you?” - -Plimpton bowed, and withdrew, not forgetting to deposit the brown paper -parcel on a chair as he made his exit. Boy stood speechless, gazing -round him in a state of utter bewilderment, and only holding to any -sense of reality in things by keeping close to “Kiss-Letty,” and for the -further relief of his mind glancing occasionally at the familiar -“Dunny,” who presented the appearance of grazing luxuriously on an -embroidered velvet table-cloth. Instinctively aware of the little -fellow’s sudden shyness and touch of fear, Miss Letty did not allow him -to remain long oppressed by his vague trouble. Kneeling down beside him, -she took off his hat, pulled him out of his tiny overcoat, and kissed -his little fat cheeks heartily. - -“Now you are at home with Kiss-Letty,” she said, smiling straight into -his big innocent blue eyes,--“aren’t you?” - -Boy’s breath came and went quickly--his heart beat hard. He lifted one -dumpy hand and dubiously inserted a forefinger through the loops of Miss -Letty’s ever-convenient neck-chain. Then he smiled with responsive -sweetness into the kind face so close to his own. - -“‘Ess,” he murmured very softly, “Boy wiz Kiss-Letty! But me feels -awfoo’ funny!” - -Miss Letitia laughed and kissed him again. - -“Feels awfoo’ funny, do you?” she echoed. “Oh, but I feel just the same, -Boy! It’s awfoo’ funny for me to have you here all to myself, don’t you -think so?” - -Boy’s smile broadened--he began to chuckle,--there was the glimmering -perception of a joke somewhere in his brain. Just at that moment a -comfortable-looking woman in a neat black dress, with a smart white -apron, entered, and to her Miss Letty turned. - -“This is the dear little fellow I told you about, Margaret,” she said, -“the only son of the D’Arcy-Muirs. Master Boy he is called. Boy, will -you say ‘how do you do’ to Margaret?” - -Boy looked up. He was easier in his mind now and felt much more at home. - -“How do, Margit?” he said cheerfully. “Me tum to stay wiz Kiss-Letty.” - -“Bless the wee laddie!” exclaimed Margaret in the broad soft accent of -Inverness, of which lovely town she was a proud native; and down she -flopped on her knees, already the willing worshipper of one small -child’s winsomeness. “And a grand time ye’ll have of it, I’m thinking, -if ye’re as good as ye’re bonnie! Come away wi’ me now and I’ll wash -ye’r bit handies and put on anither suit,” for her quick eye had -perceived the brown paper parcel while her quick mind had guessed its -contents. “And what time will he be for bed, mem?” - -“What time do you go to bed, Boy?” asked Miss Letty, caressing his -curls. - -“Eight klock!” responded Boy promptly; “Gerty puts me in barf and zen in -bed.” - -Both Miss Leslie and her maid laughed. - -“Well, it will be just the same to-night,” said ‘Kiss-Letty’ gaily; -“only it will be Margaret instead of Gerty. But it’s a long way off -eight o’clock,--you go with Margaret now, and she will bring you back to -me in the drawing-room, and there you shall see some pictures.” - -Boy smiled at the prospect,--he was ready for anything now. He put his -hand trustfully in that of Margaret, merely observing in a casual sort -of way-- - -“Dunny tum wiz me.” - -Margaret looked round enquiringly. - -“He means his Cow,” explained Miss Letty, taking that animal from its -velvet pasture-land and handing it to her maid, who received it quite -respectfully. “Just remember, Margaret, will you, that he likes the Cow -on his bed! It sleeps with him always.” - -Mistress and maid exchanged a laughing glance, and then Boy trotted off. -Miss Letty watched him slowly stumping up her handsome staircase, -holding on to Margaret’s hand and chattering all the way, and a sudden -haze of tears blinded her sight. What she had missed in her life!--what -she had missed! She thought of it with no selfish regret, but only a -little aching pain, and even now she stilled that pain with a prayer--a -prayer that though God had not seen fit to bless her with the love of -husband or children she might still be of use in the world,--of use -perchance if only to shield and benefit this one little human life of -Boy’s which had attracted so much of her interest and affection. And -with this thought, dismissing her tears, she went up to her own room, -changed her walking dress for a graceful tea-gown of black Chantilly -lace which clothed her slender figure with becoming ease and dignity, -and went into her drawing-room, where, near the French window which -opened into a beautiful conservatory, stood a bluff, big gentleman with -a white moustache, chirruping tenderly to a plump bullfinch, which made -no secret of the infinite surprise it felt at such strange attempts to -imitate melodious warbling. Miss Leslie uttered a low exclamation of -pleasure. - -“Why, Dick,” she said, “this is delightful! I thought you had gone -abroad?” - -“So I was going,” responded Dick--otherwise Major Desmond, advancing to -take Miss Letty’s outstretched hand and raise it gallantly to his -lips,--“but just as I was about to start, I read in the newspapers of a -fellow--a man who was once in my regiment--who had got insulted by a -dirty ragamuffin of a chap in the Custom-house on the French -frontier,--and I said to myself--‘What!--am I going out of England to be -treated as if I were a thief, and have my portmanteau searched by a -Frenchy? No!--as an English officer I won’t submit to it! I will stay at -home!’ It was a sudden resolution. You know I’m a fellow to make sudden -resolutions, am’t I, Letty? Well, give you my word, I never looked upon -Custom-house regulations in the same light as I do now! Come to think of -it, you know, directly we leave our own shores we’re treated like -thieves and rascals by all the foreigners,--and why should we expose -ourselves to it? Eh? I say _why_?” - -Miss Leslie laughed. - -“Well, I’m sure _I_ don’t know why,” she answered. “Only I rather wonder -you never thought of all this before. You have always gone abroad some -time in the year, you know.” - -The Major pulled his white moustache thoughtfully. - -“Yes, I have,” he admitted. “And why the devil--I beg your pardon!--I -have done it I can’t imagine. England’s good enough for anybody. There’s -too much gadding about everywhere nowadays. And the world seems to me to -shrink in consequence. Shrink! by Jove!--it’s no bigger than a billiard -ball!” - -Miss Letty smiled, and said “Sweet!” to her bullfinch, which straightway -warbled with delightful inaccuracy the quaint air of “The Whistling -Coon.” - -“Bravo! Bravo!” exclaimed Major Desmond, after listening attentively to -the little bird’s performance. “Now why the chap couldn’t do that for me -I can’t understand. I have been chirruping to him till my tongue -aches--and couldn’t get a note out of him. Only a wink. You just say -‘sweet’ and off he starts. Well, and what have you been doing with -yourself, Letty? You look very fit.” - -“Oh, I’m always ‘fit’ as you call it,” said Miss Leslie placidly. “I -live the same quiet life month after month, you know, and I suppose it’s -scarcely possible for anything to go very wrong with me. I have passed -through my storm and stress. The days go by now all in the same even, -monotonous way.” - -Major Desmond took two or three turns up and down the room. - -“Well, if you find it even and monotonous to be doing good all your -time,” he observed, “I can only say that I wish a few more people would -indulge in monotony! But don’t you mean to have a change?” - -“Oh, I have provided a little distraction for myself,” said Miss Letty, -smiling demurely; “I have got a young man to stay with me for a few -days.” - -“Young man!” exclaimed the Major. “Well, upon my word----” here he -stopped short, for at that moment Boy, attired in his best suit of white -flannel, his face shining with recent ablutions, and his golden hair -brushed into a shining aureole of curls round his brow, trotted into the -room with a cheerful confidence and assertiveness quite wonderful to -see. - -“Ullo, Major!” he exclaimed: “Zoo tum to see Boy?” - -Major Desmond rose to the occasion at once. - -“Of course!” he said, and lifting Boy in his arms he set him on his -broad shoulder. “Of course I have come to see you! Impossible to keep -away knowing you to be here!” - -Boy chuckled. - -“Me tum to stay wiz Kiss-Letty,” he announced. - -“So I perceive,” replied the Major--and turning to Miss Leslie he said, -“This is the young man, eh, Letty? Well, however did you manage to get -hold of him?” - -“I will tell you all about it at dinner,” she answered in a low tone. -“You will stay and dine?” - -“With pleasure--in fact I hoped you would ask me,” responded the Major -frankly; “I’m sick of club food.” - -Boy from his lifted position on the Major’s shoulder had been quietly -surveying everything in the room. He now pointed to a copy of -Burne-Jones’s “Golden Stair.” - -“Pitty ladies,” he remarked. - -“Yes,” agreed Major Desmond, “very pitty! All so good and sweet and -lovely, aren’t they, Boy? Each one sweeter, gooder, lovelier as they -come,--and all so full of pleasant thoughts that they have almost grown -alike. One ideal of goodness taking many forms!” - -He spoke to himself now and not to Boy--and his eyes rested musingly on -Miss Letty. She was just setting a large vase of roses on the grand -piano. She looked from his distance a very gentle, fragile lady--dainty -and elegant too--almost young. - -“Kiss-Letty wiz ze roses,” observed Boy. - -“Just so!” agreed the Major, “and that is where she always is, Boy! -Roses mean everything that is good and sweet and wholesome, and I should -not wonder if ‘Kiss-Letty’ was not something of a rose itself in her -way!” - -“Oh, Dick!” expostulated Miss Letty, “how can you talk such nonsense to -the child! What flattery to an old woman like me!” - -“Boy doesn’t know whether I’m talking nonsense or the utmost wisdom,” -responded the Major undauntedly. “And as I have often told you, you will -never be old to me, Letty. You are the best friend I ever had, and if -friends are not the roses of life, I should like to know what flowers -they do represent! And what I have said before, I say again, that I’m -ready to marry you to-morrow if you’ll have me.” - -“Oh, dear me!” sighed Miss Leslie, with a little tremulous laugh. “Just -think! Saying such a thing before Boy!” - -“Boy! I guarantee he doesn’t understand a word I have been talking -about. Eh, Boy? Do you know what I have been saying to ‘Kiss-Letty’?” - -Boy looked down at him with a profound air of cherubic wisdom. - -“Wants marry Kiss-Letty ’morrow if ’ave me,” he said solemnly. - -And then Major Desmond had one of his alarming laughs,--a laugh which -threatened to dislodge Boy altogether from his position and throw him -headlong on the floor. Miss Letty laughed too, but more gently, and on -her pale cheeks there was a rosy tinge suggestive of a blush. - -“Well, well!” said the Major, recovering from his hilarity at -last,--“Boy is not such a fool as he looks, evidently! There, Letty, I -won’t tease you any more. But you are very obstinate, you know,--yes, -you are! What does Longfellow say?-- - - ‘Trust no future, howe’er pleasant, - Let the dead past bury its dead: - Act, act, in the living present, - Heart within and God o’erhead.’ - -That’s wholesome stuff, Letty. I like Longfellow because he is always -straight. Some poets go giggetting about in all sorts of dark corners -and pop out suddenly upon you with a fire-cracker of a verse which you -can’t understand a bit, because all the meaning fizzles out while you -are looking at it,--but Longfellow!--‘Let the dead past bury its dead.’ -That’s sense, Letty. And ‘Act, act in the living present.’ Why, that’s -sense too. And why don’t you do it?” - -“I think I try to do it,” answered Miss Letty quietly; “I like to be -useful wherever I go. But for me there is no dead past, as you know,--it -lives always with me and makes the best and sweetest part of the -present.” - -“There, I suppose I’ve been putting my foot in it again!” muttered Major -Desmond, somewhat disconsolately. “You know I never meant to suggest -that you did not do all the good you could and more than is necessary in -your life, but what I see in Longfellow’s line is that you should ‘act, -act in the living present’ for yourself, Letty. For yourself--make -yourself happy, as well as others--make _me_ happy! Now, wouldn’t that -be a praiseworthy deed?” - -“Not at all,” replied Miss Letty, smiling, “for you deserve to be much -happier than I could ever make you. You know there are many charming -young women you could marry.” - -“No, I don’t know anything of the sort,” said the Major decisively. “The -young women of the present day are all hussies--brazen-faced hussies, in -my opinion. Girls don’t blush any more nowadays; men blush for them. -No--you’re not going to get rid of me in that way, Letty. At my age I’m -not going to be such a vain old ass as to go smirking after girls who -would only laugh at me behind my back. I don’t believe in philandering, -but I believe in love--yes, love at all ages and in all seasons--but it -must be the real thing and no sham about it.” Here he stopped, for Boy -was wriggling on his shoulder and showing unmistakable signs of wishing -to go free; so he gently set him down. “There you are, little chap!--and -there you go--straight for the roses and ‘Kiss-Letty’! Lucky rascal!” -This as Boy trotted up to Miss Leslie and stretched his short arms -caressingly round her soft lace skirts. - -“Where’s booful pick-shures?” he demanded; “Boy likes pick-shures.” - -Miss Leslie then bethought herself that she had promised he should see -some ‘booful pick-shures’ when he came into the drawing-room, and -turning towards a pile of _éditions de luxe_ in large quarto of famous -works such as “Don Quixote,” “Idylls of the King,” and Dante’s “Divina -Commedia,” she hesitated. - -“Which shall I give him, Dick?” she asked the Major. - -“Put ’em all on the floor and let him choose for himself,” was the -reply. “I believe in treating children like lambs and birds--let them -frisk and fly about in the fields of general information as they -like,--choose their own bits of grass as it were. Now here’s a -quintessence of brain for you,”--and he lifted four large volumes off -the side-table where they generally stood and placed them on the -floor--“Come here, Boy! Shakespeare, Dante, Cervantes, Tennyson!--Never -heard of ’em, did you? No!--but you will probably have the pleasure of -making the acquaintance of all four of ’em in a few years. That’s where -the wonderful immortality of genius comes in,--the dead author is -spiritually able to shake hands with and talk to each and every -generation which follows him. There is a wonderful secret in the power -of expressed thought if we could only fathom it. Now, which one are you -going for first?” - -Boy sat down on the floor and considered. One or two of the big books he -opened cautiously and looked in as though expecting to see some strange -living object inside,--then he shut them quickly, smiling mysteriously -to himself the while. Then in the same doubtful way he peeped into the -second volume of Dante entitled “Paradiso”--and lo! a picture of angels -ascending and descending--one of Doré’s most wonderful conceptions of -forms of light portrayed in a dazzling atmosphere,--and his blue eyes -sparkled--he opened the book wider and wider--till the whole page burst -upon his view, whereupon he curled down closer still and stared -silently. Miss Letty seated herself in a low chair, and took out some -dainty embroidery, and while her swift needle went in and out with a -bright-coloured silk behind it, which wove a flower as it moved, she -watched the little fellow, and Major Desmond sitting opposite to her did -the same. The bullfinch began a scrap of his ‘aria’ but broke off to -preen his wing,--and there was a silence in the pretty room while Boy’s -innocent little face drooped in a rapture over the pictured scene of -heavenly glory. Not a word did he utter,--but merely drew a long breath -like a sigh, and his eyes darkened with an expression of wistful -gravity. Then he turned over a few more pages and came upon that most -exquisite “Cross” of Doré’s imagination, where the dying Saviour of the -world hangs crucified, but is surrounded at every point by angels. This -seemed to fascinate him more than the other, and he remained absorbed -for many minutes, enrapt and speechless. Some unaccountable influence -held Miss Leslie and her old friend Dick Desmond silent too. The -thoughts of both were very busy. The Major had a secret in his soul -which, had he declared it, would have well-nigh killed Letitia -Leslie,--he knew that the man she had loved, and whose memory she -honoured with such faithful devotion, had been nothing but a heartless -scamp, who in an unguarded moment had avowed to him, Major Desmond, that -he was going to throw over Letty when he got back from India, as he was -‘on’ with a much prettier and wealthier woman; but he had never ‘got -back from India’ to carry out his intention--death had seized him in the -heyday of his career, and Letty believed he had died loving her, and her -only. Who would have undeceived her? Who would have poisoned the faith -of that simple trusting heart? Not Dick Desmond certainly; though he had -himself loved her for nearly twenty years, and being of a steadfast -nature had found it impossible to love any one else. And he was more -content to have her as a friend than to have the most charming ‘other -woman’ as a wife. And he had jogged on quietly till now--well, now he -was fifty, and Letty was forty-five. - -“We’re getting on--by Jove, yes!--we’re getting on!” mused Dick. “And -just think what that dead rascal out in India has cost us! Our very -lives! All sacrificed! Well, never mind!--I would not spoil Letty’s -belief in her sweetheart for the world.” - -And yet he could not help feeling it to be a trifle ‘hard,’ as he felt -the charm of Letty’s quiet presence, and saw Boy bending over Doré’s -picture of the “Cross.” - -“If--if she would have had me, we might have had a child of our own -like that,” he mused dolefully; “and as it is, the poor little chap has -got a drunken beast for a father and a slovenly fool for a mother! Well, -well--God arranges things in a queer way, and I must say, without -irreverence, it doesn’t seem at all a clear or a just way to me. Why the -innocent should suffer for the guilty (and they always do) is a -mystery.” - -Letty, meanwhile, was thinking too. Such sweet and holy -thoughts!--thoughts of her dead lover,--her ‘brave, true Harry,’ as she -was wont to call him in her own mind--a mind which was as white and pure -as the ‘Taj-Mahal,’ and which enshrined this same ‘Harry’ in its midst -as a heroic figure of stately splendour and godlike honour. No man was -ever endowed by woman with more virtues than Letty gave to her dead -betrothed, and her faith in him was so perfect that she had become -content with her loneliness because she felt that it was only for a -little while,--that soon she and her beloved would meet again never to -part. Is it impossible to believe that the steadfast faith and love of a -good woman may uplift the departed spirit of an unworthy man out of an -uttermost Hell by its force and purity? Surely in these days, when we -are discovering what marvellous properties there are in simple light, -and the passing of sound through space, it would be foolish to deny the -probability of noble Thought radiating to unmeasured distances, and -affecting for good those who are gone from us, whom we loved on -earth,--and whose present state and form of life we are not as yet -permitted to behold. Anyway, whatever wonders lie hidden in waiting for -us behind Death’s dark curtain, it may be conceded that the unfaithful -soul of the man she loved was in no wise injured by Miss Letty’s -remembering tenderness and prayers, but rather strengthened and -sustained. She was touched just now by Boy’s admiration of the pictured -angels,--and to her always thoughtful mind there was something quaint in -the spectacle of the little wondering fellow bending over the abstruse -Great Poem of Italy which arose to life and being through the poet’s own -Great Wrong. Little did the enemies of Dante dream that their names -would be committed to lasting execration in a Hell so immortal as the -‘Inferno,’--though it is to be deplored that so supreme a writer should -have thought it worth his while to honour, by handing down to posterity, -the names of those who were as nobodies compared with himself. However -he, like other old-world poets, was not permitted to see his fate beyond -his own lifetime. We are wiser in our generation. We know that the more -an author’s work is publicly praised the more likely it is to die -quickly and immediately,--and those who desire their thoughts to last, -and to carry weight with future generations, should pray for the -condemnation of their present compeers in order to be in tune with the -slow but steady pulse-beat of Fame. One has only to look back through a -few centuries to see the list of the Despised who are now become the -Glorious--and a study of contemporary critics on the works of Sir Walter -Scott and Charles Dickens, is a very wholesome lesson to the untried -writer of books who is afraid of the little acrimonies of Fleet Street. -To lead the world one must first be crucified,--this is the chief lesson -of practical Christianity. - -“Rather curious,” said Major Desmond at last, nodding towards Boy, and -speaking softly as if he were in church, “how he seems to like those -fanciful things!” - -Miss Letty smiled. - -“Boy!” - -Boy looked up with a start. - -“Do you like the picture-book?” - -Boy gave no answer in words. He merely nodded and placed one dumpy hand -on the “Cross of Angels,” to keep the place. Suddenly, however, he found -voice. He had turned over a few more pages, though still careful not to -lose the picture he had selected as his favourite, when he stopped and -exclaimed breathlessly,-- - -“Boy bin there!” - -The Major, with remarkable alertness, went down on the floor beside him -and looked over his golden head. - -“Boy been there! Nonsense! What! In that wonderful garden, with all -those flowers and trees and lovely angels flying about! Boy couldn’t -get there if he tried!” - -Boy looked at him with solemnly reproachful eyes. - -“Tell ’oo Boy bin there,” he repeated. “Boy seen f’owers and boo’ful -people! Boy knows _vezy_ well about it!” - -The Major became interested. - -“Oh, all right!--I don’t wish to contradict you, little chappie!” he -said with a cheery and confidential air,--“But when were you there last, -eh?” - -Boy considered--his rosy lips tightened, and his fair brows puckered in -a frown of mental puzzlement. - -“Me dunno,” he replied at last: “long, long time ‘go--awfoo’ long!” and -he gave a deep sigh. “Dunno ’ow long--” here he studied the picture -again with an approving air of familiarity. “But Boy ’members it;--pitty -p’ace,--pitty flowers,--all bwight,--awfoo’ bwight!--’ess! me ’members -it!” - -The Major got up from his knees, dusted his trousers, and looked -quizzically at Miss Letty. - -“Odd little rascal,” he observed, _sotto voce_. “Doesn’t know a bit what -he is jabbering about!” - -Miss Letty’s soft blue eyes rested on the child thoughtfully. - -“I’m not sure about that, Dick,” she said. “We are rather arrogant, we -old worldly-wise people, in our estimate of children;--Boy _may_ -remember where he came from, and the imagination of a great artist may -have recalled to him a true reality.” - -Her voice was very sweet,--her face expressed a faith and hope which -made it beautiful; and Dick Desmond, in his quick, impulsive fashion, -caught one of her little white hands and raised it to his lips with all -the gallant grace of a soldier and a gentleman. - -“God bless you, Letty!” he said heartily; “I know very well where _you_ -came from!--and I don’t want any picture but yourself to remind me of -the fact!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -That evening, after Boy had gone to bed, Miss Leslie and the Major -discussed the possibilities of his future with great and affectionate -interest. - -“Of course,” said Desmond, “it is a splendid chance for the boy,--but, -Letty, that is just the very reason that I am afraid he will not be -allowed to have it. The affairs of humanity are arranged in a very -curiously jumbled-up fashion, and I have always found that when some -specially good luck appears about to favour a deserving person, -something unfavourable comes in the way and prevents him getting it. And -Fortune frequently showers her choicest gifts on the most unworthy -scoundrels, male and female, that burden this earth’s surface. It’s -odd--it’s unfair, but it’s true.” - -“Not always,” said Miss Leslie, gently. “You really must not get into -the habit of looking on the worst side of life, Dick.” - -“I won’t,” responded the Major promptly--“at least, not when you’re -looking at me. Out of your sight I can do as I like!” - -Miss Letty laughed. Then she returned to the chief subject of interest. - -“You see,” she said, “it is not as if the D’Arcy-Muirs were rich and had -plenty of opportunities for their son’s advance in life. They certainly -have enough to live comfortably on, if they are frugal and careful, but -the man is so incorrigible----” - -“And the woman,” put in Major Desmond. - -“Well, yes--she too is incorrigible in another way,--but after all -slovenliness can scarcely be called a sin.” - -“I think it can,” said the Major emphatically. “A slovenly woman is an -eyesore and creates discord and discomfort by her very appearance. She -is a walking offence. And when slovenliness is combined with -obstinacy,--by Jove, Letty!--I tell you pigs going the wrong way home -are easy driving compared to Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir!” - -“Yes, I know!” and for a moment Miss Leslie’s even brows puckered in a -little vexed line. “And her obstinacy is of such a strange kind,--all -about the merest trifles! She argues on the question of a teacup or a -duster to the extreme verge of silliness, but in important matters, such -as the health or well-being of her husband--or of Boy--she lets -everything go to pieces without a word of protest!” - -“Delightful creature!” murmured the Major, sipping his glass of port -wine with a relish: they were at dessert, and he was very -comfortable,--pleased with the elegance of the table, which glistened -with old silver, delicate glass, and tastefully arranged flowers,--and -still more pleased with the grace and kindness of his gentle -hostess,--“I remember her before Jim married her. A handsome large -creature with a slow smile,--one of those smiles which begin in the -exact middle of the lips, spread to the corners and gradually widen all -over the face,--an indiarubber smile I call it,--but the men who took to -her in her young days used to rave over her smile, and one idiot said -she had ‘magnificent maternal brows like the Niobe in Florence.’ Good -old Niobe! Yes, Letty,--there are a certain set of fellows who always -lose their heads on large women,--the larger the better, give you my -word! They never consider that the large girl will become a larger -matron, and unless attacked by a wasting disease (which heaven forfend) -will naturally grow larger every year. And I tell you, Letty, there is -nothing in the world that kills a romantic passion so surely and -hopelessly as Fat! Ah, you may laugh!--but it is a painful truth. -Poetry--moonlight--music--kisses--all that pleasant stuff and nonsense -melt before Fat. I have never met a man yet who was in love with a fat, -really fat woman! And if a slim girl marries and gets fat in the years -to come, her husband, poor chap, may deplore it,--deeply deplore it--but -it’s very distressing--he cannot help it--his romance dies under it. -Dies utterly! Ah! We’re weak creatures, we men, we cannot stand Fat. We -like plumpness,--oh yes! We like round rosy curves and dimples, but not -actual Fat. Now, Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir will become--indeed has become Fat.” - -“Dear me!” and Miss Leslie laughed, “you really are quite eloquent, -Dick! I never heard you go on in this way before. Poor Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir! -She really has no alternative----” - -“No alternative but to become Fat?” enquired the Major, solemnly glaring -over his port wine. - -“Now you know I don’t mean it in that way,” laughed Miss Leslie. “You -really are incorrigible! What I wished to point out was, that when a -woman finds that her husband doesn’t care a bit how she looks or what -she wears, she is apt to become careless.” - -“It doesn’t follow that because a man is a churl a woman should lose her -self-respect,” said the Major. “Surely she should take a pride in being -clean and looking as well as she can for her own sake. Then in this -particular case there is Boy.” - -“Yes--there is Boy,” agreed Miss Letty meditatively. “And he certainly -does notice things.” - -“Notice things? I should think he does! He is always noticing. He -notices his mother’s untidiness, and he notices his father’s -disgracefulness. If I were Jim D’Arcy-Muir I should be ashamed to meet -that little chap’s eyes.” - -Miss Letty sighed. - -“Do you think,” she asked after a pause, “they will let me have him?” - -The Major considered,--and for some minutes sat twirling the ends of his -white moustache reflectively. - -“Well, to tell you the truth, Letty, I don’t,” he said at last,--“I -don’t believe they will for a moment. Some parents would refuse your -offer on account of their love and affection for the child, and their -own natural desire not to part with him. That will not be the -D’Arcy-Muirs’ reason. They will simply argue that you are trying to -‘patronise’ them. It will be exactly like their muddled minds to put it -that way. They will say, ‘She thinks we are going to put our son under -obligations to her for her money.’ And though they conduct themselves -like pigs they think a great deal of themselves in a ‘county-family’ -fashion. No, Letty--I’m afraid you won’t get a chance of doing any good -in that quarter. But if you like I will take soundings--that is, I will -suggest the idea of such a thing and see how they take it. What do you -say?” - -“Oh, I wish you would!” said Miss Letty earnestly. “You see you know -Captain D’Arcy-Muir----” - -“Well, in a way,--yes, I know him in a way,” corrected the Major; “I -used to know him better than I do now. He was never in my regiment, -thank the Lord! But I will try to get hold of him in a sober moment, and -see what can be done. But I don’t give out any hopes of him.” - -“Oh, Dick!” sighed Miss Letty. - -“Well, I shall be very sorry for your disappointment, Letty,--very -sorry--and sorrier still for the little chap, for I think his life -literally hangs on the balance of this chance. If he is not allowed to -take it, all the worse for him,--he will come to no good, I fear.” - -“Don’t say that!” pleaded Miss Leslie, with pain in her voice; “don’t -say that!” - -“All right, I won’t say it,” said the Major, expressing however in his -face and tone of voice that he would probably think it all the same. -“But the world is a bad place to fight in if you are not thoroughly well -equipped for the battle. God made the world, so we are told, but I doubt -whether He wished it to be quite as overcrowded as it is just now. All -the professions--all the trades--all the arts--overdone! Army no -go,--Navy no go. If you are a soldier and get any chance of facing fire, -you know just what your reward is likely to be, unless you are a -Kitchener. You may get a V.C., and after that the workhouse, like some -of the Crimean heroes. And in the Navy you get literally nothing but -very poor pay. The best thing for a man now is to be an explorer, and -even when you are that, the world cannot be persuaded to believe that -you have explored anything, or been anywhere. You have simply been -sitting at home and reading up!” He laughed, and then went on, “If you -get Boy what are you going to do with him?” - -“I shall see what he likes to do best himself,” said Letty. - -“At present he likes to hug you and see ‘pick-shures’ of heavenly -places,” said the Major. “That’s a bad sign, Letty! Woman and Art spells -ruin like theatrical speculation! Well! Come and have a game of chess -with me before I go home to my lonely bachelor rooms;--it is really too -bad of you to make a sour old man of me in this way!” - -Miss Leslie laughed heartily. - -“No one will ever call you a sour old man, Dick,” she said as she rose -from the table. “You are the most genial and generous-hearted fellow I -know.” - -“Then why won’t you have me?” pleaded Desmond. - -“Oh, you know why,” said Letty. “What is the use of going over it all -again?” - -“Going over it all--yes--I know!” said the Major dismally. “You have got -it into your head that if you were to marry me, and that then afterwards -we died--as we shall do--and went to Heaven--which is a question--you -would find your Harry up there in the shape of a stern reproving angel, -ready to scold you for having a little happiness and sympathy on earth -when he was not there. Now, if things are to be arranged in that way, -some folks will be in awful trouble. The ladies who have had several -husbands,--the husbands who have had several wives,--stern reproving -angels all round,--good gracious! What a row there will be! Fact is -fact, Letty,--there cannot possibly be peace in Heaven under such -circumstances!” - -“Do stop talking such nonsense,” said Miss Leslie, still laughing. -“Really I begin to wish you had gone abroad after all!” - -“No, you don’t,” said Dick confidently, as he followed her into the -drawing-room. “You are pleased to see me, you know you are! Hullo! -Here’s Margaret. What’s up? Something wrong with Boy?” - -“Oh no, sir,” said Margaret, who had just entered the room; “but I -thought perhaps Miss Leslie would like to see him asleep. He is just the -bonniest wee bairnie!” - -“Oh, I must go and look at him!” said Miss Letty eagerly. “Will you come -too, Dick?” - -The Major assented with alacrity, and they followed Margaret upstairs, -treading softly and on tiptoe as they entered the pretty airy room -selected for Boy’s slumbers. It was a large room, and one corner of it -was occupied by the big bed allotted to Margaret. In an arched recess, -draped with white muslin, was a smaller and daintier couch,--and here -Boy lay in his first sleep, his fair curls tossed on the pillow, his -round soft face rosy with warmth and health, his pretty mouth slightly -parted in a smile. Miss Leslie bent over him tenderly and kissed his -forehead,--Major Desmond looked on in contemplative and somewhat awed -silence. Presently he noticed a piece of string tied to the little -fellow’s wrist. Pointing to it he whispered solemnly, - -“What’s that?” - -Margaret smiled. - -“Oh, he just begged me to get him a bit of string,” she said. “He said -he always had to fasten his Cow up at night lest it should run away!” -Margaret laughed. “Bless the wee lad! And there you see is the Cow at -the foot of the bed, and he has tied it to the string in that way -himself!” - -“Good gracious me!” said the Major, staring, “I never heard of such a -thing in my life! And the Cow can’t run away! Lucky Cow!” - -Boy stirred in his sleep and smiled. A slight movement of the chubby -wrist to which the beloved “Dunny” was tied caused it to wag its movable -head automatically, and for a moment it looked quite a sentient thing -nodding wisely over unexpressed and inexpressible pastoral problems. - -“Come away,” then said Miss Letty gently. “We shall wake him if we -remain any longer.” - -“Yes,” said the Major dreamily, “we shall wake him! And then the Cow -might bolt, or take to tossing somebody on its horns, which would be -very alarming! God bless my soul! What a little chap it is! Beginning to -look after a cow at his time of life!--a budding farmer, upon my word! -Letty, Australia is the place for him,--a wild prairie and cattle, you -know,--he is evidently a born rancher!” - -Letty laughed, and they left the room together. Margaret watched them as -they went downstairs, and gave a little regretful sigh. - -“Poor dear Miss Letty!” she thought. “The sweetest lady that ever lived, -and no man has ever been wise enough to find it out and marry her.” - -She bent over Boy’s bed and carefully adjusted the coverlet to keep him -warm, then lowering the light, left him sleeping peacefully with “Dunny” -on guard. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -It is a trite axiom, but no less true than trite, that we are always -happiest when we are most unconscious of happiness,--when the simple -fact of mere existence is enough for us,--when we do not know how, or -when, or where the causes for our pleasure come in, and when we are -content to live as the birds and flowers live, just for the one day’s -innocent delight, untroubled by any thoughts concerning the past or -future. This is a state of mind which is generally supposed to vanish -with early youth, though there are some few peculiarly endowed natures, -sufficiently well poised, and confident of the flowing in of eternal -goodness everywhere, to be serenely joyous with all the trust of a -little child to the very extreme of old age. But even with men and women -not so fortunately situated the days when they were happy without -knowing it remain put away in their memories as the sweetest time of -life, and are recalled to them again and again with more or less -poignancy, when pain and disappointment, deceit, cruelty, and harshness -unwind the rose-coloured veil of romance from persons and things and -show them the world at its worst. Boy, in the house of Miss Letitia -Leslie, was just now living the unconscious life, and making for himself -such a picture gallery of sweet little souvenirs as were destined to -return to him in years to come sharpened with pain, and embittered by a -profitless regret. Every morning he rose up to some new and harmless -delight, among surroundings of perfect sweetness and peace,--order, -cleanliness, kindness, good-humour and cheerfulness were the hourly -investiture of the household,--and after he had been with “Kiss-Letty” -two or three days Boy began dimly to wonder whether there really was -such an individual as “Poo Sing,” or such a large lady as “Muzzy,” in -the world. Not that the little fellow was forgetful of his parents,--but -the parents themselves were of so hazy, and vague, and undeterminate a -character that the individuality of the servant Gerty was far more real -and actual to the infant mind of their son than their distinguished -personalities. It is to be feared that Boy would have been but faintly -sorry had he been told he was never to see his “kind good Muzzy” any -more. This was not Boy’s fault by any means; the blame rested entirely -with the “kind good Muzzy” herself. And probably if Boy had felt any -regrets about it they would have been more for the parting from the “Poo -Sing” gentleman who was so often ill. For the delusive notion of chronic -illness on the part of “Poo Sing” had got firmly fixed into Boy’s -little head,--he felt the situation to be serious,--he was full of a -wistful and wondering compassion, and he had a vague idea that his Dads -did not get on so well without him. But this he kept to himself. He was -for the present perfectly happy, and wished for no more delightful -existence than that which he enjoyed in the company of “Kiss-Letty.” He -was going through some wonderful experiences of life as well. For -instance, he was taken for the first time to the Zoo, and had a ride on -an elephant,--a ride which filled him with glory and terror. Glory that -he could ride an elephant,--for he thought it was entirely his own skill -that guided and controlled the huge beast’s gentle meanderings along the -smoothly rolled paths of the gardens, and terror lest, skilful and -powerful though he was, he should fall, deeply humiliated, out of the -howdah in which he was proudly seated. Then he was taken to Earl’s Court -Exhibition, and became so wearied with the wonders there shown to him -from all parts of the world,--there were so many wonders--and the world -seemed so immense,--that he fell fast asleep while going round a strange -pond in a strange boat called a Venetian gondola, and Major Desmond took -him up in his arms, and he remembered nothing more till he found himself -in his little bed with Margaret tucking him up and making him cosy. Then -there were the days when he was not taken out sightseeing at all, but -simply stayed with Miss Letty and accompanied her everywhere, and he was -not sure that he did not like these times best of all. For after his -dinner in the middle of the day, and before they went for their drive, -“Kiss-Letty” would take him on her knee and tell him the most beautiful -and amazing fairy stories,--descriptions of aerial palaces and -glittering-winged elves, which fascinated him and kept him in -open-mouthed ecstacy,--and somehow or other he learned a good deal out -of what he heard. Miss Leslie was not a brilliant woman, but she was -distinctly cultured and clever, and she had a way of narrating some of -the true histories of the world as though they were graceful fantasies. -In this fashion she told Boy of the discovery of America by Christopher -Columbus,--and ever afterwards the famous navigator remained in Boy’s -mind as a sort of fairy king who had made a new world. Happy indeed were -all those first lessons he received concerning the great and good things -done by humanity,--sweet and refining was the influence thus exerted -upon him,--and if such peaceful days could have gone on expanding -gradually around his life the more that life needed them, who can say -what might not have been the beneficial result? But it often seems as if -some capricious fate interfered between the soul and its environment; -where happiness might be perfect, the particular ingredient of -perfection is held back or altogether denied,--and truly there would -seem to be no good reason for this. Stoic philosophy would perhaps -suggest that the fortunate environment is held back from the individual -in order that he may create it for himself, and mould his own nature in -the struggle,--but then it so often happens that this holding back -affects the nature that is not qualified either by birth or -circumstances to enfranchise itself. A grand environment is frequently -bestowed on a low and frivolous character that has not, and never will -have, any appreciation of its fortunate position, while all rights, -privileges, and advancements are obstinately refused to the soul that -would most gladly and greatly have valued them. And so it was fated to -be with Boy. The happy days of his visit to Miss Letty came, as all -happy days must do, to an end; and one morning, as he sat at breakfast -eating a succulent slice of bread-and-jam, he was startled to see -“Kiss-Letty’s” blue eyes brimming over with tears. Amazing grief and -fear took possession of him,--he put down his bread-and-jam and looked -pitifully at his kind friend and hostess. - -“Zoo kyin’, Kiss-Letty,” he said: “Where does it hurt oo?” - -Miss Letty tried to smile, but only feebly succeeded. She could have -answered that “it” hurt her everywhere. “It” was a letter from Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir requesting that Boy might be returned to his home that -afternoon. And Miss Letty knew that this peremptory summons meant that -her wish to adopt Boy was frustrated and that the cause was lost. She -looked tenderly at the sweet little face that was turned so wistfully -to hers, and said gently though with a slight quiver about her lips,-- - -“Muzzy wants you, darling! I am to take you home to her to-day.” - -Boy gave no reply. It was the first difficult moral situation of his -life, and it was hardly to be wondered at that he found it almost too -much for him. The plain fact of the matter was that, however much -“Muzzy” wanted him, he did not want “Muzzy.” Nor did he at all wish to -go home. But he had already a dim consciousness of the awful “must” set -over us by human wills, which, unlike God’s will, are not always working -for good,--and he had a glimmering perception that he was bound to -submit to these inferior orders till the time came when he could create -his own “must” and abide by it. But he could not put these vague -emotions into speech; all he did was to lose his appetite for -bread-and-jam and to stare blankly at “Kiss-Letty.” She meanwhile put -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s letter in her pocket, and tried to assume her usual -bright and cheerful air, but with very poor success. For in truth she -was greatly disappointed,--and when she lifted Boy out of his chair at -the table and set him down on the floor with a very fascinating toy in -the shape of a ‘merry-go-round’ moved by clockwork, which however he -contemplated this morning with a faint sense of the futility of all -earthly pleasures, she was vaguely troubled by presentiments to which -she could give no name. The hours wore on languidly--and it was with a -sense of something like relief that she heard a sharp rat-tat-tat at the -door, and a minute afterwards Major Desmond’s cheery voice in the hall. -She went out to meet him, leaving Boy with his toys in her -morning-room,--but one glance at his face confirmed all her worst fears. - -“It’s no go, Letty!” he said regretfully, as he shook hands. “I’ve done -my best. But I’ll tell you where the trouble is. It’s the woman. I could -manage D’Arcy-Muir, but not that stout play-actress. When D’Arcy-Muir is -sober he sees clearly enough, and realizes quite well what a capital -chance it is for the little chap; but there is no doing anything with -his jelly-fish of a wife. She bridles all over with offence at your -proposition--says she has her own ideas for Boy’s education and future -prospects. Nice ideas they are likely to be! Well! It’s no use -fretting--you must resign yourself to the inevitable, Letty, and give up -your pet project.” - -Miss Letty listened with apparently unmoved composure while he -spoke,--then when he had finished she said quietly,-- - -“Yes, I suppose I must. Of course I cannot press the point. One must not -urge separation between mother and child. Oh yes, I must give it -up”--this with a little pained smile--“I have had to give up so many -hopes and joys in life that one more disappointment ought not to matter -so much, ought it? Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir has written to me--I am to take Boy -back this afternoon.” - -The Major’s tender heart was troubled, but he would not offer his friend -any consolation,--he knew that the least said the soonest mended in such -cases,--and he saw that Miss Letty was just then too vexed and grieved -to bear many words even from him. So he went in to Boy, and wound up his -clockwork ‘merry-go-round’ for him, and told him fabulous stories of -giants,--giants who, though terrible enough to hold the world in awe, -were yet unable to resist the fascinations of “hasty pudding,” and -killed themselves by eating too much of that delicacy in an unguarded -moment. Which remarkable narratives, in their grotesque incongruity, -conveyed the true lesson that a strong or giant mind may be frequently -destroyed by indulgence in one vice; though Boy was too young to look -for morals in fairy legends, and accepted these exciting histories as -veracious facts. And so the morning passed pleasantly after all,--though -now and then a wistful look came into Boy’s eyes, and a shadow crossed -the placid fairness of “Kiss-Letty’s” brow when either of the two -chanced to think of the coming parting from each other. Boy however did -not imagine it so much of a parting as Miss Letty knew it would be; he -had a firm belief that though he was going home to “Muzzy” he should -still see a great deal of his “Kiss-Letty” all the same. She on the -contrary knew enough of Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s obstinate disposition to be -quite certain of the fact that because a hint had been thrown out by -Major Desmond as to the advantages of her adopting Boy, she would be -forced to see less of him than ever. Strange it is, and in a manner -terrible, that the future of a whole life should be suspended thus -between two human wills!--the one working for pure beneficence, the -other for selfishness, and that the selfish side should win the day! -These are mysteries which none can fathom; but it too often happens that -a man’s career has been decided for good or evil by the amenities or -discords of his parents, and their quarrels or agreements as to the -manner of his education. - -It was with a sad and sinking heart that Miss Leslie took Boy -accompanied by the faithful “Dunny” back to the home of his progenitors -that afternoon. He had more luggage to carry away than he had arrived -with--a brown paper parcel would not hold his numerous toys, nor the -pretty little suits of clothes his kind hostess had presented him with. -So Major Desmond bought him an astonishingly smart portmanteau, which -fairly dazzled him, and into this most of his new things were packed by -Margaret, who was sincerely sorry to lose her little charge. The -‘merry-go-round,’ being a Parisian marvel of clockwork, had a special -case of its own, and “Dunny”!--well, “Dunny” was a privileged Cow, and -Boy always carried it in his arms. And thus he returned, Biblically -speaking, to the home of his fathers,--the house in Hereford Square, and -his large “Muzzy” received him with an almost dramatic effusiveness. - -“You poor child!” she exclaimed. “How badly your hair has been brushed! -Oh dear!--it’s becoming a perfect mop! We must have it cut to-morrow.” - -Miss Leslie’s cheeks reddened slightly. - -“Surely you will not have his curls cut yet?” she began. - -“My dear Letitia, I know best,” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with an irritating -air of smiling condescension. “A boy--even a very young boy--looks -absurd with long hair. You have been very kind and nice to him, I am -sure,--but of course you don’t quite understand----” - -Miss Leslie sat down opposite her with a curiously quiet air of -deliberation. - -“I wish to speak to you for a few minutes,” she said. “Is your husband -at home?” - -“No. He has gone into the country for a few days. I am quite lonely!” -and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir heaved a lazy smile. “I felt I could not possibly -be a day longer without my son in the house.” - -The extraordinary air of grandiloquence she gave to the words “my son in -the house,” applied to a child of barely four years old, would have -made Miss Leslie laugh at any other time, but she was too preoccupied -just now to even smile. - -“I think,” she went on in a methodical way--“I think Major Desmond did -me the kindness to mention to you and Captain D’Arcy-Muir an idea I had -concerning Boy----” - -“Oh yes, a most absurd idea,” interposed Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, with quite a -solemn reproach in her voice. “Pardon me for saying so, Letitia, but I -really am surprised at you. A preposterous idea!--to separate my boy -from me!” - -“You mistake,” answered Miss Leslie; “I had no wish to separate you. You -would have seen quite as much of Boy as you see now, or as you will see -when in the natural course of things you send him to school. My sole -desire in the proposition I made, and which I asked Major Desmond to -explain, was to benefit your dear little child in every possible way. I -am all alone in the world----” - -“Yes, I know! So sad!” put in Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir in a tone of -commiseration that was almost an insult. - -“And I have a large fortune,” pursued Miss Letty with unruffled -composure: “when my time comes to die, I shall probably leave more than -one-hundred-thousand pounds----” - -“No! You don’t say so! Really, Letitia, you are indeed fortunate! Why -ever don’t you marry? There are lots of poor fellows who would only be -too delighted.” - -“We can pass that question,” said Miss Leslie patiently. “What I wish to -point out to you is that I am what the world calls a fairly wealthy -woman, and that if you could see your way to letting me adopt Boy and -educate him, everything I possessed would be his at my death.” - -“Oh, I don’t wonder at all,” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir expansively, “that -you have taken such a fancy to my boy! That’s quite natural. And really, -Letitia, if you don’t know how to dispose of your fortune otherwise, I -cannot imagine anything more pleasant for you than to make him your -heir. But to adopt him for the purpose of educating him according to -your notions! Oh dear no! It would never do!” - -“If he is not educated according to my notions he will certainly not be -my heir,” said Miss Letty very firmly. “He is just now at an age when -anything can be done with him. Give me leave to take him out of the -radius of his father’s unfortunate example, and surround him with all -that is healthy and good and useful, and I am sure you will not regret -it.” - -“Dear me! I am so sorry for you!” and “Muzzy” smiled blandly; “I feel -for you with all my heart, and I quite understand your wish to have Boy! -It would be delightful for you, but I cannot possibly hear of it! I am -his mother,--I could not part with him under any circumstances -whatever!” - -“You are quite resolved, then?” and Miss Leslie looked at her steadily. - -“Quite! I have my own ideas of education, and I could not possibly allow -the slightest interference. My son”--and here she swelled visibly with a -sense of her own importance--“will have every chance in life!” - -“God grant it!” said Miss Letitia fervently. “No one in the world -desires his good more heartily than I do. And if ever I can be of any -assistance to him in his career, I will. But for the present I will say -good-bye,--both to you--and to him.” - -“Are you going away?” enquired Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir with but a faint show of -interest. - -“Yes, I shall go to Scotland for the rest of the summer, and I have -arranged to join a party of friends in Egypt this winter. So I shall not -be here to interfere”--and Miss Letty smiled rather sadly as she -emphasised the word--“with Boy. I hope he will not quite forget me.” - -“I hope not,” said “Muzzy” with bland commiseration. “But of course you -know children never remember anything or anybody for long. And what a -blessing that is, isn’t it?” - -Miss Letty made no answer; she was down on the floor kissing Boy. - -“Good-bye, darling,” she whispered,--“good-bye! I shall not see you for -a while, but you will always love me, won’t you?” - -“Alwiz love ’oo!” murmured Boy earnestly, with a vague sense that he was -experiencing a very dreadful emotion which seemed quite to contract his -little heart--“Alwiz!” and he threw his chubby arms round Miss Letty’s -neck and kissed her again and again. - -“Dear little man!” she said with almost a half-sob. “Poor little man! -God bless you!” - -Then she rose, and turning to Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir held out her hand. - -“Good-bye!” she said. “If you should ever change your mind about Boy, -please let me know at once. I shall be glad to have him at any time -between now and till he is seven,--after that it would be no use--as all -his first impressions will have taken root too deeply in his nature to -be eradicated.” - -“How dreadful!” exclaimed “Muzzy” with a wide smile. “You are really -quite a blue-stocking, Letitia! You talk just like a book of philosophy -or degeneration--which is it?--I never can remember! I always wonder -what people mean when they try to be philosophic and talk about -impressions on the mind! Because of course impressions are always coming -and going, you know--nothing ever remains long enough to make a lasting -effect.” - -Miss Letty said no more. It was useless to talk to such a woman about -anything but the merest commonplaces. The ins and outs of thought--the -strange slight threads of feeling and memory out of which the character -of a human being is gradually woven like a web,--the psychic influences, -the material surroundings, the thousand-and-one things that help to -strengthen or to enervate the brain and heart and spirit, all these -potentialities were unknown to the bovine female who waxed fat and -apathetic out of pure inertia and sloth. She was, as she was fond of -announcing, a ‘mother,’ but her ideas of motherhood consisted merely in -feeding Boy on sloppy food which frequently did not agree with him, in -dosing him with medicine when he was out of sorts, in dressing him -anyhow, and in allowing him to amuse himself as he liked wherever he -could, however he could, at all times and in all places dirty or clean. -A child of the gutter had the same sort of maternal care. Of order, of -time, of refinement, of elegance and sweet cleanliness there was no -perception whatever; while the Alpha and Omega of the disordered -household was of course “Poo Sing,” who rolled in and rolled out as he -chose, more or less disgraceful in appearance and conduct at all hours. -However, there was no help for it--Miss Letty had held out a rescue, and -it had been refused, and there was nothing more to be done but to leave -Boy, for the present at any rate, in his unfortunate surroundings. But -there were tears in the eyes of the tender-hearted lady when she -returned home alone that day, and missed the little face and the gay -prattle that had so greatly cheered her loneliness. And after dinner, -when the stately Plimpton handed her her cup of coffee, she was foolish -enough to be touched by his solemnly civil presentation to her of a -diminutive pair of worn shoes set in orderly fashion on a large silver -tray. - -“Master Boy left these behind him, my lady,” he said,--he always called -Miss Letty ‘my lady’ out of the deep deference existing towards her in -his own mind. “They’re his _h_old ones.” Plimpton was fond of aspirating -his h’s,--he thought the trick gave an elegant sound to his language. - -“Thank you, Plimpton,” said Miss Leslie, with a faint smile. “I will -send them to his mother in the morning.” - -But she did not send them to his mother. When she was quite alone, she -kissed each little shoe tenderly, and tied them up together in soft silk -paper with a band of blue ribbon,--and then, like a fond weak creature, -put them under her pillow when she went to bed and cried a little,--then -slept and dreamed that her “brave true Harry” was alive and wedded to -her, and that Boy was her very own darling, with no other “Muzzy” in the -world. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Days went on, months went on, years went on, as they have a habit of -doing, till Boy arrived at the mature age of nine. Changes had occurred -during this period, which slight in themselves were destined to have -their lasting effect upon his character and temperament. To begin with, -Captain and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir had been compelled, through the force of -circumstances, to leave the house in Hereford Square, and give up living -in London altogether. The Honourable Captain’s means had been -considerably straitened through his “little ways,” and often and often -during occasional flashes of sobriety it would occur to him that Boy was -steadily growing, and that what a d----d pity it was that Miss Leslie -had not adopted him after all. Once or twice he had broached the subject -to his wife, but only to be met by a large placid smile, and the -remark-- - -“Jim, I really am surprised at you! I thought you had more pride. But -really you don’t seem to mind the idea of your only son being put in the -position of a pauper!” - -“Don’t see where the pauper comes in,” growled the Honourable Jim. “A -hundred thousand pounds is surely enough to keep a man from the -workhouse. And if that lot of money is going around begging, I don’t see -why the little chap shouldn’t have it. I’ve nothing to leave him,--why -the deuce don’t you let the old lady take him and have done with it?” - -“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, with a lachrymose air of deeply -seated injury, “if you are so lost to decency as to wish to part from -your own flesh and blood----” - -“Oh, hang it all!” burst out the “Honourable” scion of century-condensed -aristocracy: “D----n your flesh and blood! Have it your own way! Do as -you d----n please! Only don’t bother me.” - -In this way such marital discussions always ended,--and Boy struggled -steadily along in growth and being and thought, wholly unconscious of -them. He had lost sight of Miss Letty, but truly had not forgotten -her--though in the remote village on the sea coast where his father had -now elected to dwell in order that he might indulge in his pet vice -without undue public comment or observation, he found himself so utterly -estranged from all delicate and helpful sympathies as to be almost -rendered stunned and stupid. In the first year after he had left London -he was taught some desultory lessons by a stolid-faced country wench who -passed for being a nursery governess, but whose abilities were chiefly -limited to ogling the young sailor and farmer lads of the place, and -inventing new fashions for arranging her coarsely abundant hair. Boy’s -contempt for her knew no bounds: he would sit and watch her out of the -corners of his eyes while she stood before a lookingglass, smirking at -her own reflection, and quite unwittingly he developed a curious vein of -satire which soon showed itself in some of the questions he put to her -and to others. A sad little change had taken place in him--the far-off, -beautiful angel look of his countenance had all but vanished, and an -expression of dull patience combined with weariness had taken its place. -For by this time of course he had found out the true nature of “Poo -Sing’s” chronic illness, and the knowledge of it had filled him with an -inexpressible disgust and shame. Child though he was, he was not too -young to feel a sick thrill when he saw his father march into the house -at night with the face, voice, and manner of an infuriated ruffian bent -on murder. And he no longer sat in a chair innocently murmuring “Poo -Sing”--but slunk away from the evil sight, whispering faintly to -himself, “Father! Oh, father!” In dark corners of the house, and more -often outside the house in a wooded little solitude of pines, where -scarcely a bird’s wings fluttered to disturb the dark silence, Boy would -sit by himself meditating, and occasionally reading--for he had been -quick to learn his letters, and study offered as yet no very painful -difficulties to him. He was naturally a boy of bright brain and acute -perception--but the brightness had been darkened and the perception -blunted by the ever down-pressing weight of home influences brought -about by his father’s degradation and his mother’s indifference. He -began to see clearly now that it was not without good cause he had felt -sorry for his “Muzzy’s” ugliness, for that ugliness was the outcome of -her own fault. He used to wander down to the border of the sea, -mechanically carrying a tin pail and wooden spade, and there would sit -shovelling in sand and shovelling it out again; and while thus engaged -would sometimes find there one or two ladies walking with their -children--ladies in trim serge skirts, and tidily belted blouses, and -neat sailor-hats set gracefully on prettily arranged hair,--and he could -not for the life of him understand why his mother should allow her dress -to be less orderly than that of the cook, and her general appearance -less inviting and odorous than that of the old woman who came round -twice a week to sell prawns and shrimps at the door. And so he brooded -and brooded--till on one sudden and alarming day the stolid nursery -governess was found on his father’s knee, with his father’s arms clasped -round her,--and such an appalling clamour ensued that Boy, who was of -course not told the real reason of the disorder, stood terrified and -thought every one in the house had gone raving mad, and that he, poor -small chap, was left alone in the middle of a howling wilderness. The -stolid nursery governess, on being discovered, had promptly fainted, -and lay on the floor with her large feet well upturned and more than an -inch of stocking exposed;--the “Honourable” Jim rattled out all his -stock of oaths till he was black and blue in the face with impotent -swearing, and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, plumping heavily down in the nearest -convenient chair, lifted up her voice and wept. And in the middle of her -weeping, happening to perceive Boy standing on the threshold of the -room, very palefaced and half paralysed with fright, she caught him up -in her arms and exclaimed, “My poor, dear, injured son!” with a wifely -and maternal gusto that was more grotesque than impressive. Boy somehow -felt that he was being made ridiculous, though he could not have told -why. And when the stolid-faced nursery governess had prolonged her -fainting fit as much as was desirable and endurable,--when with many -grunts and sighs, spasmodic kicks and plunges, she righted herself, so -to speak, first into a sitting posture, and then gradually rose to her -feet, a tearful martyr to wrongful suspicions, and, with one -injured-innocence look of reproach at Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir and a knowing -side-wink at the irate and roaring “Jim,” left the room and afterwards -the house, never to return, Boy lived for many days in a state of deep -wonderment, not knowing what to make of it. It was a vast puzzle to his -young mind, but he was conscious of a certain advantage to himself in -the departure of the ill-used young woman, who had so casually -superintended his few lessons in the intervals of dressing her hair. He -was left very much more alone, and took to wandering--“daunering” as the -Scotch would say--all about the village and down by the edge of the sea, -like a small waif of the world, neglected and astray. He was free to -amuse himself as he liked, so he strolled into all sorts of places, -dirty and clean, and got his clothes torn and ragged, his hands and face -scratched and soiled; and if it chanced that he fell into a mud-puddle -or a sea-pool--which he often did--he never thought of telling his -mother that he was wet through, because she never noticed it, and he -therefore concluded that it did not matter. And he began to grow thin, -and wiry, and brown, and unkempt, till there was very little difference -in appearance between him and the common boys of the village, who were -wont to haunt the sea-shore and pick up stray treasures in the way of -weed and shell and wreckage there,--boys with whom he very soon began to -fraternise, much to his detriment. They were not bad boys--but their -language was brutal, and their manners more so. They called him a -“ninny” when he first sought their society, and one big lout beat him on -the head for his too sharp discovery of a shilling buried in the sand. -But these were trifles; and after proving that he was not afraid of a -ducking, or a stand-up fight either, they relented towards him, and -allowed him to be an associate of their scavenger pursuits. Thus he -learnt new forms of language and new customs of life, and gradually -adopted the lazy, slouching walk of his shore-companions, together with -their air of general indifference, only made occasionally piquant by a -touch of impudence. Boy began to say sharp things now and then, though -his little insolences savoured more of satire than malice. He did not -mean to be rude at any time, but a certain vague satisfaction moved him -when he found that he could occasionally make an observation which -caused his elders to wince, and privately wonder whether their grey -hairs were not standing on end. He rather repressed this power, however, -and thought a good deal more than he said. He began to consider his -mother in a new light,--her ways no longer puzzled him so much as they -amused him. It was with almost a humorous condescension that the child -sat down obediently to his morning lessons with her,--lessons which she, -with much elaboration and importance, had devised for his instruction. -Truth to tell, they were very easy samples of learning,--her dense brain -was not capable of arranging anything more than the most ordinary forms -of study,--and Boy learnt more of the world in an hour’s listening to -the chat of the fishermen on the quay, than his “Muzzy” could have -taught him in a hundred years. There was in particular one old, old man, -wrinkled and weather-beaten, whose sole life’s business seemed to be to -sit on a tar-barrel and smoke his pipe, except when he gave a hand to -help pull in the fishing smacks as they came to shore laden with herring -or mackerel. He was known in the place by the nickname of “Rattling -Jack,”--and to him Boy would often go, and with half bold, half shy -questions would draw him out to tell stories of the sea, though the old -chap was not very fond of harking back to his past life and adventures, -and generally preferred to expound short essays on the conduct of life, -drawn from his long experience. - -“Aye, there y’are,” he said on one occasion, when Boy, with some pride, -brought for his inspection a beautiful rose-coloured sea-anemone which -he had managed to detach from the rocks and carry off in his tin pail. -“There y’are, you see! Now ye’ve made a fellow-creature miserable y’are -as ’appy as the day is long! Eh, eh--why for mussy’s sake didn’t ye -leave it on the rocks in the sun with the sea a-washin’ it an’ the -blessin’ of the Lord A’mighty on it? They things are jes’ like human -souls--there they stick on a rock o’ faith and hope maybe, jes’ wantin’ -nothin’ but to be let alone; and then by-and-by some one comes along -that begins to poke at ’em, and pull ’em about, and wake up all their -sensitiveness-like--’urt ’em as much as possible, that’s the way!--and -then they pulls ’em off their rocks and carries ’em off in a mean little -tin pail! Ay, ay, ye may call a tin pail whatever ye please--a pile o’ -money or a pile o’ love--it’s nought but a tin pail--not a rock with the -sun shinin’ upon it. And o’ coorse they dies--there ain’t no sense in -livin’ in a tin pail.” - -These remarks being somewhat profound, were rather beyond Boy’s -comprehension, but he gathered something of their sense and looked -rather wistfully at his sea-trophy. - -“Will it die now?” he asked anxiously. - -“Av coorse it will! How’d you like to be off your own blessed rock, and -squeeged into a pail? Come now, tell me that! Wouldn’t you kick the -bucket over?--Hor--hor--hor!” and the old man laughed hoarsely at what -he considered a bright and natural witticism--“an’ die an’ ’ave done -with it?” - -“I suppose I should,” answered Boy meditatively. “What do you do when -you die?” - -“I ain’t done it yet,” replied Rattling Jack rather testily. “But I -expec’ when I ’ave to, I’ll do it as well as my betters--stretch out my -legs, turn up my toes, shut up my eyes, chuckle-chuckle in my windpipe, -and go slick off. There ain’t no particular style o’ doing it.” - -Boy stood staring, limp with horror,--Rattling Jack had been so -extremely realistic in his description--suiting the action to the word, -and the word to the action,--and at the “chuckle-chuckle in my windpipe” -he had made such an appalling noise that Boy felt it would be necessary -to run for assistance. But the venerable gentleman soon recovered from -his histrionic efforts, and refilling his pipe began stuffing the -tobacco well into it with the point of an extremely dirty forefinger. - -“Ay, ay, there y’are,” he went on. “Now wot are ye goin’ to be yerself -when yer tries to knock up a riggin’ in this wide world? There bain’t no -place for boys in this old country, but away wiz yer to ’Meriker and -Canada. Ask yer father to send ye away to ’Meriker,--there’s a chance -for ev’ry man to make a million there, an’ come back a reg’lar bounder. -An’ then ye can marry one o’ they foine ladies wot’s all dress an’ no -brains. Simper-simper--slish-slish!--ah, they makes me sick, they do! I -tell yer,” here he turned angrily round upon the astonished boy, “I tell -yer they makes me sick, they do! We don’t see a-many of ’em ’ere, the -Lord be blessed for all ’is mussies, but if ever you goes to Lunnon----” - -“I used to live in London,” murmured Boy apologetically. - -Rattling Jack looked at him in a kind of dull wrath. - -“You! You little shaver! Come from Lunnon, do yer? Well, wot in the -world is yer doin’ ’ere? Now tell me that!” Here lighting his pipe he -stuck it well between his yellow teeth, and turned round with a -fish-like glare in his eye upon the small boy before him. “Wot are yer -doin’ ’ere?” he repeated. “Come now, tell me that!” - -Boy meditated, finally he said,-- - -“I’m very sorry I can’t tell you. I really don’t know.” - -“Avast there!” said Rattling Jack. “A boy as don’t know where ’e is, nor -wot ’e is, nor why ’e is, ain’t no good as I can see. Chuck it!” - -Possibly it may have been from the consideration of these scathing -remarks of Rattling Jack that Boy was moved one morning to ask his -“Muzzy” a perplexing question, which has often presented itself as the -profoundest of problems to most of the world’s metaphysicians. - -“Mother, what am I?” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, who had just settled herself comfortably in an -arm-chair to hear him read aloud a short summary, prepared by herself, -of some of the baldest and prosiest facts of our glorious English -history, gazed at him with a bland smile. - -“Don’t be silly, Boy!” - -“I’m not silly,” he answered, with a touch of irritation. “I want to -know what I really am--I mean, what is the good of me?” - -“What is the good of you?” echoed “Muzzy,” nodding her large head -abstractedly. “Are you not my son?” - -“Yes, but I might have been anybody’s son, you see,” said Boy. “That -isn’t it at all. I should like to know what I’m going to do with -myself.” - -“Of course you would,” replied his mother with comfortable composure. -“Very natural, and very proper. But we can’t decide that just now. When -you are older perhaps you shall go into the Navy.” - -Boy’s face flushed, and his delicate brows contracted. His mother did -not understand him. But he had found out that it was no use arguing with -her. - -“That’s not what I meant,” he said, and turned at once to his lessons in -resigned patience. - -It was strange, he thought, but inevitable, that no one could be found -to tell him exactly what he wished most to learn. About God, for -instance,--who was that Personage really? He was afraid to ask. He had -been told that God had made him, and the world, and everything that was -in the world, and he was accustomed to say a little form of prayer to -this same God every night at bedtime, and every morning on rising--the -servant Gerty at Hereford Square had taught him to do so, and his -“Muzzy” had blandly approved of Gerty’s religious zeal. But he had no -real conception as to Whom he was addressing himself. The sweet old -story--the grand story of the selfless Christ, had been told him in a -sort of vague and inconsequent manner, but he had not understood it a -bit. One of his petitions to Heaven, invented by Gerty, ran thus,--“Dear -Jesus, bless father, bless mother, make me a good boy, and save my soul -for Heaven, Amen!” But he had no sort of idea what his “soul” was, or -why it should be so carefully “saved for Heaven.” What was the good of -his soul? And what was Heaven? Often he thought he would ask Rattling -Jack,--but he hesitated to do so lest that venerable cynic should empty -vials of wrath on his defenceless head for being in such a state of -ignorance. And so the days went on, and he was fast becoming used to the -companionship of the boy-scavengers on the beach, and the conversation -of Rattling Jack, when a sudden and glorious break occurred in the -clouds of his dull sky. Major Desmond came down from London unexpectedly -to see his father and mother, and to ask that he might be allowed to go -to Scotland and stay a whole month with Miss Leslie, at a beautiful -place she had taken there for the summer on the fairy shores of Loch -Katrine. He was amusing himself by the sea as usual, putting helpless -baby-crabs into a glass bottle, when his mother’s maid-of-all-work came -hurrying down to find him, and seizing him suddenly by the arm, upset -the whole crab family all over the sand. But Boy made no remark of -either anger or sorrow as he saw his crawling collection scattered in -all directions,--they were not the only crabs, he reflected -philosophically--there were a good many more in the sea. And when he -heard that Major Desmond was waiting to see him, he was very glad, -though as a matter of fact he was not quite sure who Major Desmond was, -except that he was associated in his mind with an old magic lantern -which had fallen out of repair, and was shut up in a cupboard with the -worn-out boots of the household. He ran, however, as fast as his little -wiry legs would carry him, moved by curiosity and an eagerness that he -could not well explain, but made conscious, by the outcoming aura of -pleasurable sensations, that something agreeable was about to happen. He -forgot that he was dirty and untidy,--he did not know that he looked -neglected--so that he was utterly unaware of the reasons which caused -the well-dressed, handsome, burly old gentleman, with the white -moustache, to recoil a step or two at sight of him, and exclaim, “Oh -Lord!” accompanying the ejaculation with a low whistle. Major -Desmond?--of course he remembered him now!--he was the friend of that -far-off vision of his childhood, “Kiss-Letty.” And rising memories began -to send the colour to his face, and the sparkle to his eyes, and the -tremulous curve to his lips, as he held out his grimy little hand and -said somewhat nervously,-- - -“How do you do, Major? Has Miss Letty come too?” - -The Major recovered from the shock of dismay with which he had at first -contemplated the little sea-ragamuffin--and as he caught the look and -smile with which Boy accompanied his question he began to breathe again. - -“No, she has not come,” he replied, taking a grip of Boy’s thin shoulder -with his strong yet gentle hand. “She is in Scotland. I am going over -there to shoot. And I want to take you with me if your mother will let -you come. How would you like to go, eh?” - -Boy remained speechless. He could really have cried for joy at the -idea--but he had learnt to control his emotions. One of the special -“points” of his mother’s character was the maternal delight she had in -refusing him any very special relaxation--she judged that as -“discipline,” and used to say it was “a mother’s duty” to see that “her -son” was not spoilt. So remembering this in time, he only smiled and was -silent. Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, looking narrowly at him, smiled also, -condescendingly and complacently. - -“Dear Boy! He doesn’t want to leave me,” she said, reverting to her old -idea that she had made herself an absolute necessity to his comfort and -happiness. “But I really think--yes--I think I should like him to go -with you, Major. A little change will do him good--he is growing so -fast----” - -“Yes, by Jove he is!” agreed Desmond, looking at the little fellow with -a doubtful air; “and getting jolly thin on it too! What do you feed him -on, eh? Oh, never mind, we won’t go into it if you’d rather not. A -little knocking round in the heather won’t hurt him. Well, ma’am, if -you’re agreeable I can take him at once--we can reach London this -evening and take the mail train up to-morrow.” - -And so with few words, to Boy’s complete amazement, it was all settled. -He was told to go and get washed and dressed, and the good-natured -maid-of-all-work hearing these instructions, came to him in his little -room and scrubbed him down, and helped him into his only decent suit of -clothes, still of the “Jack Tar” pattern, and made by a country tailor. -The country tailor was the only one who had fitted Boy properly; all his -other clothes were stitched together loosely by Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, who -had “designed” them, as she said with much pride, and “cut” them, alas! -on the following of those designs. A few little shirts and socks were -crammed hastily into the very portmanteau Major Desmond had given him so -long ago, and the maid-of-all-work perceiving a loose box of toys in a -corner, containing she knew not what, put that in also--“for,” she -muttered to herself, “they’ll amuse him on a rainy day, and I’ve heard -it always rains in Scotland.” And so before he had time almost to look -round, he had said good-bye to his mother,--his father was at the -public-house and it was not worth while sending for him,--and was in the -train with the Major sitting opposite to him--yes, there they were, -flying, rushing, flying along to London at the rate of fifty miles an -hour. He could hardly believe it; his head was quite confused with the -hurry and surprise of it. He felt a little shy too, and afraid; the -pretty confidence of his early days had quite disappeared. He peeped up -every now and then at the Major, and the Major in turn, over the edge of -a newspaper, peeped at him. - -“By Jove, how the poor little beggar has been allowed to run wild!” -thought the good-natured gentleman, whom the passing of years had made -more good-natured than ever. “Looks like a ragged wastrel!” Aloud he -said, “Boy, old chap, do you know what I’m going to do with you when we -get to town?” - -Boy smiled trustfully, because the Major looked so cheerful. - -“No,” he said. “You tell me!” - -“I’m going to put you in a mild Turkish bath,” pursued the Major. “Know -what that is?” - -“No!” and Boy laughed. - -“Thought not! Well, you’ll know before you go to bed!” - -Then came a silence, while the Major read his paper and the train rushed -on,--and Boy began thinking, or rather trying to think over the rapid -and amazing events of the day. - -“I wish I’d said good-bye to Rattling Jack,” he remarked suddenly. - -“Oh, do you? And who the deuce is ‘Rattling Jack?’” enquired the Major. - -“He is just an old man,” replied Boy--“oh, very old! But he is a good -talker and he amuses me often. He has seen a great deal of life.” - -At this observation Major Desmond folded up his newspaper, laid it flat -on his knee with a bang, and stared hard. “Seen a great deal of life!” -What an old-fashioned, weird, and preoccupied look the little fellow -had, to be sure! And how thin he was, and brown! What would Miss Letty -say of him when she saw him? Would she be glad she had not been able to -adopt him, or would she be sorry? These thoughts passed like small -lightning flashes over the Major’s brain, and he gave a short impatient -sigh. But so far as he was personally concerned he meant to make the -best of it all, and on arriving in London that night he not only -fulfilled his intention of seeing Boy through a Turkish bath, but he -also took him to a tailor’s establishment famous for ready-made -clothing, and “rigged him out,” as he termed it, with everything that -was necessary for the son of a gentleman. And Boy slept soundly in the -little room assigned to him at the Major’s bachelor flat,--his little -limbs, lately encrusted with sea-salt that had almost baked itself into -his tender flesh, were soothed and softened and rested by the rubbing -and polishing he had received at the Turkish bath,--a rubbing and -polishing which by-the-bye he had found intensely amusing and -delightful, and he slipped into his new little flannel nightgown with a -sense of ease and rest and light-heartedness that he had not felt for -many a long day. And in his sleep something that had seemed hard and -unchildish in him rolled away for the time being, for when he got up the -next morning and put on his smart little grey travelling suit and cap -to match, and his gold curls, rather short, but washed free of the -sea-iodine, were glistening with something of their old brightness over -his forehead, he looked more like the “Boy” of his babyhood than he had -done for months. He was himself conscious of an alteration in his -feelings,--Rattling Jack and his scavenger friends had all glided away -like a bad dream or a picture painted on a vanishing screen,--his smiles -came easily,--his step was brisk and light,--and while at breakfast with -the Major, his laugh rang out with almost as much sweetness and freedom -as in the old chuckling days of his affection for “Kiss-Letty.” And -then, when they started for the north by the terrible train known as the -“Flying Scotchman,” what joy!--what excitement!--what novelty! There was -the jolly guard with the strongest of Highland accents--what a splendid -fellow he was to be sure! Then there was the other man with the polite -countenance and the gold buttons on his coat, who came round -respectfully to take orders for luncheon-baskets _en route_,--he was a -very agreeable person too, especially when luncheon-time came and the -basket with it. Then there were the wonderful picture-papers with which -the Major provided him, together with a fascinating little hamper of -fruit, and a box of the finest chocolate. What a heavenly journey!--what -an almost inspired “rush” it was from London to Edinburgh--a flight as -of the gods! And when Edinburgh was reached, and the Major did not stop -there, but took another train on to a place called Callander, where Miss -Leslie’s elegant landau awaited them, there followed a drive like a -dream through scenery that was surely as beautiful as any fabled -fairy-land. Crown upon crown of deep purple hills stretched softly away -into the evening distance of a golden sky as clear as amber,--glorious -trees nodding drowsily under a weight of clustering scarlet -berries--trees which the Major told him were called rowans in Scotland -and mountain-ash in England,--tufts and hillocks of heather almost -blazing like fire in the after-glow of the set sun--and a sweet -mysterious noise of rippling water everywhere--the noise of falling -“burnies” leaping from rocky heights, and trickling down into deep -recesses of coolness and shadow fringed with bracken and fern. And then -the first glimpse of Loch Katrine! That exquisite turn of the road which -charms the dullest spectator after passing the Trossachs Hotel,--with -Ellen’s Isle standing like a jewel on the shining breast of the peaceful -water! Boy’s long pent-up love of the beautiful found vent here in a cry -of ecstacy, and he stood up on the seat of the carriage to take in the -whole of the matchless panorama. His eyes sparkled,--his little face -shone with joy and animation; and seeing how he had almost smiled -himself into the real child he was again, the kindly Major was more -satisfied, and did not feel so much nervous dread of what Miss Letty -might say, when the carriage turned suddenly round into a fine avenue of -silvery birches and pine, and bowled up to the door of a long wide -house, covered with roses, and set on a terrace overlooking the Loch, -where stood the gentle lady upon whom the passing of time had scarcely -left a perceptible trace--Miss Letty, as serene and graceful as ever, -with the same beneficent look of welcome and soft dove-like glance of -eye. At sight of her, Boy let himself go altogether, and flinging -reserve and timidity to the winds sprang into her ready arms, and hugged -her tight, with a strong inclination to cry, so deeply was he excited. -Miss Letty was no less moved as she tenderly embraced him, and it took -her a minute or two to conquer her emotion. Then she said,-- - -“Dear Boy! I am so glad to see you! How you have grown!” - -Boy laughed sheepishly and shamefacedly. How he had grown indeed! It -seemed quite a mistake to have done it. Why could he not always have -stayed a little child and looked at “booful pick-shures” with “Kiss -Letty”? And indeed no matter how much we are bound to believe in the -wise ordainments of a sublime and perfect Providence, we may ask whether -for many a child it would not have been happiest never to have grown up -at all. Honestly speaking, we cannot grieve for the fair legions of -beloved children who have passed away in their childhood,--we know, -even without the aid of Gospel comfort, that it is “far better” with -them so. If Boy had been an analyst of feeling he would have known that -deep in his sensitive consciousness there was a faint regret that he had -even become so old as nine years. It was the first pulsation of that -much crueller sense of loss and error which sometimes affects the -full-grown man, when looking back to the bygone days of his youth. But -Boy, though he was beginning to take himself into his own confidence, -and to consider carefully the results of giving way to emotion, had not -proceeded so far as to understand all the fine breathings of variable -thought that stirred his brain cells as the wind stirs ripples on a -pool; he only knew that just now he was both very glad and very -sorry--very glad to be again with “Kiss Letty,” very sorry to have -“grown” so much as to be somewhat more removed from her than in former -time. He hung affectionately on her arm though now, as they went into -the house together,--and a sense of “home sweet home” gave his step -lightness and his eyes a clear sparkle, as he passed through the pretty -hall, adorned in Scottish fashion with great stag antlers and deer -heads, and bright clusters of heather and scarlet rowans set on the -table as well as in every corner where a touch of colour or brightness -seemed necessary,--and then up the broad, softly carpeted stairs to the -delightful room which had been prepared for him--a room with a wide -window commanding a glorious view of almost the whole glittering -expanse of Loch Katrine. And here Margaret awaited him--Margaret, as -comely and tidy as of old, with her kind face and spotless -apron,--Margaret, who met him with almost the same exclamation as Miss -Letty though tuned in different words. - -“Bless the lad! How he has grown, to be sure!” - -And again he blushed and smiled, and looked sheepish, and felt happy and -sad at once. But Margaret soon found out to his comfort and her own that -he was not so advanced in years and knowledge after all,--that he had -but slipshod notions as to the manner of washing his hands, and was apt -to perform that cleansing business in a very limp and halfhearted -fashion. Likewise he had little or no idea as to how he should brush and -comb his curly hair,--and it was greatly to Margaret’s delight that she -found her services could not be quite dispensed with. She began at once -to “arrange” him according to her own particular way of “valeting” a -small boy, and presently turned him out to her entire satisfaction in a -becoming white flannel suit,--one of the halfdozen Major Desmond had -bought him on the way through London,--with a soft blue tie knotted -under his little open collar, and the bright waves of his hair disposed -to the best advantage. Very sweet and very wistful too the little fellow -looked as he then went down to dinner; and Miss Letty’s eyes grew dim -with a sudden moisture, as she glanced at him from time to time and -noticed, as only a loving woman can, the slight indefinable alterations -in him, which, like the faintly pencilled lines in a drawing, were bound -to become darker, and gradually to take their place in the whole -composition of his life and character. Major Desmond had told her -exactly the condition in which he had found him, and as she heard, her -heart grew heavy and sore. Why, she thought, if his parents were going -to do no more than allow him to run wild among the common boys of a -village sea-shore, could they not have given him the chance she had -offered? She said something to this effect in half a dozen words to her -old friend Dick, who, with a puzzled tug at his white moustache and a -shrug of his broad shoulders, gave the matter up as a sort of difficult -conundrum. - -“But it’s the mother, Letty,--it’s the soft, fat, absurdly -self-important mother!” he declared. “Tell you what, Jim D’Arcy-Muir, -besotted with drink as he is, knows he is a beast, and that is a great -point in his favour. When a man knows he is a beast and admits it, you -can give him credit for honesty if for nothing else; and Jim, I firmly -believe, would hand you over the little chap at once, and be glad -enough to give him such a jolly good start in life. But Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir--there!--she’s a beast too and she doesn’t know it, which -makes all the difference. She’s not a beast in drinking--no--but she’s a -beast in her sloth and love of muddle and dirt and confusion, and worse -than a beast in stupid obstinacy. No one can do anything with her. She -will always be a drag on Boy’s wheel!” - -“His mother?” suggested Miss Leslie gently. - -“Yes, I know. She’s his mother, more’s the pity. The days are coming -when he will despise his mother--and that is a very bad look-out for any -chap. But it will not be his fault--it will be hers.” - -Miss Leslie said no more on the subject just then,--she had Boy at any -rate for a month to herself, and she resolved to watch him closely and -study his character for herself. - -She began a close and tender observation of him,--his manners, his -little quaint ways of speech,--and for the first week of his stay with -her she noticed nothing to awaken her anxiety. The change from his -“scavenger” life on the sea-shore to the elegance and refinement of Miss -Letty’s home, combined with the beauty and freshness of an open-air -existence in the Scottish Highlands, gave Boy for the time a happy -oblivion of all his recent sordid experiences. Fishing, boating, -climbing, and riding on a lovable little Shetland pony which his kind -hostess had bought for his use--these new and delightful pastimes, so -enjoyable to healthy childhood, were all his to try in turn,--and -whether he was rushing like a little madcap to the top of a convenient -hill to catch a first sight of Major Desmond as he came down from the -higher moors with the rest of the shooting-party,--or whether he was -helping Miss Letty gather great picturesque bunches of bracken and rowan -branches in the woods for the decoration of the house, Boy was -unthinkingly and unquestioningly happy. Winsome and bright, he behaved -like the real child he truly was in years; he had no time to go away by -himself into little corners and think, for there was a boy named Alister -McDonald, two years older than himself, who struck up a friendship with -him, and had no sort of idea of leaving him alone. This same Alister was -a terrible person. He too was an only son,--but his father, Colonel -McDonald, was not a “Poo Sing,” but a very fine specimen of a gentleman -at his best. He and his wife, a woman of bright disposition and sweet -character, had brought up their boy to love all things bold, manly, and -true--and Alister had developed the bold and manly by doing everything -in the world that could risk his life and get him into a pickle--and his -present way of serving the Cause of Truth was to go and tell everything -to his mother. The very first day he made acquaintance with Boy, he -stuck his small hands in his small trouser pockets and remarked -airily,-- - -“I suppose you’re game for any sort of a lark, ain’t you?” - -“I suppose I am!” Boy answered, with a touch of reserved assurance. - -“All right! Then we’ll be pals!” Alister had answered, and to prove his -sincerity, took Boy at once in charge, and escorted him straight away -to a mysterious salmon-pool, where, trying to angle with a long willow -wand, a bit of string, and a just killed wasp instead of the orthodox -fly, they both very nearly fell in and made an end of their lives. To be -the hero of hairbreadth escapes suited Alister perfectly. He always had -some dark scheme in his mind--some new plan for generally alarming and -exciting the neighbourhood. But as a matter of fact all the people in -the place had got pretty well used to the endless scrapes of “Maister -Alister” as they called him, and even his mother, whose nerves had -undergone many a severe trial concerning the delinquencies of her only -darling, had now become more or less resigned to the inevitable. Two or -three days of each other’s society were enough to make Boy and Alister -inseparables,--and many a hearty roar of laughter did their strange -adventures on hill and moor, by stream and loch, cause Major Desmond and -his sporting friends,--while kind Miss Letty, with two or three other -pleasant ladies who were her guests, laughed with them, and quickly -forgave the little truants all their mischief. - -One day there came a pause in the merriment,--the heroic Alister was -seized with a raging toothache, a malady which might even upset the calm -of an Ajax. There was nothing for it but to have the worrying tooth -pulled out, whereupon Alister’s mother took him to Edinburgh for the -necessary operation. It was a dull, cloudy sort of day,--rain had set -in early in the morning, and a furious gust of wind swept the fair -waters of Loch Katrine, and bent the silvery birches to and fro till -they presented the weird aspect of shivering white ghosts, stooping to -bathe their long tresses in the waters, and anon lifting themselves -again in attitudes as it seemed of wild despair at the pitiless storm. -There was no possibility of either walking or driving or boating, and -Alister being away, Boy was rather at a loss what to do with himself. -Miss Letty saw him looking a little wistful and wearied, and at once -took him in hand herself. Putting her arm around him she said,-- - -“What shall we do to amuse ourselves, Boy?” - -Boy smiled faintly. - -“I don’t know!” he said. - -“Do you like pictures as much as you used to do?” - -Boy hesitated. - -“Some!” he said dubiously. “Not all!” - -“Did you bring your magic lantern with you?” - -Boy opened his eyes wide. - -“Oh no! That’s all gone to pieces long ago!” - -Miss Letty made no comment on the magic lantern’s destruction. - -“Well, let’s ask Margaret what there is among your things to amuse -ourselves with,” she said cheerily. “All sorts of odds and ends were -packed with your clothes!” - -“Were there?” said Boy. “Mother didn’t pack them--it was the servant.” - -Again Miss Letty made no comment, and Boy holding her by the arm went -with her to Margaret, who, on being questioned, smiled, and opened a -cupboard full of curious-looking objects. - -“They’re all more or less broken, my leddy!” she said. “But the Cow is -here as good as it ever was!” - -“The Cow!” and Miss Letty laughed, but a little moisture suffused her -eyes. - -Boy looked at her questioningly. - -“What’s the Cow?” he asked. - -“Ah, darling, you have grown to be such a little man now that you don’t -remember the poor Cow!” said Miss Letty half laughingly, half sadly. -“Where is it, Margaret?” - -Margaret selected it from the heap in the cupboard, and gave it gingerly -into the hand of her mistress--the same wise-looking quadruped, with its -movable head wagging as faithfully as ever. - -Boy looked at it with a smile that was almost derisive. - -“That a Cow!” he said. - -“Yes,” said Miss Letty, “and you thought it a very nice Cow when you -were a little child. But you have grown so big now--though you are only -nine years old. Oh, don’t you remember!--you used to call it ‘Dunny’?” - -Boy’s face brightened with a sudden look of recognition. - -“Oh, yes! I remember now!” he said, and he gave a fillip with his finger -to the head of the despised “Dunny” to set it wagging faster. “That was -when I was quite a baby!” - -“Yes,” said Miss Leslie, sorrowfully, “when you were quite a baby!” - -She held the Cow in her hand tenderly--she would not put it back among -the broken toys. But she said no more about it just then. The only thing -they found among the mass of rubbish which had been thrust into Boy’s -portmanteau so hastily by his mother’s maid-of-all-work was a German -War-game, which Boy proposed to play with Miss Letty. - -She acceded, and together they went down to her own boudoir, where she -placed “Dunny” on a little bracket above her writing-desk, and then -applied herself to master the game of killing as per German military -tactics. Boy proved himself an extraordinary adept at this mechanical -warfare, and won all along as triumphantly as if he had been the Kaiser -himself. Indeed, he showed an extraordinary amount of cunning, which, -though clever, was not altogether as lovable and childlike as Miss Letty -in her simplicity of soul could have wished. There was a vague -discomfort in her mind as she allowed herself to be ignominiously -beaten. For though the game was only a game, it had its fixed rules -like every other, and Miss Letty was sorely worried by the fancy--it was -only a fancy--that Boy had been trying to “cheat” in a peculiarly adroit -fashion. She would not allow herself to dwell upon the point, however, -and when she put away the game, and took him to tea in the drawing-room, -where two of the ladies staying in the house were sitting with their -needlework, and listening to the howling wind and gusty rain, she gave -him a little chair by the side of the bright fire, which was necessary -on such a chilly day in Scotland, and let him talk as he liked, and -generally express his sentiments. For some time he was very silent, -contenting himself with tea-cake and scones, and only occasionally -remarking on the absence of Alister McDonald, and the suffering he was -perhaps undergoing with his tooth; but after a bit he began to ask -questions, and unburden his mind on sundry matters, encouraged thereto -by one of the ladies present, who was interested by his winsome face, -clear eyes, and light, trim little figure. - -“What are you going to be when you are a man?” she asked. - -Boy considered. - -“A man is a long way off,” he answered gravely. “And, you see, you can -never tell what may happen! Dads is a man. But he isn’t anything.” - -“He’s an officer in the Army, dear,” corrected Miss Letty gently: “a -retired officer,--but still an officer.” - -“What is the good of being an officer if you retire before you ever -fight?” asked Boy. - -All the ladies smiled, but volunteered no answer. - -“You see it wouldn’t be any use,” went on Boy reflectively. “I shouldn’t -care to have to learn how to fight if I wasn’t ever wanted to do it. I -think I’d rather be like Rattling Jack!” - -“Who on earth is ‘Rattling Jack’?” asked the youngest lady present, -suppressing a laugh. - -“He is an old man at home,” explained Boy. “He used to be on a merchant -vessel, trading to India, Japan, and China, and all that, and he says he -has seen nearly the whole world. People say he’s got a lot of money -hidden away in his mattress--and that when he was in Ceylon he managed -to steal a ruby worth ten thousand pounds! Fancy! Wasn’t that clever of -him? And he’s got it still!” - -“Then he’s a thief!” said Miss Letty, trying to look severe. “It isn’t -at all clever to steal. It’s very wicked! He must be a bad man!” - -“Yes, I suppose he is,” said Boy with a little sigh. “But of course the -person from whom he stole the ruby ought to have come after him. But he -never did. So that was lucky! And some people say it’s only a bit of red -glass he’s got!” - -“Whatever it is, a bit of glass or a ruby, he had no business to steal -it!” said Miss Letty. - -“Oh, but he hasn’t been found out,” answered Boy. “And he doesn’t mind -telling people he’s got it!” - -There was a pause. Miss Letty was a trifle vexed,--the other two ladies -were merely amused. - -“I’ll tell you another thing about him,” said Boy, suddenly warming into -confidence. “He buys things off us!” - -They all laughed outright. - -“Buys things off us!” exclaimed Miss Letty. “Oh, Boy dear, what do you -mean?” - -“Well, you see, all along the shore there are the most curious things -washed in from the sea,” said Boy--“silver spoons and forks, and -penknives, and boxes, and sometimes money. Just before I came away I -found a gold bracelet in the sand, and Rattling Jack gave me -one-and-sixpence for it, and he had it cleaned, and it was solid gold, -and he sold it for three pounds. Wasn’t that clever of him?” - -Again the laughter broke out, but Miss Letty sighed. - -“I don’t think ‘Rattling Jack’ is quite a nice person for you to talk -to,” she said. “Does your mother know anything about him?” - -“Oh, no! Mother doesn’t know anybody!” answered Boy candidly. “I make my -own friends!” - -“Well, we don’t want you to be a Rattling Jack!” said the young lady who -had before spoken. “We want you to be a brave, honest man, and a -gentleman! You must try for the Navy--not the Merchant Navy, but the -regular fighting Navy--the Queen’s Navy!” - -“Yes--but you never get higher than ‘Admiral’ there!” said Boy, with a -matter-of-fact cynicism. “Rattling Jack told me that was just an honour -without sufficient pay to keep it up. It isn’t worth working for, I -fancy!” - -“My dear Boy!” exclaimed Miss Letty, distressed. “Not worth working for! -How did you get such ideas in your head? What _is_ worth working for?” - -“Oh, I don’t know!” said Boy. “Not much, I expect. All you can do is to -amuse yourself, and you want lots of money for that!” - -The pained expression deepened on Miss Letty’s sweet old face, but she -could say nothing just then, as a diversion was created by the sudden -bouncing entrance of Alister McDonald, accompanied by his mother, both -damp with rain, but both with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, back -from Edinburgh, and fresh from their drive through the storm from the -Callander station. - -“Please excuse us!” laughed Mrs. McDonald. “But we thought you might be -having tea about this time, so we risked coming in!” - -Miss Leslie welcomed them heartily, with the unaffected sincerity which -was her great charm, and ordered fresh tea and scones; while Alister, -drawing Boy aside, related to him with graphic picturesqueness of detail -his thrilling experiences at the dentist’s. - -“He said, would I have gas? I said, what is gas? And mother said it was -a stuff you took through a tube, and you went off stiff and silly, and -didn’t know what was going on! And I said no, I wouldn’t have gas. I -liked to know what was being done to me anyhow! ‘It will hurt you, sir,’ -said he. I said ‘All right; it hurts now.’ ‘Sit in this chair,’ he said, -‘and keep still.’ I sat in a big chair with a sort of iron swivel on to -it, and I laid my head back, and opened my mouth wide. And he looked in. -And I thought of the execution of Charles the First! Then he said, ‘Now, -sir, steady!’ Then I shut my eyes and repeated in my head, - - The boy stood on the burning deck, - When all but him had fled! - -and before I got to ‘fled’ out came the tooth with a big prong at the -end. And I never cried. And he said to me, ‘Did it hurt you?’ ‘Not a -bit,’ said I. But of course it did. Only he wasn’t going to crow over -me--not if I knew it! And he didn’t. He looked pretty small, I can tell -you, with that tooth in his nippers. My! What scones! Such a jolly lot -of butter!” And his conversation terminated abruptly in a huge bite of -the succulent material offered to him by one of the ladies already on -duty to attend his budding masculinity. - -Boy watched him enjoying his tea with wonder and a touch of envy. He too -would have bidden defiance to the terrors of the dentist as carelessly -as Alister, but it would have been out of sheer indifference, not -combativeness. Here was the contrast between the temperaments of the two -boys, and a very serious contrast it was. The slight affair of Alister’s -tooth was a test of character. Boy would have gone through the painful -ordeal with quiet stoicism because he would not have considered it worth -while to do otherwise,--Alister went through it with the idea that -somehow or other he was more than a match for the dentist. Herein was -the varying quality of environment which would make of the one boy a -warm-blooded, courageous man, and of the other perhaps a languid cynic. -Young as the children were, any close student of human nature could -trace the diverging possibilities of each mind already, and the -uncomfortable little pang at Miss Letty’s heart was not hurting her -without some cause. However, she was not of a morose or morbid -disposition, and she would not allow herself to give way to these first -premonitions of doubt as to Boy’s development. She resolved to make one -more effort to rescue him from his uncouth home surroundings, and -meanwhile she contented herself with letting him enjoy his holiday as -much as possible, and giving him all the liberty he seemed to need. - -One day, however, there occurred a grand catastrophe. Major Desmond had -left his gun in the hall, with express orders that it was not to be -touched. But just about an hour before dinner there was the sound of a -tremendous explosion, and a crash of glass,--and on a contingent of the -household running to see what was the matter, lo! there was the Major’s -gun in the same place and position, but a charge was missing, and one of -the windows in the hall was shivered to atoms. The Major had a temper, -and he lost it for the immediate moment. - -“Now, who has done this?” he shouted. “Didn’t I give express orders that -my gun was to be left alone! By Jove, whoever has been meddling with it -ought to have a sound thrashing! Might have killed somebody, besides -breaking windows! Come now! Who did it?” - -There was nobody to answer. The servants were all at a loss,--Boy and -Alister were out in the grounds, so it was said,--no one had touched the -gun,--it must have gone off by itself. - -“D----d nonsense!” roared the Major, forgetting the presence of Miss -Leslie, who stood looking at the broken window in perplexity,--“I put -the gun up in a safe corner out of harm’s way. If it had gone off by -itself the charge would have lodged in the ceiling, not through the -window. I am not such an ass as not to see that! Some one has been -playing pranks with it! Where’s Boy?” - -“Oh, Boy wouldn’t touch it,” protested Miss Letty, “I’m sure he -wouldn’t!” - -“Well, where is he?” persisted the Major: “he may know something about -it!” and marching outside the door he called, “Boy!” in a voice strong -enough to awaken all the fabled sleeping giants of the hills. - -Boy answered the call with quite an amazing promptitude. - -“Yes, Major!” - -The Major stared. - -“Where did you come from so suddenly?” he demanded. “You young rascal! -You have been meddling with my gun!” - -“I’m sure I haven’t!” replied Boy coolly. - -“Then who has?” - -“How can I tell?” said Boy, with airy indifference. - -“Boy!” - -“Yes, sir?” - -“Look at me straight!” - -Boy obeyed. The clear eyes met the Major’s stare without flinching. - -“You swear on your honour--now, sir, remember! I am a soldier, and ‘on -your honour’ is a very serious thing to say--swear on your honour that -you never touched that gun!” - -Boy hesitated--just a second’s pause. And suddenly a high piping voice -called out,-- - -“Own up, Boy! Own up! Don’t be caddish!” - -Boy flushed crimson to the roots of his fair curls, and cast down his -eyes. He had no occasion to speak. The Major’s face grew grave and -stern. - -“You may go, sir!” - -“Oh, Boy!” - -The cry came from Miss Letty, and Boy tried to shuffle past without -looking at her, but she caught him by the arm. - -“Boy,” she said, her sweet voice shaking with suppressed excitement, -“how could you tell a lie?” - -He stopped--uneasily shifting one foot against the other, and keeping -his eyes cast down. She stretched out her soft, kind little hand. - -“Come with me,” she continued. “Come and talk to me alone, and tell me -why you were so wicked, and then we will go and ask the Major’s pardon.” - -She looked at him steadily. And her sweet face, and tender eyes full of -tears, were more than the child’s unnatural stoicism could bear. His -little chest heaved--his lips quivered. - -“I---- I----” and he got no further, but broke down in a wild fit of -sobbing. Miss Letty put her arm round him, and gently led him away. The -Major, who had stood grim and rigid in the hall, watched her go, and -coughed fiercely, unaware that the ubiquitous Alister McDonald was -standing on the threshold of the hall where the little scene had taken -place, and was watching him inquisitively, with his little hands in his -little trouser pockets as usual. - -“Hullo, Major!” said this imp: “Don’t _you_ cry!” - -“Eh--what? Cry! Me! God bless my soul! Go to---- the North Pole with -you!” snapped out the Major irascibly. “What business have you here, -sir, staring at me?” - -“Oh, come now, I say,” returned the unabashed Alister. “Don’t be raspy! -I suppose I can look at you as well as anybody else, can’t I? I like -looking at you!” - -The Major gave a short laugh. - -“Oh, you do, do you!” he returned. “Much obliged to you, I’m sure!” - -He coughed again, laughed, chuckled--and then settled his features into -gravity. - -“Now, look here, you scamp,” he said, resting his big hand on Alister’s -small shoulder: “How did it happen?” - -“Well, we were playing soldiers,” explained Alister, “and I was the -Britisher, and he was the Britisher’s enemy. He was half starved, and he -had to get behind an entrenchment. The entrenchment was the hall, and he -was in a terrible way, because you see he had no water, no food, and he -was run down with fever and ague. You see, I was the well-fed Britisher, -and I had everybody looking after me, and all the world watching what I -was going to do,--and I had prayers put up for me in all the churches, -and he was only a savage and a brother. But he said, ‘I have got a way -to surprise you,’ said he, and he turned a somersault, and he said, -‘Yah!’ as savages do, you know,--and he ran behind his entrenchment (the -hall door), and just without thinking took up the gun and fired it -through the window. I was lying low, waiting attack, and I was nearly -killed--not quite--and then he was frightened, and ran out, and he said, -‘We’ll be brothers,’ and we hid in ambush, and then you called----” - -“Yes, that’s all very well!” said the Major, suppressing his strong -desire to grin at this account of warfare; “But why did he tell a lie?” - -“Oh, I suppose because he was the enemy!” replied Alister calmly. “You -see, in the camp he had nobody watching him, and no churches to pray for -him,--he was only a savage! I expect that’s what it was!” - -The Major looked reflective. - -“Well, now you had better go away home,” he said. “There’ll be no more -fighting or games between Christian brotherhoods to-day. Boy will have -to be punished.” - -Alister’s small face became exceedingly serious. - -“I say, don’t be hard on him!” he said, expostulatingly. “He’s such a -little chap!” - -The Major preserved his solemnity. - -“He’s only two years younger than you are--quite old enough to know how -to tell the truth!” - -“Has he got a mother?” asked Alister. - -“Yes.” - -“Well, you see, she isn’t here, and he can’t go and ask her about it, so -perhaps he got a bit muddled like. I hope you will let him down easy!” - -The Major bit his lips under his fuzzy white moustache, to hide the -smile that threatened to break into a roar of laughter, as the young -gentleman, after giving expression to these sentiments, sauntered off -somewhat dejectedly; and then, turning into the house, put away the gun -that had been the cause of all the mischief, and went round to the -stables to devise some means of stuffing up the broken window in the -hall for the night. And his thoughts were touched with sorrow as well as -pity. - -“Unfortunate little chap!” he muttered. “Once let him take to lying, and -he is done for. All the Lettys in the world could not save him. I wonder -now how the devil he came to begin it? It is not his first lie--he did -it too well, and looked too cool for it. I should like to know how he -began!” - -And this was just what Miss Letty was finding out, bit by bit, as she -sat in her own quiet room with Boy on her knee clasped in her arms, and -talking to him gently. She heard all about his life on the sea-shore, -and the little scavengers he met there who had taught him how clever it -was to “do” people, and to cheat, and generally mislead and deceive the -simple and unsuspecting,--and as she listened to the strange moral -axioms he had picked up, and gradually gathered from him as he talked -some idea of the lonely life he led, uncared for and untaught, save in -the most superficial and slipshod fashion, her heart warmed to him more -and more with an almost painful tenderness, and when with a short sigh -he paused in his disjointed narrative, the tears were heavy in her -eyes. She set him gently down from her knee and kissed him. - -“We’ll say no more about it, Boy,” she whispered. “Run to the Major and -tell him you are very sorry, and that you will never tell a lie again.” - -Boy hesitated a moment. Then, impulsively throwing his arms round her -neck and kissing her, he ran quickly away. He found the Major in the -billiardroom reading his newspaper and smoking, and went straight up to -him, - -“I’m very sorry, sir,” he faltered. - -Major Desmond laid down his paper and looked at him full in the face, -with the straight steel-blue eyes that had in them as much command as -tenderness. - -“Sorry for what?” he demanded,--“For touching the gun, or for telling a -lie?” - -Boy’s heart swelled, and his eyes were misty and aching. - -“For both, sir,” he said. - -The Major held out his hand, and Boy laid his own little trembling hot -fingers in that cool clean palm. - -“That’s right!” said Desmond: “Disobedience is bad, but a lie is -worse,--don’t do either! Is that agreed?” - -“Yes, sir!” - -Boy answered bravely enough, but his spirit sank as he thought that if -he never disobeyed, his obedience, instead of a virtue, would oblige -him to do the most foolish and unnecessary things under his mother’s -orders,--and if he never told a lie, his hours of freedom and play would -be considerably if not altogether curtailed, and he would be made the -poor little peg on which his parents would hang their many quarrels and -discussions. The Major noticed the touch of hesitation in his answer as -well as in his manner, and did not like it. But he repressed his own -forebodings, and smiled cheerily down upon the small forlorn lad in whom -lay the budding promise of a man who might, or might not, be fit for -good fighting in the combat of life. - -“When you are bigger and stronger I’ll show you how to handle a gun,” he -said,--“At present you are too small a chap. You would blow yourself -into bits as easily as you blew out the hall window. Now come along with -me and I’ll show you the birds we got to-day.” - -He strode out into the grounds, and Boy followed him with an odd mixture -of feeling. Sorrow and shame, united to wonder and scorn, put him into a -mental condition not easy to explain. To his childish mind it seemed -difficult to understand why Major Desmond and Miss Letty should be such -straight, honest, sober folk, and his own father and mother such -shiftless, indifferent, careless people. - -“They don’t seem to see that a boy can’t do just as well with a father -who doesn’t care about him, as he could with a father who does!” he -mused. “I suppose I’m bound to be a lonely boy!” - -And he trotted on in silence beside the Major, and looked at the -beautiful shot grouse and blackcock, and was very attentive and docile -and respectful, and the Major felt a twinge of pain in his good heart as -he realized that Boy had plenty of material in him for the making of -worthy manhood, material which was being thrown away for want of proper -management and training. He confided his feelings on this subject to -Miss Leslie that night, in the company of a brother officer, some years -younger than himself, who had few joys left in life save the love of -sport and a good game of chess or billiards. Captain Fitzgerald -Crosby--or “Fitz” as he was generally called--was a fine, upright -personage, with a most alarmingly grim and rigid cast of countenance -which rather repelled timid people on first introduction. He was “a -cross-looking old boor” with all the ladies until he smiled. Then such a -radiance played in his quiet grey eyes, and such a kindness softened the -lines of his mouth and smoothed away the furrows of his brows, that he -was voted a “darling” instantly. On this occasion, when Major Desmond -started off expatiating on the waste of Boy’s life, and Miss Letty -paused in her knitting, listening to his remarks with sorrowful -attention, Fitz looked particularly glum handling his billiard cue -thoughtfully, and staring at its point as though it were a magic wand to -conjure with. - -“There’s a good deal of waste everywhere, it seems to me,” he said -slowly. “The scientific fellows tell us that nothing is wasted in the -way of matter,--every grain of dust and every drop of dew has got its -own special business, and is of special use; but upon my word, when you -come to think of the finer things--love and hope and goodness and -charity and all the rest of it, it seems nothing but waste all along. -There’s a great waste of love especially!” - -The Major coughed, and hit a ball viciously. - -“Yes, there’s a great waste of love,” went on the unheeding and still -gloomily frowning Fitz. “We set our hearts on a thing, and it’s -immediately taken from us,--we work all our days for a promising son or -a favourite daughter, and they frequently turn out more ungrateful than -the very dogs we feed--and as Byron says, ‘Alas, our young affections -run to waste and water but the desert!’ Byron was the only poet who ever -lived, in my opinion!” - -Major Desmond gave a short laugh. - -“Upon my word, Fitz, you’re a regular old croaker this evening, aren’t -you? You’re making our hostess quite miserable!” - -“Oh no,” said Miss Letty, brightly, for with her usual sweetness she -never thought of her own “wasted young affections” at all, but only of -the disappointments of her friends, and she knew that Fitz had suffered. -“I feel with Captain Crosby, that some things are very hard for us to -understand. But I think myself that just as no drop of dew or grain of -dust is wasted, so no kind action or true love is wasted either. It may -seem so,--but it is not. And let us hope poor Boy will be all right. But -he certainly ought to be sent to school. I think”--here she paused and -looked up smiling--“I think I shall have another try.” - -The Major paused in his game, while his friend Fitz glowered sullenly at -the balls. - -“You will, Letty? You mean you will try to give the little chap another -chance of proper education?” - -“Yes, I think so,” said Miss Letty, bending over her knitting, while her -needles clicked cheerily in her small, pretty hands. “I will write very -earnestly to both Captain and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, and make a perfectly -plain, practical, business proposal to them. If they refuse it, well, I -shall have relieved my feelings by asking.” - -A sudden radiance seemed to illuminate the billiard-table, but it was -only Fitz smiling across it. - -“Just like you, Miss Letty,” he said. “Whenever there is something good -to be done you are the one to do it!” - -Miss Letty shook her head deprecatingly and went on with her knitting -for a while,--then presently she retired to bed after sending in -whiskies and sodas to the two gentlemen to refresh themselves while -finishing their game. Fitz had turned crusty again, apparently. Jerking -his head backward towards the door through which Miss Letty had -disappeared after saying her gentle good-night, he demanded, - -“Why didn’t you marry her?” - -“Because she wouldn’t have me,” replied the Major promptly. - -“Why wouldn’t she have you?” - -“Because she is keeping faith with a dead rascal. Expects to meet him -somewhere in heaven by-and-by! Lord, if ever a liar and scamp deserves -to wear a crown of gold and sing ‘Hallelujah,’ then Harry Raikes is a -real live angel and no mistake!” - -“Upon my word!” said Fitz slowly, “I think it’s liars and scoundrels -generally who consider that they’re the very people fitted for gold -crowns in heaven. Now _I_ don’t expect a gold crown. I don’t consider -myself worth an angel’s feather, let alone a pair of angel’s wings. But -I have a pious uncle--old as Methuselah--who goes to church three times -a day and slangs all his neighbours who don’t--and will you believe me, -he has an idea that God is thoroughly well pleased with him for that. -What a blasphemous old beggar it is!” - -He laughed, and in his enjoyment allowed the Major to win the game at -billiards. Then putting up his cue he mixed a mild glass of whisky and -water and drank it off. - -“I’ll go to bed now, Dick,” he said; “I don’t stay up as late as I used -to!” - -“We’re getting on, Fitz, that’s why,” replied Desmond. “We’re getting -on, that’s what it is.” - -“Yes, that’s what it is,” returned Fitz cheerily. “But I really don’t -mind. Getting on means getting out--getting out of this world into a -better. Good night, old chap!” - -“Good night!” - -And the two worthy fellows went to their respective rooms and slept the -sleep of the just. But there were two other people in the house who -could not sleep at all that night--these were Miss Letty and Boy. Miss -Letty was grieving for Boy, and Boy was grieving for himself. What was -she to do about Boy? Miss Leslie thought. What was he to do about -himself? Boy thought. Miss Letty felt that if she could only get Boy -away from his home surroundings, and place him at a good English -preparatory school, she would perhaps be the saving of him. Boy felt -that if he could only run away somewhere on one of those ambitious -expeditions which Alister McDonald was always telling him about, he -might, to put it grandly, make a career. But the world was broad and -wide, and he was very small and young. Difficulties bristled in his -path, and he had not the heart nor the strength to face them even in -thought. The spark of an aspiring intelligence was within him, but the -influences were all against its kindling up into a useful or brilliant -flame. - -The next day saw him again at play with Alister, and the two boys went -out on Loch Katrine together in a boat to fish for trout. They were not -very skilled fishermen, and there was a good deal more splashing about -with the line, and patting the water with the oars than anything else. -They stayed wobbling about on the friendly lake till sunset,--and then -as they saw the majestic king of the sky descend into the west, glorious -in panoply of gold and crimson, with fleecy white clouds rolling -themselves into a great canopy for his head, and a wide stretch of -crimson spreading beneath him like a carpet for his march downward, both -the children were suddenly overcome by a sense of awe, and watched the -brilliant colours of the heavens, and the purple shadows of the -mountains reflected on the water, in silence for many minutes. - -“I say, Boy, what are you going to be?” asked Alister, after a long -pause. - -Boy answered with truth, “I don’t know.” - -“I’m going to be a soldier,” said Alister. “It’s a fine thing to be a -soldier. Though father says a soldier can’t get a drink if he wants to, -unless he takes off his uniform first. Isn’t that battish? But whenever -we have another war we’re going to keep our uniforms on and drink in -them whenever we want to.” - -“And will you go and fight?” asked Boy wistfully. - -“Rather! Let me hear any one abusing England, and I’ll run them straight -through with my sword in no time!” - -“Will you--really?” And Boy looked respectfully at Alister’s round face, -already seeing the martial hero in the saucy physiognomy of his -friend,--the sparkling eyes, the defiant little nose, and the chubby -dimpled chin. - -“When you’re a soldier, you’re a defender of the country,” went on -Alister, “and the Queen says, ‘Thank you very much, I hope you’ll do -your duty!’ And you get medals and things, and the Victoria Cross. -That’s what’s called a V.C. I know a man who’s got that, and he’s just -as proud as Punch. He’s one of father’s friends. But he’s awfully -poor--awfully. And he’s got rheumatism through having slept out several -nights on a field of battle--and he’s all cramped and funny, with -twisted legs and crooked fingers, but he’s just as proud as Punch of his -V.C.” - -Boy tried to grasp the picture of a gentleman who was “all cramped and -funny, with twisted legs and crooked fingers,” who was “just as proud as -Punch.” But he could not do it. And Alister putting up his oars said, -“Let’s have some music!” and forthwith drew out a concertina from the -bottom of the boat and discoursed thereon a wailful ear-piercing melody. -Boy had heard him play this distressing instrument before, but never -quite so dolefully. The melancholy snoring sounds emanating from between -Alister’s fat fingers seemed to cast a gloom over the landscape--to make -the mountains around them look darker and more eerie--to give a -melodramatic effect to the sinking sun, and to suggest the possibility -of bogies and kelpies trooping down on the Silver Strand to perform a -fantastic dance thereon. Alister thought his own playing quite -beautiful; Boy considered it lovely too, but dreadful. When he could -bear it no more he ventured to disturb the performance. - -“I say, Alister!” - -Alister’s eyes had closed in a dumb ecstacy over a particularly -prolonged and dismal chord, but he opened them quickly and stopped -playing. - -“What?” - -“How do you start being a soldier?” - -“You go to school first--preparatory,” said Alister, putting away the -concertina, much to Boy’s relief. “I’m there now. Then you go to a -regular public military training school, and you learn heaps and heaps -of things,--then you are measured and weighed, and your chest is thumped -and your teeth looked to, then if that’s all right, you perhaps go to -Sandhurst, and then you pass all sorts of stiff exams. In fact,” said -Alister, warming with his subject, “you learn _everything_! There’s -_nothing_ that you’re not expected to know. Think of that! And you must -keep your teeth all right, and your chest sound, and you must grow to a -certain height. Oh, there’s lots to do all round, I can tell you!” - -“I see!” - -Boy’s heart sank, but he determined to ask to be sent to school directly -he went home again. He would not, if he could help it, remain under the -tuition of Rattling Jack. - -“Aren’t you going to school?” queried Alister. - -“I hope so.” - -“Come to mine,” said Alister. “It’s awfully jolly,--we play cricket and -football and hockey, and we have supper-fights and no end of larks. Ask -your father to send you to mine. I’ll give you the address when we get -home.” - -“Thanks,” said Boy, with an attempt to look as if the going to Alister’s -school would be the easiest thing in the world,--“I will see if I can -come.” - -Poor little lad! He had no more hope of being sent to Alister’s school -than of being carried off in a fairy boat to the moon. But he thought a -great deal about school that night when he had parted from his chum. - -“I’ll tell mother I want to go to school,” he said to himself. “That can -do no harm. If she won’t send me I’ll have to run away.” - -Meanwhile Miss Leslie wrote long and very earnest letters to both -Captain and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir. Once more she offered to make Boy her -heir, on condition that she should be allowed to take care of him, and -control his education. Her letters arrived at their destination when the -“Honourable Jim” was snoring the hours away in a heavy drunken sleep, -and naturally Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir read the one intended for her husband as -well as the one addressed to herself. She smiled a fat smile as she -consigned the one written to Jim (“Like her impudence!” she murmured to -herself) to the convenient flames, and resolved to say nothing about it -(“For the education of my son,” she said, “is my affair!”). She laid her -large hand on her large breast with an approving and consolatory pat. To -be a “mother” was a great thing. - -“Silly old woman!” ejaculated Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, her stout bust heaving -with matronly offence. “She has lost all her own matrimonial -chances--she would insist on sticking to the memory of Harry Raikes--and -there she is, of course, all alone in the world, and wants my boy to be -a son to her. Poor dear child! A nice time he would have of it, a slave -to an old maid’s fads and fancies!” - -So she sat down and wrote the following letter. She had a shocking -handwriting,--it sloped downwards and sideways all over a sheet of -paper, in very much the way her mind sloped and went sideways -likewise:-- - - “MY DEAR LETITIA, - - I am sorry to see from the tone of your letter that you are still - feeling so lonely. Of course it is very hard for you to be all - alone at your age, and I am very sorry for you. But to part with my - son to you as you suggest is quite out of the question. A mother’s - claims are paramount! I am sure you would be very nice to him, and - the dear boy deserves everything that can possibly be done for his - advantage, but his mother must preside over his education. I am - sure that, though unmarried yourself, you will see the force of - this. If, however, you still decide to make him your heir, I am - sure he will be very worthy of it, and always remember you - affectionately after you are gone. We shall expect our son home - next week, and hope that Major Desmond will be able to escort him. - - Yours very sincerely, - - AMELIA D’ARCY-MUIR.” - -This letter was the charter of Boy’s doom. Not all the stars in their -courses would be able to alter his fate from henceforth. Miss Leslie -cried quietly to herself in her room for nearly an hour,--then bathed -her eyes, smoothed her hair, and attended to her household duties as -placidly and sweetly as ever. She never spoke to Boy at all on the -subject. To Major Desmond and his friend Fitz she said simply,-- - -“I wrote to Boy’s mother and father. But it is no use!” - -“I thought not!” said the Major gruffly. - -“Poor little chap!” said Fitz. - -And by tacit consent they dropped the subject. - -But one day before Boy went back to his loving parents, Miss Leslie took -him out by himself for a walk with her through the beautiful Pass of -Achray, and there sitting down by the dry and fragrant heather -brilliant with bloom, she talked to him gently, holding his little grimy -hand in her own. - -“Boy,” she said, “if you ever want anything, will you write to me? You -_can_ write now, can’t you?” - -Boy nodded, looking a trifle pale and startled. - -“Suppose,” went on Miss Leslie, feeling something like a wicked -conspirator as she suggested it,--“Suppose you wanted to go to school -and your father wouldn’t let you, do you think--do you think--you could -run away to me?” - -And the gentle lady’s soft cheeks crimsoned at the audacity of this -proposal. - -But Boy’s eyes glittered. This was like one of Alister’s adventures. - -“Yes,” he replied breathlessly, “I’m sure I could!” - -“Well, well--we will hope that won’t be necessary,” said Miss Leslie -hastily. “You mustn’t of course _ever_ do such a thing unless you are -quite driven to it. But if you _are_ in trouble of any sort write to me, -and I will--I will meet you anywhere.” This with a hazy notion that if -it were the North Pole she would somehow manage to be there. - -Boy threw his arms round her neck and kissed her. - -“Oh, you are good--good!,” he said: “I wish I were _your_ Boy!” - -Miss Letty patted him with a trembling hand--but was silent. - -The bees buzzed drowsily in the heather bells,--the blue sky was -flecked with beautiful white clouds, and the lights and shadows changed -the aspect of the mountains every few minutes. A little “burnie” -chattered at their feet, gurgling over the stones and pebbles, and -chuckling among the ferns and grasses, and over its silver ribbon-like -streak two gorgeous dragon-flies chased each other, the sunlight -flashing gold upon their iridescent wings. - -“I wish I could stay with you altogether,” said Boy, taking off his cap -and ruffling his pretty fair hair with his hands in a sort of nervous -agitation--“I feel so happy with you! See how lovely it all is -to-day!--God seems really good out here!” - -“God _is_ really good always, darling,” said Miss Letty. - -“Yes, I suppose He is--but where we are He doesn’t seem good a bit. The -people are dirty and miserable and poor,--and even the sea looks cruel!” - -“Poor Boy!” murmured Miss Letty to herself, quickly understanding the -sense of loneliness and bitterness which sometimes overpowered the -child’s mind. Aloud she said, as cheerily as she could,-- - -“That’s only fancy, Boy! Everything is good and beautiful in the world -as God made it and intended it to be; it’s only the bad dispositions and -wickednesses of men that make things seem difficult. But if you are good -and straightforward everything will come right, and you will perhaps -understand why you are sometimes a little bit sad and lonely now. I -daresay it’s all for the best....” She paused, because in her own clear -soul she could _not_ think it was quite for the best that the little -fellow should have a drunken father and a sloven mother. “Promise me one -thing, Boy,” she went on,--“Never tell a lie. Liars come to no -good,--and when you go to school--for I expect you will go to -school--you will find that all nice English boys are brought up to be -frank and true, and to stand upon their honour. If a boy tells a lie to -shield himself, he is looked upon as a coward by all his school-fellows. -Remember that! No matter what scrapes you get into, tell the truth right -out, without the least fear, and you may be sure you are doing well. -Even if you get punished, a day’s punishment is much better than a lie -on your conscience.” - -Boy listened reverently. - -“I’ll remember,” he said. - -“That’s right!” And Miss Letty took him again in her arms and kissed -him--“God bless you, dear! Try and grow up a good man! You will have a -great many troubles and difficulties, I daresay--we all have; but go on -trying--try always to be a good brave man!” - -Boy returned her embrace with fervour, and promised. After this they -went home, and the end of the week saw Boy back again in the remote -fishing village with his mother only. His father had gone away on a -yachting trip with a friend as fond of the bottle as himself, and some -unkind people said what a good thing it would be if the yacht should go -down quietly in the waves and make a speedy end of the two -convivialists. Boy was personally rather glad of his father’s absence, -as he thought it gave him a better chance to discuss things with his -mother. For the first one or two days after his return he was very -reticent,--he did not say much about his holiday in Scotland--but only -mentioned his little friend Alister McDonald. - -“Who _is_ he?” demanded Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir. - -“Oh, he’s just Alister McDonald,” answered Boy. - -“Don’t be stupid, Boy. I mean who is his father?” - -“Does that matter?” - -“Matter! Of course it matters. Family is everything. You must belong to -a good family for you to be anybody.” - -“Must you? Then how about Robert Burns?” - -“Robert Burns?” Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s mouth opened in astonishment. - -“Yes,” went on Boy dauntlessly,--“I heard all about him in Scotland. -They’re always talking about him. Robert Burns was a ploughman--and he -wrote such beautiful things that everybody, even now, though he is dead -ever so long ago, wants to try and make out that they’re connected with -him in some way or other. Is that what you mean by a good family?” - -“No, I don’t--certainly not!”--snapped out his mother. “Robert Burns was -a very disreputable person. People who write poetry usually are. I -didn’t ask you who Robert Burns was. I asked you who your friend -Alister’s father was.” - -“Colonel McDonald,” answered Boy,--“of the Gordon Highlanders.” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir “looked up” his regiment at once, and found that -Colonel McDonald was a very distinguished person indeed--quite good -blood, in fact--really quite. Whereupon she graciously approved of -Alister as Boy’s friend; and Boy, emboldened by this, said,-- - -“Couldn’t I go to school where Alister is, mother? I do want to go to -school!” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir asked the name of the school, and when she heard it, -pursed her lips together dubiously. It was a famous school, and an -expensive one. It boasted of some of the finest teachers in England, -whose services were not to be had for nothing. - -“I’ll see about it,” she said grandiloquently,--“I’m not sure I should -approve of that school. But of course you must go to school -somewhere--and I’ll arrange it for you as soon as I can.” - -Having put the idea into her head, Boy waited with tolerable equanimity. -He would write, he thought, to Miss Letty when everything was settled. -In the meantime his mother, in her own peculiar pig-headed way, set to -work reading all the advertisements of cheap schools in all the papers, -and hit upon one at last that particularly seemed to appeal to her,--one -which provided knowledge with physical and moral training for life -generally, at the humble cost of about twenty pounds--board and lodging -were included--a year. That would do, she resolved. An exchange of -letters between herself and the proprietor of this “first-class -educational establishment” soon settled the matter--“for,” said Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir, “there is no occasion to consult Jim. He is too sodden with -whisky to know what he is about--he will have to pay the money,--and I -shall have to get it out of him, and--and that’s all.” - -And one morning she informed Boy of his approaching destination. - -“I have managed a school for you, Boy,” she said. “I’m getting your -clothes ready, and next week you are going to France.” - -“France!” cried Boy, and his little heart sank almost into his little -boots. - -“Yes, France!” said his mother. “There’s a charming school at a place -called Noirville in Brittany, and I have arranged for you to go there. -You’ll learn to speak French, which is always a great advantage to a -boy. Why, what are you crying about?” - -Poor Boy! He tried hard to keep back his tears, but it was no use--and -the more he fought against them, the faster they fell. - -“Oh, mother, mother!” he said, at last giving way to his sobs, “I did -want to be a real English boy!--a real, _real_ English boy!” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s little eyes almost shot out of her head in the -extremity of her staring astonishment. - -“What a ridiculous child you are!” she burst out at last. “How can you -be anything else than a real English boy? Isn’t your father English? Am -not I--your mother--English? And were you not born in England? Good -gracious me! I never heard such nonsense in my life! Silly cry-baby! Do -you think going to school in France will alter your birth and your -nature?” - -Boy choked back his sobs, and controlled his tears,--but not trusting -himself to speak, he went straight out of his mother’s presence, and ran -as hard as his little legs could carry him down to the sea-shore. There -he sat, a forlorn little figure, on the sand close to the fringe of the -sea, and tried to think. It was a difficult task, for he was too young -to analyse his own emotions. His hazy idea that he could not possibly be -‘a real English boy’ if he went to school in France was purely -instinctive--he knew nothing about foreign countries or foreign customs -of education. But he was hopelessly, bitterly disappointed,--deplorably, -cruelly cast down. He knew it would be no use appealing to his mother. -And he did not know where his father was. Even if he had known, he could -have done nothing with that estimable parent. It seemed very useless to -try and do one’s best, he thought. Since he had come back from Scotland -he had been so thoroughly determined to follow Miss Letty’s precepts--to -attempt by small degrees the work of becoming ‘a good brave man,’ that -he had avoided all the dirty little scavenger-boys of the place he had -used to foregather with, and he had not even been to see Rattling Jack. -He had remained nearly all day with his mother, doing the lessons she -gave him to do, and obeying her in every trifling particular, and had -been most gently docile and affectionate in his conduct. The silly -woman, however, had taken all his loving attention as a proof that he -had found Miss Leslie so ‘faddy,’ and her house in Scotland so dull, -that he was glad and grateful to be at home again with ‘his own dear -mother,’ as she herself put it. And now---- she was going to send him -away to France! His wistful eyes scanned the ocean and the far blue line -of the distant horizon,--there was a storm coming up from the north, and -the first gusts of wind ruffled the waves and gave them white crests, -over which three or four seagulls flew with doleful screams, and Boy’s -heart grew heavier and heavier. Presently he got up from the sand, -dusting his little clothes free from the sparkling grains. - -“It’s no use,” he said hopelessly,--“it isn’t a bit of use! I shall -never be anything--neither a soldier nor a sailor, nor anybody. But I’ll -write to Miss Letty.” - -He had begun to retrace his steps homeward, when he saw a figure coming -along the stretches of sand,--a figure that stooped and shuffled, and -carried a basket on its back. Boy recognized it as the visible form and -composition of Rattling Jack, and went straight up to it. - -“Hullo, Jack!” said he with a little smile. - -The old gentleman turned his bent head round on one side. - -“Who be ye?” he demanded. “My back is that stiff with rheumatiz, and my -neck is that wincy that I can’t lift myself up anyhow!” - -“Oh, I’m so sorry!” said Boy, in his sweet little childish voice. -“Couldn’t I carry your basket for you?” - -Stiff in the back and “wincy” in the neck as he declared himself to be, -Rattling Jack did manage to raise his stooping figure a little at this -question, and to stare through fuzzy tangles of hair, eyebrow, and -whisker at his small friend, whom he gradually recognized. - -“Oh, it be ye, be it?” he grunted then, not unkindly. “Ye went to -Scotland, didn’t ye, awhile sen?” - -“Yes,” said Boy. “And--and--next week I’m going away again,--to -school.” - -“That’s right!” said Rattling Jack approvingly. “That’s the best thing -for yer! There be nothin’ like a good English school for boys----” - -“But it isn’t an English school!” said Boy. “I’m going to France----” - -“Fra--ance!” roared the old seaman. “What d’ye know of France?” - -“Nothing!” said Boy dispiritedly. “I shall be all alone out there,--and -I don’t speak a word of French!” - -Rattling Jack surveyed him for a few minutes in grim silence. The -situation appeared to interest him, for he unslung his basket and set it -down on the shore. Whatever the basket’s business, it was evident it -could wait. Then partly straightening himself with an effort, he said -slowly,-- - -“Who be sending ye to school in France?” - -“My mother,” responded Boy. - -“Poor little devil! May God help yer,” said Rattling Jack with hoarse -solemnity; “for ye’ll come back never no more!” - -“Oh yes; I shall come back for the holidays, I suppose,” said Boy -practically. - -“Stow that!” said Jack, with a sudden stentorian vigour which was quite -alarming. “What’s ’olidays! Yes, ye’ll come back mebbe for ’olidays, but -it won’t be you!” - -“Won’t be me?” echoed Boy wonderingly. “It must be me!” - -“It can’t be!” persisted Jack,--“France ain’t a turnin’-out -establishment for Englishmen. Never a bit of it! Ye’ll go to France a -poor decent little chap enough as yer seems to be, but ye’ll never come -back _that_ way,--ye’ll come back a little mincin’, lyin’ rascal, -parly-vooin’ like a hass, an’ hoppin’ like a frog! That’s what ye’ll be. -Ye’ll be afraid of cold water, and skeered-like at the sight of yer own -skin--and ye’ll never look any livin’ creetur in the face agin! And -ye’ll be a dirty, mean, creepy-crawly little Frenchy--that’s what ye’ll -be!” - -“No, I won’t!” cried Boy, quite appalled at this vivid picture of -himself _in futuro_. “Don’t say I will! I know you’ve travelled a lot, -and that you’ve seen France----” - -“Seen France!” And Rattling Jack snorted indignation at the air. -“Rather! And seen Frenchmen too! And licked them into the bottom of -their own shinin’ boots! Seen France! Yes!--it’s a great place for -frogs--hoppin’ round, and all alive oh! - - Mary, Mary, quite contrary, - How does your garden grow? - -Thank you marm, kindly, but frogs ’as eaten me out of ’ouse and ’ome an’ -garden too! Hor--hor--hor!” - -And Rattling Jack began to indulge in those deep, uncouth sounds which -he produced as laughter. Always deeply impressed by his own wit, he -liked to appreciate any joke he thought he had perpetrated to its full -extent and flavour, and Boy waited patiently till his ‘hor--hor--hor’ -decreased in volume and died away in a snuffle. - -“Yes, I’m sure you’re quite right about France,” he then said -timidly--“because you have been there. But you see, I can’t help it. I -shall have to go there if my mother sends me!” - -Rattling Jack laid a big hand on Boy’s small shoulder. - -“Yes, I suppose you’ll hev to do as yer mother bids. I don’t know yer -mother, and don’t want to. If I did, mebbe I’d give her a bit o’ my -mind. What I thinks is this--that the ways of natur are best, and in the -ways of natur mothers don’t interfere when they’ve done their nussin’. -See!” And he stretched out an arm with a roughly eloquent gesture -towards the ocean, where the seagulls screamed and flew--“They birds has -to take the rough-and-tumble of the storm and the sea. Born and bred in -a hole of the cliffs, they’ve got to larn to fly--and larn they do,--and -when they flies, they flies their own way--they takes it and they keeps -it! And so with all birds and animals ’cept man. Man’s the idiot of the -universe, always a worritin’ of himself. He wants his chillun to be just -like himself, and a mussiful Lord makes ’em as different as chalk from -cheese. For which let’s be joyful! And when they wants to go their own -way, man, the idiot, pulls ’em back, and says, ‘you shan’t!’ An’ then -it’s more than likely old Nick steps in an’ says, ‘you shall!’ And away -they go, straight to the devil! When I was a boy I took my own way--and -wal!--here I am!” - -“And do you like yourself now?” asked Boy respectfully. - -“Like myself? Of course I like myself! I ain’t got no one else to like -me, so why shouldn’t I like myself?” - -“_I_ like you,” said Boy,--“I always have liked you! I think you so--so -clever!” - -Rattling Jack was not often shaken from the cynical attitude he chose to -assume towards all mankind, but this innocent remark certainly touched -him in a weak spot. He was not insensible to flattery,--and the evident -fact that Boy did not intend to flatter, but spoke with the simple -conviction of his own heart, moved the old seafarer to a sudden stirring -of more fervent feeling than was customary with him. - -“Ye’ve a good deal o’ sense for a little chap,” he observed -condescendingly, “and I don’t mind sayin’ that I’ve rather took to ye. -Now, look’y ’ere! If ye don’t want to go to school in France, why don’t -you do as they seagulls do, and fly away?” - -“Fly away!” repeated Boy,--“you mean, run away!” - -“Fly or run, it’s all the same, bless yer ’eart!” said Jack. “Get out -of yer little hole in the rock and spread yer wings to the sun and the -breeze! Hain’t yer got any friends?” - -“Yes, I’ve one very good friend,” said Boy, thinking of Miss Letty. -“She’s a very kind lady, and I’m going to write to her. But you see if I -ran away I should be brought back again--I’m not very old--I’m not quite -ten yet.” - -“Not quite ten, ain’t yer!” said Jack, suddenly becoming conscious of -the extreme youth and helplessness of his small friend. “That ain’t -much, for sartin! Wal!--look ’ere,--I’ll tell you what I’ll do for -ye--I’ll give ye a tiger’s tooth!” - -Boy stared. - -“Will you?” he said. “What’s it for?” - -“A tiger’s tooth,” said Jack solemnly, “takes the owner through the -forests o’ difficulty. A tiger’s tooth protects him agin his enemies! -Mark that! Take it with ye to France! A tiger’s tooth bites traitors! A -tiger’s tooth! Lord love ye!--a’most anythin’ can be done with a tiger’s -tooth! Look at it!” - -He fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out a shining white object of -pointed ivory. - -“That come from Bengal,” he said. “An’ ’e as give it to me was what they -call a ma-geesan! He could swallow sarpints and fire quite -promiskus-like,--seemed his nat’ral food. An’ ’e sed to me, ses ’e, -‘’Ere’s a tiger’s tooth for ye,--keep it in mem’ry of the world-famous -Oriental conjurer Garoo-Garee!’ And then ’e guv a screech an’ was gone!” - -Boy listened to this interesting narrative with awe. “What a wonderful -man!” he said. “And his name was Garoo-Garee!” - -“Just that!” answered Jack. “Will ye have the tooth?” - -“Indeed I will!” said Boy gratefully, taking the mystic talisman out of -Jack’s horny palm--“you’re awfully good to me! I’m ever so much obliged! -And if I have to go to France, I will come and see you directly I get -back.” - -Rattling Jack shouldered his basket again slowly, and with difficulty. - -“No, ye won’t!” he said dismally. “No, ye won’t think no more o’ me -among they Frenchies. God bless my ’eart! An’ not yet ten ye ain’t! Wal, -good-bye to ye! I’ll not be seein’ ye agin in this mortal world,--so -I’ll just think o’ ye kindly, as a little chap wot’s dead!” - -Boy’s heart sank, and his young blood seemed to grow cold. - -“Oh, don’t do that, Jack!” he cried; “don’t do that!” - -“I must,” said Jack with dreary gravity, looking a melancholy figure -enough as he stood on the wet sand, with the gray storm-clouds scudding -overhead, and the wind tossing his scanty white locks of hair. “For when -a child is a child he’s one thing--and when he ain’t, he’s another. -First there’s a baby--then there ain’t no baby, but a child,--and the -baby’s gone. Then by-and-by there ain’t no child, but a boy--and the -child’s gone. Then, afore ye can so much as look round, the boy’s gone, -and there’s a man. Argyfyin’ my way, ye see baby, child, boy is all -gone, which is to say, dead--for what’s bein’ dead but gone, and what’s -bein’ gone but dead? And only the man is left, which is generally a poor -piece of work. There’s wise folk writin’ in the newspapers wot calls it -ever-lotion, but wot it is the lotion’s good for, God only knows. Anyhow -I’ve seen a darned sight many more decent chillun than I have men. Which -it proves that the chillun is dead. But my talk is too deep for ye--I -kin see that! Ye poor little skinny white-faced chap,--ye can’t be -expected to understan’ Feel Osophy.” - -“No,” said Boy humbly, “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. But I hope -you’ll think of me just as if I were here,--you see you have given me -the tiger’s tooth--and I shall never forget you!” - -“M’appen the tooth will do somethin’ in the way of nippin’ the memory,” -said Jack thoughtfully,--“mebbe so! Good-bye t’yer! There’s a cloud just -a-goin’ to burst in the sky, and ye’ll be drenched to the skin afore ye -knows where ye are!” and he turned up his quaint old physiognomy to the -darkening heavens, from which already big drops of rain were beginning -to fall. “Run ’ome, little ’un! Run ’ome! That mother o’ yourn ’ll be -down on ye if ye wets yer clothes. Shake ’ands?” For Boy had timidly -extended his small hand. “Sartinly!” And the old man grasped the tiny -child fingers within his own rough dirty ones. “For it’s a long -good-bye! Sartin sure of that I am! Don’t let ’em make a frog of ye out -there in France, if ye can ’elp it. Good-bye! I’ll just think o’ ye as -if ye were dead!” - -The rain now began to fall in heavy earnest, and Boy could not stop to -protest further against this obstinate final statement of his seafaring -friend. He put the tiger’s tooth in his pocket, smiled, lifted his cap, -and ran, a little light figure flying across the sand, some of his curls -escaping loose and gleaming like the sunshine that was now lacking in -the sky. Rattling Jack stood still and watched him go, heedless of the -rain that began to drift in sweeping gusts round and round him. The sea -uprose and lashed the flat shore with fringes of yellow foam, angrily -murmuring and snarling like some savage beast of prey. But Jack heard -nothing, or if he heard, he did not heed. Equally he saw nothing, but -that small child figure racing through the rain over the glistening -sand, till at the corner of an old jetty where the mists of the land and -sea hung low like a curtain, it turned and disappeared. - -“There ye go!” said the old man, talking to himself--“there ye go--away -for ever! An’ the rain fallin’, and the mists a-gatherin’. There ye go! -The way of all the chillun--a bit of sunshine, and then the mist and -the rain! There ye go--and good-bye to ye! Ye wor a nice little -chap--quiet, yet speerety-like--a nice little chap ye wor, an’ I’ll -think o’ ye kindly, as if the good God had took ye,--just as if ye wor -dead!” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The next day Boy shut himself up in his own little bedroom and wrote a -letter to Miss Leslie. He was a long time about it, and he took infinite -pains to spell carefully. The result of his anxious thought and trouble -was the following epistle:-- - - “MY DEER FREND MISS LETTY - - I am gowin to skool nex week you will bee sory to heer it is not a - skool in England like Alister Macdonald it is in France ware I have - never bin I am sory to tell you I do not like to go thare. Mother - expecs me to speek French but I am sory to tell you I do not feel I - shall speek very quikly the new langwige if you cood do enny thing - to safe me from the skool in France I wood be glad I am afrade - Mother will send me before you can cum my close are been packt and - I am to bee put on boord a ship to the Captain who is to give me to - the skool I am very sory and cannot help cryin if I cood run away - wood you meet me enny ware I wood like to see you I think of deer - Skotland and Alister and Majer Desmond, pleese give my luv and say - I have to go to skool in France Alister will be very sory as he - alwas sade he wood fite the french the plase is called Noirville - (Boy wrote this very roundly and carefully) in Brittany and the - master takes boys who are cheep mother says I am afrade I shal not - see you deer miss Letty I am your lovin frend - - BOY.” - -This letter finished, and put in an envelope, Boy carefully addressed it -in a very big round hand to Miss Leslie at her house in Hans Place, and -then went down to his mother to ask for a penny stamp. - -“Whom have you been writing to?” she demanded, with a touch of -suspicion. - -For one instant Boy was tempted to answer,--“To Alister McDonald,” but -he resisted the temptation bravely. He had promised his dear Miss Letty -never to tell a lie again after the fatal affair with the Major’s gun. -So he answered frankly,-- - -“To Miss Letty.” - -His mother dived into the depths of a capacious pocket, and opening a -very bulgy purse, produced the required stamp. - -“There you are,” she said graciously; “I hope you have written her a -nice letter.” - -“Oh yes, mother!” - -“Well, leave it outside on the hall table. I have some letters to write -too, and they can all go together.” - -Boy obeyed. He would have liked to go and post his letter himself, but -his conscience told him that were he to ask to do so it would look like -doubting his mother’s integrity. - -“It will be all right!” he said to himself, though there was just a -little sinking at his heart as he placed it where he had been told. -“Mother wouldn’t touch it.” - -He hung about for a while, looking at the precious epistle, which to him -involved so much, till, hearing his little shuffling feet in the hall, -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir grew impatient. - -“Boy!” she called. - -“Yes, mother.” - -“Come here. I want you to wind off this worsted for me.” - -Boy went to her, and meekly accepted the thick hank of ugly grey wool -she offered him, and stretching it out, as was his custom when he had to -do this kind of duty, on the back of a chair, he set to work patiently -winding it off into a ball. Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir meanwhile wrote two -letters, and sealed them in their respective envelopes. Then she took -them out into the hall, and Boy heard her call the servant to take all -the letters to the post. - -“Is mine gone too?” he asked, as she re-entered. - -“Of course! Do you think your mother could be so careless as to forget -it?” - -Boy said nothing, but went on winding the grey worsted till he had made -a neat, soft, big round of it,--then he handed it to his mother and -ventured to kiss her cheek. - -“My own Boy!” she said gushingly. “You do love me, don’t you?” - -“Yes, mother. Only--only-----” - -“Only what?” - -“I wish you were sending me to a school in England. I don’t like going -to France!” - -“That’s because you don’t know what is for your good, dear!” said Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir, with a magnificent air. “Trust to mother! Mother always -does everything for the best!” - -Boy made no answer, but presently went away to his room and took down a -book in large print, which Major Desmond had given him as a parting -gift, entitled “Our Country’s Heroes,”--in which there were some very -thrilling pictures of young men, almost boys, fighting, escaping from -prison, struggling with wild beasts, climbing Alpine heights, swimming -tempestuous seas, and generally distinguishing themselves,--and as he -turned the pages, he wondered wistfully whether he would ever be like -any one of them. He feared not; there was no encouragement held out to -him to be a “country’s hero.” - -“Alister McDonald will be doing great things some day, I’m sure!” he -said to himself. “He’s full of most wonderful ideas about killing all -the country’s enemies!” - -And while he thus pored over his book and thought, his mother opened his -poor little letter to Miss Leslie (“For it is a mother’s duty!” she said -to herself, to excuse her dishonourable act to a trusting child) and -read every word two or three times over. She had of course never -intended it to be posted, and when she had gone into the hall to -apparently give the servant all the letters for the post, she had kept -it back and quietly slipped it into her pocket. As she now perused it, -her whole large figure swelled with the “noble matron’s” indignation. - -“What a wicked old thing that Leslie woman must be!” she exclaimed,--“A -perfect mischief-maker!--she has poisoned my son’s mind! He would -evidently run away to her if he could! How fortunate it is that I have -intercepted this letter! Not that it matters much, because of course I -should have soon put a stop to the old maid’s nonsense, and Boy’s too. -Stupid child! But it isn’t his fault, poor darling--it’s the fault of -that conceited old thing who has put all these foolish notions into his -head. Really, a mother has to be always on her guard!” - -With which sagacious observation, she posted Boy’s letter to his “deer -frend” into the fire. Then, satisfied that she “had done a mother’s -duty,” she called Boy, and asked him if he would like a game of draughts -with her. He nodded a glad assent, and as he brought out the board and -set the pieces, he looked so bright and animated that his mother -“swelled” towards him as it were, and shed one of her slowest, fattest -smiles upon him. - -“I shall be very lonely without you, Boy!” she said plaintively,--“No -nice little son to play draughts with me! But it’s for your good, I -know, and a mother must always sacrifice herself for her children.” - -She sighed in bland self-admiration, but Boy, not being able to argue on -the duties of mothers, had already made his first move on the -draught-board, so she had to resign herself with as good a grace as she -could to the game, which she had only proposed by way of a _ruse_ to -take Boy’s mind off any further possibility of its dwelling on the -subject of his letter to Miss Leslie. - -But Boy thought of it all the same, though he said nothing. Day after -day he waited anxiously for a reply,--and when none came, his little -face grew paler, and his brows contracted the habit of frowning. One -morning when his mother was just opening some letters of her own which -had arrived by the first delivery, she looked up and said smilingly,-- - -“Have you heard from Miss Letty yet, Boy?” - -Boy looked at her with a straight fearless glance, which, had she been a -little less mean and treacherous and poor of soul than she was, might -have made her wince. - -“No, mother!” - -“What a shame!” and Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir settled herself more comfortably in -her chair, still smiling. “But you see, she’s getting rather an old -lady now, and she can hardly be expected to write to little boys!” - -“She promised me she would always answer me if I wrote to her!” said -Boy, his small mouth set and stern, and his eyes looking quite tired and -pained--“She _promised_!” - -“And you believed her?” his mother queried carelessly. “Poor dear child! -Yes, of course! So nice of you! But you will have to learn, dear, as you -grow older, that people don’t always keep their promises!” - -“I can’t think Miss Letty would ever break hers!” said Boy slowly. - -His mother laughed unkindly. - -“What a touching faith you have in her!” she said, and laughed again. -“Such a little boy!--and quite in love with such an old lady! Oh, go -along, Boy! Don’t be silly! You really are too absurd! Miss Letty has -got quite enough to do with counting up her money and looking after the -interest of it, without bothering to write to _you_!” - -“Is she very rich?” asked Boy suddenly. - -“Rich? I should think she is indeed! Do you know”--and she smiled -blandly--“she wanted to give you all the money she has got!” - -“Me!” exclaimed Boy, and stared breathlessly. - -“Yes--you! But then you would have had to go away from me, and be like -_her_ son instead of _mine_! That would have been quite dreadful! And -of course I could not have allowed such a thing!” - -Boy said not a word. He grew a little paler still, but was quite silent. - -“And then,” went on Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir graciously, “you would have had all -her thousands of pounds when she was dead!” - -This word broke up Boy’s unnatural composure. - -“Dead! When she was dead! Oh, I don’t want Miss Letty to die!” he said, -the colour rushing up hotly to his brows. “No--no! I don’t want any -money---- I wouldn’t have it--not if Miss Letty had to die first! I -would rather die myself!” - -And unable to control his rising emotion, he suddenly burst into tears -and ran out of the room. - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir gazed after him helplessly. Then rising, she paced the -room slowly to and fro with elephantine tread, and sniffed the air -portentously. - -“He’s getting quite unmanageable! I’m thankful--yes, thankful that I -have decided on that school in Brittany, and the sooner he goes the -better!” - -Meanwhile Boy was crying quietly, and by himself, in his room. - -“Oh, Miss Letty!” he sobbed--“Dear Miss Letty! You wanted me to be -_your_ Boy! Oh, I wish I was!--I wish I was! Not for all the money--I -don’t want any--but I want _you_! I want _you_, Miss Letty! Oh, I do -want you so much! I do want you!” - -Alas, the Fates, so often invincibly obstinate in their particular way -of weaving the web of a life, and sometimes tangling the threads as they -go, were apparently set dead against any change for the better occurring -in this child’s destiny,--and no “occult” force of sound, or other form -of spirit communication was vouchsafed to Miss Letty concerning the -troubles and difficulties of her little friend. And the day came when -Boy, to quote the ancient ballad of Lord Bateman, - - “Shipped himself all aboard of a ship, - Some foreign countries for to see.” - -A solitary little figure, he stood on the deck where his mother had left -him after “seeing him off,” somewhat doubtfully received and considered -by the captain of the said ship as a sort of package, labelled, and -needing speedy transit--and as he saw the white cliffs of England -recede, his heart was heavy as lead, and his soul full of bitterness. -Not for his mother or father were his farewells--but for Miss Letty. To -her he sent his parting thoughts,--to her he silently breathed the last -love, the last tenderness of his innocent childhood. For his trust in -her remained unbroken. She would have answered his letter, he knew, if -she had received it. He felt instinctively certain that it had never -been posted,--and when once this idea took root in his young mind, it -bore its natural fruit,--a deep distrust, which was almost scorn, of -the mother who could stoop so low as to deliberately deceive him. The -incident made such a strong impression upon him, that it is scarcely an -exaggeration to say that it “had aged him.” He had never been able to -respect his father,--and now he was moved to despise his mother. Hence -his good-byes to her were cold and lifeless--the kiss he gave her was a -mere touch--his little hand lay limply in hers--while she, in her -sublime self-conceit, thought that this numb and frozen attitude of the -child was the result of his grief at parting from her. - -“See that he has a good dinner, please!” she said to the captain, in -whose care she had placed him, heaving her large bosom expansively as -she spoke--“Poor, dear little fellow! He’s so terribly cut up at parting -from me,--we have been such friends--such close companions! You will -look after him, won’t you?” - -The captain grunted a brief assent, thinking what a remarkably stout -woman she was,--and Boy smiled--such a pale, cold little smile--the -first touch of the sarcasm that was destined to make his pretty mouth -into such a hard line in a few more years. And the ship plunged away -from the English shore through the grey-green foam-crested billows--and -Boy leaned over the deck rail, and watched the churning water under the -paddle-wheels, and the sea-birds swooping down in search of stray scraps -of food thrown out from the ship’s kitchen,--and he remembered what -Rattling Jack had said about them--“Born and bred in a hole of the -cliffs, they’ve got to larn to fly--and larn they do--and when they -flies, they flies their own way--they takes it an’ they keeps it!” - -And moved by an odd sense of the injurious treatment of an untoward -Fate, he took out from his pocket the precious “tiger’s tooth” the old -sailor had given him as a talisman, and dropped it in the waves. - -“For it’s evidently not a bit of use,” he said to himself; “Jack said it -would take me through difficulties, but it hasn’t. It has been no help -to me at all. It’s a humbug, like--like most things. And as for the -sea-gulls, I’m sure the world is a better place for birds than boys. I -wish I’d never been a boy.” - -But youthful wishes, like youthful hopes, are often vain, and doomed to -annihilation through the cross-currents of opposing influences; and -heedless of Boy’s aching little heart, so full of crushed aspirations -and disappointments, the ship went on and bore him relentlessly away -from everything in which he had the faintest interest. And while he was -on his journey to France, his estimable “Muzzy” sat down at home, and in -high satisfaction and importance, wrote two letters. One was to the -Master of the “skool” at Noirville, as follows:-- - - “DEAR SIR, - - My son has left England to-day so that he will arrive in time to - meet your representative at St. Malo, where I understand you will - send to receive him. I have no further instructions respecting his - education to give you, except to ask you to kindly supervise his - letters. He has a young friend named Alister McDonald, son of - Colonel McDonald, who is of very good family, to whom he may wish - to write, and I have no objection whatever to his doing so. But - there is an elderly person named Miss Leslie, who has an extremely - unfortunate influence upon his mind, and I shall be obliged to you - if you will intercept any letters he may attempt to write to her - and forward them to me. - - _Mes meilleurs compliments!_ - - AMELIA D’ARCY-MUIR.” - -The other was to Miss Leslie. - - “MY DEAR LETITIA, - - I am sure you will be glad to hear that dear Boy has gone to - school. I have sent him to a very good establishment in Noirville, - Brittany, where he will pick up French very quickly, and languages - are so necessary to a boy nowadays. He left his love for you, and - told me to say good-bye to you for him. I hope you are quite well, - and that this rather damp weather is not affecting your spirits. I - am of course rather lonely without my darling son, but to be a good - mother one must always suffer something. - - Sincerely yours, - - AMELIA D’ARCY-MUIR.” - -It was with a curious sense of self-congratulation that she posted these -two letters, and thought of the result they would effect. The one to the -French schoolmaster would subject Boy to a sort of _espionage_, which -would, she decided, be “good for him,”--it was part of “a mother’s duty” -to make a child feel that he was watched and suspected and mistrusted, -and that every innocent letter he wrote was under “surveillance” as if -he were a prisoner of war,--and the one to Miss Letty would cause that -good and gentle creature such grief and consternation as made the worthy -Amelia D’Arcy-Muir wriggle with pleasure to contemplate. She was one of -those very common types of women who delight in making other women -unhappy, and who approve of themselves for doing an unkindness as though -it were a virtue. There was nothing she liked better than to meet some -sour old beldame-gossip and talk with a sort of condescending pity of -some beautiful or well-known person completely out of her sphere, as if -the said person were an ancient hooded crow. To pick a reputation to -pieces was one of her delights,--to make mischief in households, -another,--and to create confusion and discord where, till her arrival, -all had been peace, was an ecstacy whose deliciousness to her soul -almost approached surfeit. She always said her disagreeable things in -the softest accents, as though she were imparting a valuable -secret,--and when an inextricably hopeless muddle of affairs among -perfectly harmless people had come about through her interference, she -put on a grand air of protesting innocence, and looked “like Niobe all -tears.” But in secret she hugged herself with joy to think what trouble -she had managed to work up out of nothing,--hence her mood was one of -the smoothest, most suave satisfaction, as she pictured Miss Letty’s -face of woe when she heard that Boy had gone away out of England! She -ordered a dozen native oysters, and had a pint of champagne for supper, -by way of outward expression for her inward comfort--and enjoyed these -luxuries doubly because of the delighted consciousness she had that Miss -Letty was unhappy. - -And she was right enough. Poor Miss Leslie was indeed unhappy. When she -received Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s letter, her astonishment and regret knew no -bounds. - -“Boy gone to school in France!” she exclaimed--“In France!” - -And the tears sprang to her eyes. She read the news again and yet again. - -“Oh, poor Boy!” she murmured,--“Why didn’t you write to me! And yet---- -if his mother was obstinately resolved upon such a scheme I could have -done nothing. But--to send him to France!” - -She thought over it, and worried about it all the morning, and finally -sent a brief telegram to Major Desmond at his club, asking him to call -and see her that afternoon about tea-time if he had nothing more -important to do. And the Major, thinking Letty must be ill or she never -would have wired for him, took a hansom straight away, and arrived to -luncheon instead of to tea. - -“Oh, Dick!” said Miss Letty at once as she gave him her hand in -greeting,--“I have such bad news about Boy! They have sent him away to -school in France!” - -The Major stared. - -“France!” he echoed blankly. - -“Yes--France! To a place called Noirville in Brittany. Poor child! Here -is his mother’s letter.” And she gave him Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s -communication. - -He read it in visible impatience,--then he threw it down upon the table -angrily. - -“That woman is a fiend, Letty!” he said,--“A devil encased in fat! -That’s what she is! If she had been thin, she would have been a -Murderess--as it is, she’s a Muddler! A criminal Muddler!” He walked up -and down the room wrathfully--then stopped in front of Miss Leslie, -whose gentle face was pale, and her eyes were suspiciously moist. - -“Now, Letty, listen to me! Be a man!--I mean, be a brave woman!--and -look this thing in the face. You must say good-bye to Boy for ever!” - -“Say good-bye to Boy for ever!” repeated Miss Leslie mechanically--“Must -I?” - -“Yes, you must!” said the Major with an attempt at sternness,--“Don’t -you see? The child has gone--and he’ll never come back. _A_ boy will -come back, but not the boy _you_ knew. The boy you knew is practically -dead. Try to realize that, Letty! It’s very hard, I know--but it’s a -fact. The poor little chap had enough against him in his home -surroundings, God knows!--but a cheap foreign school is the last straw -on the camel’s back. Whatever is good in his nature will go to -waste,--whatever is bad will grow and flourish!” - -Miss Letty said nothing. She sat down and clasped her hands together to -control their nervous trembling. - -“An English school,” went on Desmond, “might have been the saving of -Boy. He would have been taught there that death is preferable to -dishonour. But at a foreign school he’ll learn that to tell lies -prettily, and to cheat with elegance, are cardinal points in a -gentleman’s conduct. And there are other things besides,--No, -Letty!--no--it’s no good you fretting yourself! Say good-bye to Boy--and -say it for ever!” - -He came and bent over her, and took one of the delicate trembling hands -in his own. - -“You have said good-bye to so many hopes and joys, Letty!” he said, with -deep tenderness in his kind voice--“and said it so bravely and -unrepiningly, that you must not lose courage now. It’s just one more -disappointment--that’s all. Think of Boy as a child--the coaxing little -rascal who used to call you ‘Kiss-Letty’”--he paused a moment--then went -on--“And you will get accustomed after a bit to believe he has gone to -Heaven. You know you’ll never see that little winsome child -again,--there was hardly anything of him left in the boy who came to -visit you in Scotland. But you had the last of his childhood there, -Letty,--be satisfied! Say good-bye!” - -Miss Letty looked up at the honest sympathising face of her staunch old -friend, and tried to smile. - -“No, Dick, I don’t think I’ll do that,” she said gently--“I don’t think -I can. You see I may perhaps be able to help Boy in some way later -on----” - -“There’s no doubt you will if you’re inclined to, and that he’ll need -help,” said the Major somewhat grimly--“But what I mean, Letty, is that -you must put away all your fancies about him. Don’t idealize him any -more. Don’t think that he will be an exceptional sort of fellow, or turn -out brilliantly as a noble example to the world in general,--because he -won’t. There’s no hope in that quarter. And--if you take my advice, -you’ll stop thinking about him for the present, and make up your mind to -join me and a few friends who are going out to the States. Come to -America, Letty,--come along! And I’ll try and find another Boy for you!” - -Miss Leslie shook her head. - -“That’s impossible!” she said sorrowfully,--“I’m very conservative in my -affections.” - -“I know that!” said the Major dolefully--“By Jove! I know that!” - -He was silent, looking at her wistfully, and tugging at his white -moustache. - -“Letty, I say!” he broke out presently--“I’m getting an old man, you -know,--I shall soon be turning up my toes to the daisies--will you not -do _me_ a kindness?” - -“Why, of course I will if I can, Dick!” she answered readily--“What is -it?” - -“Come to America! There’s a little orphan niece of mine,--Violet -Morrison--only child of my old pal Jack Morrison of the Guards--he -married my youngest sister--both of ’em dead--and only this little girl -left. She’s just twelve, and I want her to finish her education in -America, where they honour bright women instead of despising them. But I -don’t want to leave you behind. Come and play Auntie to her, will you?” - -“Do you really want me?” Miss Leslie asked anxiously--“Should I be -useful?” - -“Useful! You would be worth more than your weight in gold--as you always -are! Come and chaperone Violet--she hasn’t got a soul in the world -except me to care a button for her. You’ll do no good brooding here by -yourself in London, and wondering how Boy is getting on in France. You -had much better come and be happy in giving happiness to others.” - -“Do you think Boy might write to me?” she asked hesitatingly. - -“He might--but it’s more than possible his letter would never reach you. -And if you wrote to him, it’s ten to one whether your letter would ever -reach _him_. They spy on boys in foreign schools, and report everything -to their parents. Anyhow, if he did write to you here at this address, -the letter would be forwarded. Don’t hesitate, Letty! Come to America -and help me take care of Violet! Say yes!” - -“When do you start?” - -“In a week.” - -Miss Letty thought a moment. - -“Very well, Dick. I certainly have no ties to keep me in England. I know -you mean it kindly. I’ll come and look after your niece. It will give me -something to do.” - -“Of course it will!” said the Major, delighted--“Letty, you’re a brick!” - -She laughed a little, but her eyes were sad. - -“Dick!” she said. - -“Letty!” - -“Don’t ask me to forget Boy! I can’t!” - -The Major raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. - -“All right, I won’t. But I didn’t ask you to forget the child. No. He -was a charming child. But--he’s gone!” - -“Yes,” said Miss Letty with a sigh--“He’s gone.” - -And she did not answer Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir’s letter, nor did she write to -Boy. - -The following week she started for New York with the Major and his -niece, a pretty, bright little girl who was completely fascinated by -Miss Letty’s charm and gentleness, and who obeyed her implicitly with -devotion and tenderness at once,--and the only intimation Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir received of her departure was through a letter to her -husband from Major Desmond, which of course she opened. It ran as -follows:-- - - “DEAR D’ARCY, - - I’m off to America with a party of two or three friends, including - Miss Leslie, who is kindly chaperoning my young niece Violet - Morrison, whom I am going to place at a finishing school in New - Jersey. I daresay you remember Jack Morrison of the Guards--this is - his only child,--and I prefer an American education for girls to an - English one. I hear your little chap has been sent to school in - France--it’s a d----d shame to try and turn an upright-standing - Briton into a French frog. Better by far have sent him to one of - the first-class educational establishments in the States. However, - I suppose your wife has different ideas to anyone else respecting - the education of boys. Take my advice and don’t drink yourself into - the lower regions--look after your own affairs, and attend to the - education of the little chap whose appearance and conduct in this - world you are answerable for. If he ever goes to the bad, it won’t - be half as much his fault as yours. I always speak my mind, as you - know--and I’m doing it now. - - Yours truly, - - DICK DESMOND.” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir bridled with offence as she read these lines, but she -put them calmly into her usual posting-place for other people’s -letters--the fire,--and for once she was exceedingly annoyed. Her -ordinary bland state of complacent self-satisfaction was seriously -disturbed. Miss Leslie, instead of writing to express her grief and -distress at Boy’s departure--instead of doing anything that she was -expected to do--had actually packed up her things and gone to America! -Did any one ever hear of such a thing! And who could tell!--she might -take a fancy to Major Desmond’s niece and leave her all her money! And -Boy would be done out of it! For this flabby-minded, inconsistent woman -had convinced herself that Boy must inevitably be Miss Leslie’s heir in -the long run. And now here was a most unexpected turn to affairs. - -That night she wrote to Boy a letter in which the following passage -occurred:-- - - “I do not think Miss Leslie is as fond of you as she professed to - be, for she has never said one word about your going to school, or - sent you any message. I hear she has gone to America with Major - Desmond’s little niece, who is being taken out there to finish her - education. It seems a funny place to send an English girl to - school, but I suppose the Major thinks he knows best.” - -Boy read this with the weary scorn that was becoming habitual with him. -If America was a funny place to send an English girl to school at, he -thought France was a still funnier place for an English boy. And Miss -Letty “was not so fond of him as she professed to be,” wasn’t she? Boy -thought he knew better. But if he was mistaken, it did not matter much. -Nothing mattered now! He didn’t care! Not he! It was foolish to care -about anything or anybody. So one of his schoolmates told him,--a wiry -boy from Paris with dark eyes, curly black hair, and a trick of smiling -at nothing, and shrugging his shoulders. - -“_Qu’est que c’est la vie?_” this youthful satirist would say. “_C’est -vieux jeu!--bagatelle! Ouf! Une farce! Une comédie! Tout passe--tout -casse!--et Dieu s’amuse!_” - -And Boy shrugged his shoulders likewise and smiled at nothing, and -said,-- - -“_Qu’est que c’est la vie? Une comédie! Et Dieu s’amuse!_” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -The steady pulse of time, which goes on mercilessly beating with calm -inflexibility, regardless of all the lesser human pulses that hurriedly -beat with it for a little while and then cease for ever, had measured -out six whole years since Boy went to “skool” in France, and he was now -sixteen, and also one of the foremost scholars at a well-known English -military school. He had stayed in France for over a year, his mother -having gone there to spend his holidays with him, rather than allow him -to return to England and “spoil his French accent,” as she said. Poor -Boy! He never had much of an accent, and what he learned of French was -very soon forgotten when he came home. But what he learned of morals in -France was not forgotten, and took deep root in his character. When he -came back to England he found his father settled in London again, and -bent on a sudden new scheme of education for him. The Honourable Jim was -beginning to suffer severely from his constant unlimited potations; he -was looking very bloated and heavy, and his eyes had an unpleasant fixed -glare in them occasionally, which to a medical observer, boded no good. -He had almost died in one bad fit of delirium tremens, and it was during -the gradual process of his recovery from this attack, when in a -condition of maudlin sentiment and general shakiness, that he decided on -a public military training school as the next element in Boy’s -education. - -“Poor little chap!” he whimpered to the physician who had just blandly -told him that he would be dead on whisky in two years,--“Poor little -chap! I’ve been a bad father to him, doctor,--yes, I have--d----n it! -I’ve left his bringing up to my wife--and she’s a d----d fool--always -was--married her for her looks; ain’t much of ’em now, eh? ha-ha! all -gone to seed! Well, well!--we’re here to-day and gone to-morrow!” and he -rolled his confused head to and fro on his pillows, smiling -feebly,--“That’s what the old-fashioned clowns used to say in the -old-fashioned pantomimes. But by Jove! I’ll turn over a new leaf--Boy -shall be properly educated, d----n it! He shall!” - -So he swore--and so he resolved, and for once carried his way over the -expostulations of his wife, who had some other “scheme” in view for “my -son’s advancement,” but what scheme it was she was unable to state -clearly. No such idea crossed either of their minds as the fact that Boy -was already educated, so far as character and susceptibility of -temperament were concerned. Both father and mother were too ignorant to -realize that whatever good or bad there was in his disposition, was -already too fully developed to be either checked or diverted from its -course. And when the lad went to the school decided upon, it was with -exactly the same weariness, indifference and cynicism with which he had -gone to France. He had a bright brain, and soon became fully conscious -of his powers. He mastered his lessons easily,--and as he had a sort of -dogged determination to stand high in his classes, he succeeded. But his -success gave him no joy. His vague fancies about the great possibilities -of life, had all vanished. In the French school, among the boys of all -ages and dispositions he met there, he had learned that the chief object -of living was to please one’s Self. To do all that seemed agreeable to -one’s Self--and never mind the rest! For example,--one could believe in -God as long as one wished to,--but when this same God did not arrange -things as suited one’s Self, then let God go. And Boy took this lesson -well to heart,--it coloured and emphasized all the other “subjects” for -which he “crammed” steadily, filling up his exam. papers and gaining -thousands of marks for the parrot-like proficiency in such classical -forms of study as were bound to be of no use whatever to him in the -practical business of life. He was training to be an officer--and in -consequence of this, was learning precisely everything an officer need -not know. But as this is too frequently the system of national -education nowadays in all professions, particularly the military, the -least said about it the better. Boy, like other boys, did just what he -was ordered to do, learned just what he was required to learn, with -steady dogged persistence but no enthusiasm, and spared no pains to -grind himself down into the approved ordinary pattern of an English -college boy, and for this he made a complete sacrifice of all his -originality. His studies fagged him, but he showed nothing of his -weariness, and equally said nothing. He grew thin and tall and weak and -nervous-looking--and one of the chief troubles of his life was his -mother. Always dutiful to her, he did his best to be affectionate,--for -he was old enough now to feel very sorry for her,--sorry and ashamed as -well. Truth to tell, the most casual stranger looking at Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir, could not but feel a timid reluctance to be seen in her -company. Always inclined to fat, she had grown fatter than ever,--always -loving slothful ease, she had grown lazier; her clothes were a mere -bundle hooked loosely round her large form, and with ill-cut, -non-fitting garments, she affected a “fashionable” hat, which created a -wild and almost alarming effect whenever she put it on. Boy blushed -deeply each time he saw her thus arrayed. In fact he often became -painfully agitated when passers-by would stare at his mother with a -derisive smile,--always over-sensitive, he could scarcely keep the -tears out of his eyes. He lived in terror lest she should fulfil her -frequently expressed intention of visiting his college to see the -cricket matches or sham fights which often took place in the -grounds--for if she did come, he would have to walk about with her and -introduce her perhaps to some of his school-fellows. He dreaded this -possibility, for he could not but compare her with the neat, and even -elegantly dressed ladies who came at stated times to the school, and -were proudly presented by various boys to their masters as “my mother.” -How dreadful it would be if he had to own that the large lolling bundle -of clothes, wispy hair and foolish face was “my mother”! It was not as -if she had not the means to be tidy,--she had,--and as Boy often -noticed, even some of the poorest women kept themselves clean and sweet. -Why could not his mother look as tidy for instance as their own -servant-maid when she went out on Sunday? He could not imagine. And he -dared not ask her to be more careful of her personal appearance in order -to save him shame; she would of course take the suggestion as a piece of -gross impertinence. - -And did he ever think of Miss Letty? Yes,--often and often he thought of -her, but in a dull, hopeless, far-away fashion, as of one who had passed -out of his life, never to be seen again. Ages seemed to have rolled by -since his childhood,--and the face and figure of his old friend were -pretty nearly as dimly indistinct in his memory as the shape and look -of his once adored cow “Dunny.” He heard of her now and then,--for her -course of life and action had considerably astonished and irritated Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir, who frequently found occasion to make unkind remarks on the -“fads” of that “silly old maid.” However, Miss Letty had no “fads,”--she -merely made it a rule to be useful wherever she could,--and if she -thought she saw a line of work and duty laid down for her to follow, she -invariably followed it. When she had gone out to the States with Major -Desmond as temporary chaperone to his niece, she met with so much -kindness and hospitality from the Americans,--so much instant -appreciation of her good breeding, grace and fine qualities, that she -was quite affected by it,--and she had only been two or three months in -New York, when she found to her amazement and gratitude that she had -hosts of friends. Young girls adored her,--young men came to her with -their confidences,--and all the elder women, married and unmarried, came -round her, attracted by her sweetness, tactfulness, simplicity of manner -and absolute sincerity. “Our English Miss Letty” was her new -sobriquet,--and Major Desmond’s young niece, Violet Morrison, always -called her “my own Miss Letty.” Violet was a very sweet, engaging child, -and when she went to the school in New Jersey selected for her, she said -to her uncle coaxingly on the day he left her there,-- - -“Wouldn’t it be nice if Miss Letty lived over here while I am at school? -I could always go to her for my holidays then.” - -The Major pinched her soft round cheek and kissed her and called her a -“little baggage,”--did she suppose, he asked, that Miss Letty was going -to absent herself from England all that while just to make holidays for -a chit of a girl? But he thought about the matter a good deal, not from -any selfish point of view, but solely on account of the happiness of the -dear woman he had secretly loved so long, and whom he meant to love to -the end. Sitting meditatively in one of the luxurious New York -clubs, of which, with the ready courtesy Americans show to their -stranger-visitors, he had been made an honorary member, the Major turned -Miss Letty’s position over in his mind. She was all alone in the world, -and though she was rich, he knew her nature well enough to be sure that -in her case riches did not compensate for solitude. She had certain -friends in England,--but none of them were half as sympathetic, -warm-hearted or kindly, as those she had made so quickly in America. She -had been disappointed in her love for Boy,--and if she tried to -intervene in the further disposition of his fate, she would probably be -disappointed again. Now here, in America, was Violet,--studying hard to -become a bright, clever, sweet woman,--to learn to talk well and to know -thoroughly what she was talking about--not to be a mere figure-head of -femininity, just capable of wearing a gown and having a baby. Something -more than that was demanded for Violet,--the Major wanted her to be -brought up to understand the beauty and satisfaction of an impersonal -life--a life that should widen, not narrow with experience,--and who -could be a more faithful home instructress of unselfishness and virtue -than Miss Letty? Yes; it would certainly mean a great and lasting -benefit to Violet if she could have the blessing of Miss Letty’s -influence and affectionate guidance in the opening out of her young -life. And what of Miss Letty herself? - -“Give that dear woman something to do for somebody else,” mused the -Major, “and she’s perfectly happy. It’s only for herself she doesn’t -care to do anything. Now I shall make her life best worth living, if I -can fill it with duties--that is, if I can only persuade her to accept -the duties.” - -And after some further cogitation he went to Miss Letty and explained -himself thoroughly, with, as he thought, a most artful and painstaking -elaboration of his young niece’s position,--how hard it was for her to -be without some one of her own sex to look after her, deprived as she -was of a mother’s influence and example, and so on and so on, till Miss -Letty suddenly stopped him in his eloquent harangue by a little shake of -her hand, and an uplifted finger of protest. - -“Dick!” she said, with a sparkle in her eyes suggestive of a dewdrop -and sunbeam in one--“You are a dear old humbug!” - -The Major started and blushed,--yes, actually blushed. He had considered -himself a wonderful diplomatist, able to prepare a scheme of so deep and -wily a nature that the most astute person would never be able to fathom -it, and after all his crafty preparations, his plan turned out to be so -transparent that a simple woman could see through it at once! He -wriggled on his chair uneasily, coughed, and looked distinctly taken -aback, while Miss Letty went on,-- - -“Yes, you are a dear old humbug, Dick!” she said, “And a good kind -friend as well! It is not for Violet’s sake that you want me to stay -over this side of ocean for a while, for there are hundreds of nice -women here who would be only too pleased to have the child pass her -holidays with them and their daughters,--no, Dick!--it isn’t for -Violet’s sake half so much as it is for mine! I see that,--and I -understand your good heart. You think I am a lonely old body--getting -older quickly every day--and that the more friends I have, and the -greater the interest I can take in other lives than my own, the better -it will be for me. And you’re right, Dick! I’m not a fool, and I hope I -am neither obstinate nor selfish. I see what you mean! You are very -clear, my dear friend,--clear as crystal! I have not known you all these -years for nothing. I honour and admire you, Dick, and if I didn’t go by -your advice pretty often, I should be the most ungrateful creature under -the sun. The only interest I have--or had--in England, apart from my -natural love of home, is Boy,--but it is quite evident his mother -doesn’t wish me to interfere with him, so I’m better out of the way. And -the long and the short of it is, Dick, I’ll do just what you wish me to -do!” - -“Hooray, hooray!” cried the Major ecstatically. “Oh, Letty, Letty, what -a wife you would have made! And it’s not too late even now. Won’t you -have me? We’re too old to play Romeo and Juliet, but we can play Darby -and Joan!” - -In his excitement, Desmond had risen, and leaning behind Miss Letty’s -chair, had slipped an arm round her, and now with one hand he turned up -the dear face, so delicate, so little wrinkled, so tenderly shaped by -approving Time into the sweetest of sweet expressions. The faintest pink -coloured the pale cheeks at this impulsive caress of her old and -faithful adorer. - -“Dick, if I did not believe, as I do, that God always brings true lovers -together again after death, I should say ‘yes’ to you, and do my best, -old woman as I am, to be a companion to you for the rest of your life, -and make your home cosy and comfortable; but you see I gave my promise -to Harry before he went to India, that I would never marry any one but -himself. He died true--and so must I!” - -Never was the poor Major more bitterly and sorely tempted than at that -moment. With all his heart he longed to tell the gentle trusting -creature how utterly unworthy this same “Harry” had always been of such -pure devotion,--he wanted to say that the person likely to “die true” -was himself, and that the dead man she idolized did not merit a day’s -regret,--but the strong sense of honour in the gallant old man held him -silent, though he bit his lips hard to check the outburst of truth which -threatened to rise and overcome his self-control. If he told her -all, he would be doing two things that were in his estimation -villainous,--first, he would be taking away a dead man’s character, and -secondly, he would be destroying a good woman’s lifelong faith. No,--it -was impossible--he could not, would not do it. He gave a deep -sigh,--then patted Miss Letty’s white forehead gently and smoothed the -silver hair. - -“Have your own way, my dear!” he said resignedly, “Have your own way! I -ought to be contented to have you as my friend, without hankering after -you as a wife. I am a selfish old rascal,--that’s what’s the matter with -me. Forget and forgive!” - -“There’s nothing to either forget and forgive, Dick,” she said quickly, -and with a sense of compunction, giving him her hand, which he kissed -tenderly, though “Harry’s” engagement-ring still sparkled on it,--“I -don’t deserve all your affection,--but I don’t mind telling you I should -be very much unhappier than I am, without it!” - -“Well, that’s something!” said the Major, beginning to smile again, and -walking up and down the room,--“That’s what we may call a bit of -heartsease. And now if you are going to do exactly what I want you to -do, I suggest that you should take a pretty house on Long Island,--one -of those charming and luxurious villas with big gardens, where you can -roam about and enjoy yourself,--and let me cross the herring-pond for -you and see to the letting of your place in England. You can do -something advantageous with it for a year or two, and till that time you -might tour through America and see everything worth seeing. And when I -have transacted your business I will attend to my own, come out here -again, and enjoy myself too!” - -And so,--after more discussion, it was finally decided, and so,--much to -the pleasure of Miss Letty’s numerous friends in America, it was finally -arranged. And “our English Miss Letty” established herself in a -beautiful house elegantly furnished, whose windows commanded a fine view -of the sea, and which was surrounded by gardens full of wonderful -flowers, such as are never seen in England, and a conservatory still -more gorgeously supplied,--and though she missed the songs of the sweet -English birds, the skylark, the blackbird, the thrush, and the familiar -robin, she still had sufficient natural beauty about her to be in her -own quiet way thankful for life and its privileges. She began to have -serious thoughts of making her home for good in America, for Violet -gathered about her such an assemblage of bright young people, and she -herself was so much in demand, that she often wondered how it would ever -be possible for her to escape from so many pleasant ties and go back to -England again. She had written to Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, giving her address -and stating something of her future intentions,--but had received no -reply. And Boy never wrote to her at all. But she was not very much -surprised at that, as it was most likely his mother would not tell him -where she was. And so time flew on insensibly, one year after another, -and Violet Morrison, from a little girl, grew up into a pretty maiden of -seventeen summers,--graceful and gentle--clever, good, true, and devoted -to Miss Letty, who loved her as a daughter, though her old affection for -Boy never grew cold. Boy as she knew him,--Boy with all his little -droll, pretty ways as a child,--Boy with his sad, wistful, old-fashioned -manner, the result of home drawbacks, when he came to see her in -Scotland, after which she had lost him for good,--Boy was still the -secret idol of her heart next to “Harry,” whose image remained the -centre of that inmost shrine. She could not picture Boy at all as a lad -of fifteen--to her he was always a child; and on a little bracket near -the chair where she was accustomed to sit every day with her needlework, -there always stood the only two mementoes she had of him--the toy cow -“Dunny,” unchanged in aspect, which he had viewed with such -indifference in Scotland, and had left behind him there; and the little -pair of shabby shoes, the souvenirs of the first time he ever stayed -with her. - -One day Violet Morrison asked her uncle about these mysterious relics. - -“Why does Miss Letty keep that funny toy cow and those little shoes -always beside her?” - -Major Desmond puffed at his cigar, and surveyed his niece’s pretty -rounded figure, bright face and sweet expression with much inward -satisfaction. He met her question with another. - -“Have you ever asked her?” - -Violet blushed. - -“No, I don’t think it’s good taste to ask people about their little -fancies. One may hurt them quite unintentionally. And I wouldn’t hurt -darling Miss Letty for the world!” - -“That’s right, child!” said the Major--“You have the true feeling. But -there is not much mystery about that toy cow or those shoes. Miss Letty, -bless her heart, has no deep secrets in her life. The cow and the shoes -belonged to a little chap named Robert D’Arcy-Muir, but generally called -‘Boy.’ She loved him very much, and wanted to adopt him; but his mother -would not let her--and so--and so--she has got the cow and the shoes, -and that’s all that’s left of him!” - -“I see!” murmured Violet, and her pretty eyes grew moist. After a pause -she said, “I suppose she could not love me as she loved Boy?” - -“She loves you very much,” answered the Major discreetly. - -“Yes--but not as she loved Boy! I was never quite a little child with -her. I think”--and the girl’s fair face grew very serious--“if you once -love a little child, you must always love it!” - -“What, even if the child disappears altogether into a boy, and then into -a man?--and perhaps an unpleasant man?” queried the Major with some -amusement. But Violet did not smile. - -“Yes--I think so,” she replied. “You see, you can never forget--if you -ever knew--that though he may be grown into a man--perhaps a bad -man--still he was a dear little child once! That’s what makes mothers so -patient, I’m sure!” - -She turned away, not trusting herself to say any more,--for she had -loved her own mother dearly, and had never quite got over her loss. - -The Major took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at its end -meditatively. - -“How these young creatures think nowadays!” he said. “Dear me! I never -used to think about anything when I was Violet’s age. Life was all beer -and skittles, as they say! I kicked about me like a young colt in a -green pasture! Upon my word, I think that life is much too crowded with -learning for the young folks in our present glorious age of progress. -They become positively metaphysical before they’re twenty!” - -Meanwhile Violet, whose heart was burdened with a secret which she was -afraid to tell to her uncle, went in search of Miss Letty. It was a very -warm day, though not as warm as summer days in America usually are, and -the shadiest part of the house was the deep verandah, where clematis and -the trumpet-vine clustered together round the light wooden pillars, and -made tempting festoons of blossom for the humming-birds, which, like -living jewels, poised and flew, and thrust their long slender beaks into -the deep cups of the flowers, with an incessant, soft, bee-like murmur -of delight. Violet, in her simple white gown, tied at the waist with a -knot of ribbon, paused and shaded her eyes from the burning sunlight, -while she looked right and left to see if Miss Letty were anywhere near. -Yes!--there she was, sitting just inside the verandah in a low -basket-chair, protected by a pretty striped awning, busy as usual with -the embroidery at which she was such a skilled adept, her white fingers -moving swiftly, and her whole attitude and expression one of the -greatest simplicity and content. - -“How peaceful she looks!” thought Violet, with a little nervous -tremour--“I wonder if she will be vexed with me?” - -Miss Letty at that moment raised her eyes to watch the dainty caperings -of two of the humming-birds, whose exquisite blue wings glittered like -large animated sapphires, and in so doing saw Violet, and smiled. The -girl approached quickly, and threw herself down beside her, taking her -hat off, and lifting her bright hair from her forehead with a little -sigh. - -“Are you tired, my dear?” asked Miss Letty gently. - -“Yes, I think I am. It is warm, isn’t it? Oh dear, Miss Letty, you do -look so sweet! Were you always as good as you are now?” - -Miss Letty laid down her embroidery and smiled at this question. - -“Good? My dear child, I’m not good! I am just as I always was--a -woman--getting to be a very old one now--full of faults and failings. -What makes you ask me such a funny question?” - -“I don’t know!” and Violet bit the ribbon of her hat spasmodically--“My -own Miss Letty! Were you ever in love?” - -The gentle lady started, and her delicate hands trembled, as she quietly -took up her work and resumed her stitching. - -“Yes, Violet,” she answered softly--“And what you will say is more -extraordinary, I am in love still!” - -“He is dead?” queried Violet timidly. - -“Yes. He is dead, so far as this world goes--but he is alive for me in -Heaven. And I shall meet him--soon!” - -She raised her patient sweet eyes for a moment--and their expression was -so heavenly--the youth and beauty of the past was so earnestly reflected -in their clear depths, that Violet almost forgot it was an old face in -which these orbs of constancy were set. - -“Is that why you never married?” asked Violet, in hushed, tender tones. - -“Yes, my dear. That is why. For I am an old-fashioned body--and I -believe in the maxim, ‘Once love, love always’!” - -“Ah yes!” - -Violet turned her head away and was silent for a long time. Miss Letty, -still working, glanced at her now and then with a smile, till at last -she said in sweet, equable tones,-- - -“Well! How long am I to wait for this little confession! Who is he?” - -A face was turned upon her, rosy as the leaves of the trumpet-vine -flowers above,--a pair of bright eyes flashed, like the twinkle of the -humming-bird’s wings, and a muffled voice exclaimed,-- - -“Miss Letty!” - -In another moment the girl was at her feet, hiding her head in the folds -of her old friend’s gown, and making dreadful havoc with the silks and -filoselles which were in use for the embroidery. - -“Mind! There are needles about!” said Miss Letty, laughing a -little--“They will scratch your pretty face--dear me!--you’re catching -all the silks in your hair!” and she carefully took out threads of blue -and red and gold from the bright, rippling curls of the bent head at -her knee. “Now what’s the matter?” - -“Nothing is the matter,” answered Violet, still hiding her eyes--though -she got hold of Miss Letty’s two hands and held them fast,--“It’s only -that last night--he said--he said----” - -“That he loved you?” said Miss Letty tenderly, trying to help her -out,--“Well, that’s very natural on the part of any young man, I’m sure! -But who is he?” - -Violet perked her head up for a minute, and then burrowed it down again. - -“Ah! That’s just it!” she said, in smothered accents. “He is not exactly -young.” - -“Oh, dear me! Is he old?” - -“Oh _no_!” This answer was most emphatic--“But he isn’t a boy, you know! -He is--well--I suppose he is about thirty-five!” - -“My dear child! But--before I pass any opinion, or give any advice--will -you not just tell me plainly who he is? Does your uncle know him? Do I -know him?” - -“Everybody knows him!” said Violet. “That’s the worst of it! That’s why -I’m afraid you won’t like it! He is Mr. Max Nugent!” - -Miss Letty almost jumped out of her chair. Max Nugent, the -millionaire!--the man after whom all the “society” beauties of London, -Paris, and New York had been running like hunters after a fox,--he in -love with little Violet? It seemed strange--almost unnatural--she could -scarcely believe it, and in the extremity of her surprise, was quite -speechless. - -“He says he wishes he was not a millionaire!” said Violet in doleful -accents, beginning to twist her hat round and round--“He says he wishes -he was just a clerk in an office doing a grind, and coming home to me in -a little weeny house! He would be quite content! But he can’t help it! -You see, his father left him all the dreadful money,--and the only thing -he can use it for is to try to make other people happy. And he thinks I -might help him to do that! But there,--I see by your looks you don’t -like it!” - -A sudden rush of tears filled her eyes, and Miss Letty, recalling her -scattered wits, made haste to put her arms round her and comfort her. - -“My dear Violet, my darling girl, don’t cry,--you quite mistake me. I am -surprised,--indeed very much surprised--but I am not displeased. I know -very little about Mr. Nugent,--I daresay he is a very good man--your -uncle sees more of him than I do,--but--you must remember he is so much -older than you are, and so much sought after by the world that it seems -difficult to realize that he wants to marry my little girl! -There--there! Don’t cry! Does your uncle know?” - -“I couldn’t tell him!” sobbed Violet--“I wanted to, but I didn’t dare! -And Max said that if I told you, he would tell uncle. Do you see? Then -you two would meet and talk it over. There is nothing wrong with Max -except his horrid money! Because everybody will say that I am a mean, -designing, little wretch--and I really have not been anything of the -kind--I never did anything to make him like me--only be just myself----” - -Miss Letty kissed her. - -“That is the secret of it, little one!” she said--“Being yourself--your -dear self--is the only way to win a man’s heart! And do you love him?” - -Violet raised her eyes fully this time, and dashed away her tears. - -“Yes, I do!” she said earnestly--“I love him dearly!” - -Miss Letty stroked her hair thoughtfully. - -“It will be a very responsible position for you, dear child, if you -marry Mr. Nugent,” she said seriously--“Very brilliant--very -difficult--almost dangerous for such a young thing as you are! I think, -Violet--that perhaps you would rather not have any advice from me just -now?” - -“Oh yes--yes! Do advise me! I want advice!” cried the girl -enthusiastically. “Max said whatever you told me I was to do--as he -honoured you more than any woman in the world--except me!” - -Miss Letty laughed. - -“I was going to say--surely he makes that one reservation!” she said. -“Well, my dear, my advice is that you refrain from entering into any -sort of an engagement for at least a year. Your love for each other will -hold out during that time of probation if it is worth anything--and -then--you will be more certain of your own mind. Yes, I know”--for -Violet was about to interrupt her,--“You think you are quite certain -now, but you are not quite eighteen yet--a mere child--and Mr. Nugent is -a man of the world--believe me, dear, it will be better for you, and -better for him, to endure this test of faith. However, I am not the only -one whose advice you must consider--there is your uncle Desmond. Now you -know, Violet, he is one of the best and kindest men living, and he is -very anxious to do everything well for his dear sister’s child,--you -will obey his wishes whatever they are, will you not?” - -“Indeed, indeed I will!” said Violet earnestly,--“I promise!” - -“That’s my dear girl!” and Miss Letty kissed her again--“Now tell me all -about this wonderful Max--though I know just how you feel about him.” - -“Do you?” said Violet, smiling and blushing--“Then _you_ tell _me_!” - -“You feel,” said Miss Letty, taking her hands and pressing them -tenderly, “that there never was, and never will be, such a splendid -lover for a girl in the world as he is,--you feel that when he is near -you you are quite happy, and want nothing more than just to hear him -speak, and watch his eyes resting upon you,--you feel that there is a -blank in your life when he is absent,--you feel that you would not worry -him or vex him by so much as a thought--you feel that if God were to -take him from you now--you would be very lonely--that you would perhaps -never get over it all your life long.” - -Her voice trembled,--and Violet threw her arms impulsively about her. - -“Dear, _dear_ Miss Letty, you know!” - -“Yes,” said Miss Letty with a faint smile--“I know! Now, little one, let -us try and talk quietly over this affair. Let me get to my work--you -talk--and I listen.” - -And so as the drowsy heat of the afternoon cooled off towards sunset, -when the humming-birds left off kissing the flowers and went to bed, -like jewels put by in their velvety nest-cases, the two women sat -together--the one young and brimful of hope and the dreams of -innocence--the other old, but as fresh in heart and simplicity of faith -as the girl who so joyously exulted in her springtime. - -That evening Violet went off to a dance at the house of a neighbour, and -Major Desmond dropped in to see Miss Letty, just as she was thinking it -was about time to go to bed, notwithstanding the wonderful glory of the -moon which looks so much more luminous and brilliant in the clear -atmosphere of America than in the half misty but more tender pearl tint -of the ever-changeful English skies. She stood on the low step of her -verandah, gazing wistfully up at the proudly glittering Diana, sweeping -through heaven like the veritable huntress of the classic fable, without -a cloud to soften the silver flashing of her bow--and as the Major’s -stalwart figure came slowly across the lawn, she was for a moment -startled. He looked anxious and careworn; and her heart sank a little. -She was not actually surprised to see him; he had his suite of rooms at -an hotel not so very far away, and he was accustomed to stroll up to her -house very often, bringing his friends with him. But a worried look on -that cheery face was new to her, and she was not a little troubled to -see it. - -“Why, Dick!” she said, as he approached--“Isn’t this rather a late -visit?” - -“Is it too late for you, Letty?” he asked gently--“If so, I’ll go away -again.” - -“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” she said cheerily,--“Violet has gone to -a dance, and I meant to sit up for her in my room, but now we’ll both -sit up for her here. What a warm day it has been!--and it’s a warm night -too--I’ll order you an iced sherry-cobbler.” - -She rang a bell which communicated with the house, and gave her order to -the servant who answered it--then pushed a comfortable chair forward. -The Major sank into it with a deep sigh. - -“That’s nice!” he said--“And I won’t say no to the sherry-cobbler. I’ve -had a wearying day.” - -“Have you? I am sorry!” and Miss Letty’s eyes were full of sympathy--“Is -it about--about Violet?” - -“Yes--it’s about Violet,” said the Major, and then became silent, -meditatively tinkling with a spoon the lumps of ice in the -sherry-cobbler which had just been set before him. - -“But I don’t think you need worry about that,” began Miss Letty. - -He interrupted her by a slight gesture. - -“Ah, you dear woman! You don’t know! You are as sweetly ignorant of the -ways of modern men as the ladies in the old-fashioned ‘Book of Beauty,’ -who always wore their hair parted in the middle and went on smiling -serenely at everything and everybody, even when their lives were ruined -and their hearts broken. No, Letty! You don’t know! Has Violet told -you?” - -“About Mr. Nugent--yes. I confess I was very much surprised.” - -“So was I--so I am still!” said the Major--“I don’t know what to say -about it. You see, Letty, it’s this way. Max Nugent’s father was the -biggest rascal that ever died unhanged. He made his wealth by fraud--and -thank goodness, he killed himself by overeating! This young man, his -only son, may be a very good fellow--but he has nothing to be proud of -in his ancestry, and he has seen a great deal of the worst side of the -world. He has lived his own life in Paris, Petersburg and Vienna, and I -doubt--I doubt whether he would make such a simple, unsophisticated -little girl as Violet, happy. I told him so plainly. He came to me -to-day, and talked very eloquently--and I must say very well. I -explained to him that his wealth was simply monstrous and -appalling,--positively vulgar, in fact. He said he knew it was, but he -could not help it. Which of course he can’t!” - -Miss Letty laughed. - -“Poor man! Are you not a little hard on him, Dick?” - -The Major sipped his cobbler with a relish. His brows were clear,--the -gentle presence of Miss Letty was already doing him good. - -“I think not--I hope not!” he answered--“I told him just what I felt -about it. I said that his money was a disgrace, because it had been -gotten together by fraud. He admitted it. He offered to endow hospitals, -free libraries, and build all sorts of benevolent institutions,--educate -poor children, and encourage deserving beggars all round, if I let him -marry Violet----” - -“Well!” - -“Well--I don’t like it,” said the Major very emphatically--“I tell you -plainly, I don’t like it! There’s just a something about Nugent that I -don’t quite trust!” - -Miss Letty looked grave. - -“If you really feel like that, Dick----” she began. - -“I do feel like it!” and the Major squared his shoulders with a -movement of resolution--“But I don’t mean to make myself a slave to -personal prejudice. And I have not refused Nugent--but I have said he -must wait a year.” - -“That’s exactly what I told Violet!” said Miss Letty triumphantly. - -Desmond looked at her wistfully. - -“There you are, you see! Everything proves as plainly as possible that -we two ought to have been one, Letty! Our wits jump together by mutual -consent. Well now, I have told this golden-crusted millionaire that I -cannot permit any sort of engagement to exist between him and my young -niece for twelve months. After that time is ended, if both he and she -are of the same mind, I will consent to an engagement,--the marriage to -follow in six months afterwards. He was very loth to agree to these -terms--but finally, as I would hear of nothing else, he consented. And -what does Violet say?” - -“She is willing to do anything you wish,” said Miss Letty. - -“Yes--she is willing to do anything you wish!” echoed a soft voice -behind them. - -They both started and turned round. There stood Violet, just returned -from her dance, looking the very perfection of sweet girlhood, in her -simple white ball-dress, with a knot of carnations on her bodice, and a -little wisp of tulle thrown over her head and shoulders. Her face was -smiling, but her eyes were soft and serious, and as soon as she saw she -was perceived, she came forward and knelt down with a pretty grace at -her uncle’s feet. - -“She is willing to do anything you wish!” she repeated--“Dearest uncle, -you know I am!” - -The old Major patted her head kindly. - -“Yes, child!--I am sure you are! And so you have been playing the -eavesdropper, eh? Now, who brought you home from the dance just now?” - -“Max--Mr. Nugent did,” answered Violet frankly--“But only just as far as -the door. I asked him to come in and see Miss Letty, but he wouldn’t!” - -“Why wouldn’t he?” asked the Major. - -“Oh, I don’t know!” and Violet gave a pretty gesture of deprecation--“I -think he was shy!” - -Desmond gave a short laugh. - -“Shy! I never heard that of Max Nugent before! However,--love works -wonders! Well now, Violet, Miss Leslie and I have been talking this -matter over--and I’ll tell you what we have decided. We are going to -take you back to England for a year!” - -Violet rose from her kneeling attitude at her uncle’s side, and her face -grew wistful. - -“To England!” - -“Yes--to England. Eh, Letty?” and he gave her a side wink. Miss Letty -was startled, but she did not show it outwardly. She merely replied with -a becoming meekness,-- - -“Whatever you think best for Violet, Dick.” - -“Well, I think that best,” said Desmond firmly--“And to England we will -go as soon as the summer is over; it’s July now--we’ll give you August -and September to be happy in your own way, Violet, and to make Mr. -Nugent distinctly understand that you have sufficient breadth and -firmness of character to obey those who feel themselves responsible in a -way for your future life and happiness,--and that you mean to make him -deserve you by patience and fidelity. Do you understand?” - -“Yes, uncle. I quite understand!” said Violet gently. - -“And you are not unhappy about it?” - -“No, uncle. You have been so good to me, and your love has been so true -and kind, that I cannot doubt your knowing and doing for the best. I -should indeed be an ungrateful little wretch if I thought otherwise. I -shall obey you absolutely. And dear Miss Letty too!” - -She stooped and kissed them both tenderly. - -“Good night!” she said cheerily. “I have danced nearly all the -evening--I’m tired, and I’m going to bed!” - -“Good night, little one--God bless you!” said Miss Letty fondly. - -“God bless you, darling Miss Letty!” And with another kiss and smile, -Violet entered the house, paused on the threshold for a moment to wave -her hand once more, and then vanished. - -The two old people were silent for some minutes after she had gone. The -glorious moon shed broad haloes of silvery light around them, and in the -deep silence a whisper seemed to steal upon the heavily perfumed air, -and creep into both their hearts, saying--“You two--you both were young -once,--and now--do you not think you have wasted your lives for a -dream’s sake?” - -But though they were conscious of this subtle suggestion, their brave -souls had but the one response to it. Miss Letty certainly did not think -her life was wasted because she had been faithful to the memory of her -first love, and because since his death she had done what she could to -make others, instead of herself, happy. And Dick Desmond, though he -sometimes did feel a little bit sore about having had to sacrifice a -sweet wife and cosy home, for the memory as he always said to himself -“of a dead rascal,”--still he did not complain of the romantic faith -that had kept his heart warm all these years, and enabled him to do good -wherever he could in his own particular way. So that whisper of a half -regret passed them by like the merest passing shadow,--and the Major -rose up to go, squaring his shoulders in his usual fashion and shaking -himself like a big retriever. - -“I think I’m right, Letty!” he said with a meaning nod towards the -direction in which Violet had disappeared. - -“You are always right, Dick, I am sure!” responded Miss Letty sweetly. - -The Major took up his broad Panama hat, and looked into its crown -thoughtfully. - -“You’ll be ready to sail the first week in October, Letty?” - -“Quite!” - -“Good night!” - -“Good night, Dick!” - -Whereupon the Major put his Panama firmly on his head and walked slowly -and meditatively down the garden and out of it--and Miss Letty put by -the chairs on the verandah, and shut all the drawing-room windows. As -she paused for a moment by her worktable to put one or two trifles by, -her eyes rested for a moment on the pair of little worn shoes on the -bracket above, and the pensive aspect of the toy cow “Dunny” that stood -close by them, and that seemed to be steadfastly regarding their shabby -toes with a contemplative sadness too deep for even a movable head to -wag over. - -“Poor Boy!” mused Miss Letty--“I wonder where he is--and what he is -like--now!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -The summer flew by,--on wings of romance for Violet Morrison, but -somewhat burdened with anxiety for Major Desmond and Miss Leslie. Max -Nugent, millionaire and man of the world, was most charming in his -manner to both the elderly people, and most tender and deferential in -his devotion to the young girl in their charge,--but Major Desmond was -not altogether satisfied about him. He wore a glass in his eye for one -thing. People laughed at the Major when he made objection to such a -trifle,--even Miss Letty laughed. But Desmond was obstinate. - -“Well, will you tell me,” he demanded, “the practical use of a glass in -one eye? It can’t assist the sight, for Nugent always reads without it. -What’s it for, then? To look at the scenery? That won’t do, for the man -always clicks it out of his eye whenever he glances at the landscape! -There is only one reason for his wearing it--and that is to conceal his -true expression!” - -“Now look here, Desmond,” said one of his club friends--“You really are -going too far. How the deuce can an eyeglass conceal expression?” - -“I’ll tell you how”--and the Major proceeded to demonstrate. “Suppose -you succeed in training one eye to look straight while you told a -crammer, and you can’t train the other? Suppose that other eye insists -on shifting about and blinking as the lie pops out of your mouth? Why -then, clap the eyeglass on, and there you are!” - -And though he was laughed at for this theory, he, to put it in his own -way, “stuck to his guns.” - -And the middle of October saw Miss Letty back in England. October is -often a very beautiful month in these “Happy Isles,” and Miss Letty was -not sorry to see the old country once again. Her house in Hans Place was -still occupied by her tenants, whose lease did not expire till the -coming Christmas; so she took a suite of rooms in one of the many -luxuriously appointed hotels which nowadays make London such a habitable -resort, and fixed this as her headquarters, while, in compliance with -Major Desmond’s ideas, she took Violet for various visits to some of the -grand old country seats in England. For both she and Major Desmond had -many friends among the best of the county folks who had beautiful homes, -and loved those homes with a love which unfortunately is being relegated -to the list of old-fashioned virtues, and Violet had plenty of chances -to see for herself how English lives were lived, and what English young -men were like. But the girl was not attracted by any of the _jeunesse -dorée_ of her native country. Compared with the courtesy and attention -she had received from the sterner sex in America, who are accustomed to -treat women with the greatest honour and reverence, she found the -English young man brusque, conceited, and often coarse in manner and -conversation. And her love for the polished and deferential Max Nugent -grew stronger and deeper, and all the graceful fancies, hopes and dreams -of her young life clustered around him as the one inevitable centre of -her existence. And the “eyeglass,” to which her uncle attached such -grave importance, never troubled her thoughts at all, except to move her -to a smile when she thought of “uncle’s fancy” regarding it. And Miss -Letty watched her as a mother would have watched her, and noted all the -little signs of this deep first love absorbing her life, with a -tenderness and interest which were, however, not without a vague touch -of foreboding. - -Soon after their return to England, there came an excitement for Miss -Letty herself, in the shape of a letter from Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir. Miss -Letty had written to announce her return, but had scarcely expected any -reply, though she had ventured to express the hope that “dear Boy” was -quite well. Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir now wrote as follows, dating from a suburb -of London:-- - - “MY DEAR LETITIA, - - Your letter was quite a surprise to me, as I thought you had gone - to America for good. I had a funny idea that you would perhaps get - married there after all, for one hears of so many elderly women - marrying nowadays, that there really seems a chance for everybody. - Boy is at his military college preparing for Sandhurst, but as he - will be up in London for an exam. next week I have told him to go - and see you. I thought he had quite forgotten you, but he appears - to remember you fairly well. Of course he was barely ten when you - saw him last, and he is now sixteen, almost a young man as you will - find. He is very tall, and _I_ think good-looking, though that may - be only a mother’s fondness. Jim has been very ill lately;--a touch - of what the doctors call hemiplegia, brought on of course by his - own recklessness. I have to nurse him, and so you must excuse me if - I do not make a formal call upon you. I have had to make many - sacrifices in order to keep Boy at college, but a mother never - grudges what she does for her son. Hoping you will be pleased to - see Boy, and that you are as well as a woman of your age can expect - to be, - - Believe me, yours very sincerely, - - AMELIA D’ARCY-MUIR. - - P.S.--Boy will call and see you on Wednesday afternoon next, unless - you write to say that the day is inconvenient.” - -With an inward delight which she felt was foolish, yet which she could -not suppress, Miss Letty straightway wrote an answer to this, saying -that she would be very pleased indeed to see Boy to luncheon on the -Wednesday named; and having despatched this missive, she called Violet -and told her of the expected visit of the child, now grown to a young -stripling, whom she had loved so fondly. Violet listened with attentive -sympathy. - -“He was such a dear, pretty little fellow!” said Miss Letty -affectionately. “He had such droll ways, and was altogether so quaint -and lovable!” - -“And how old is he now?” asked Violet. - -“He is sixteen,--yes--of course he must be getting on for seventeen!” -said Miss Letty almost wonderingly. “Dear me! How the time flies!” - -“Just a year younger than I am!” said Violet. - -“Yes. But you are quite a woman--thinking of getting married too! Well, -well!”--and Miss Letty heaved a little sigh of resignation. “However, -young women grow older much more quickly than young men, and I daresay -Boy is quite a boy still!” - -“I hope he is,--for your sake, my own Miss Letty!” said Violet -tenderly--“I shouldn’t like you to be disappointed in him!” - -Miss Letty looked thoughtful. - -“Of course he will be changed,” she said--“very much changed! He was -changed even when he came to stay with me in Scotland, and he was not -quite ten then. He seemed to me much sadder and older than a child of -his years ought to have been. But he has had a long time of study at a -very excellent military college somewhere down in the country, and I -daresay that the training there has made quite a man of him. Poor Boy! -Margaret will tell you all about him if you ask her.” - -And Violet did ask Margaret, who now, grown extremely stout and jolly, -had come over from her home in Scotland to serve her beloved Miss Letty -once more. The trip to America had been too much for the worthy woman’s -contemplation, and when her mistress had gone there, she and the -respectable butler Plimpton had made a match of it, and were now the -proprietors of a small but extremely cosy hotel on the picturesque -shores of Loch Etive. But as soon as she heard that Miss Letty had -returned to England for a time, nothing would serve but that she must -come to London and attend upon her again,--an idea which entirely met -with her husband’s approval. And so here she was, established in the -hotel in a room adjoining Miss Letty’s, wearing a smart white apron, and -sewing away as if she had never left her situation at all, and as if the -six years of her married life that had intervened were nothing but a -dream. - -“Do I remember Master Boy?” she said now, as Violet asked her the -question,--“I should think I do indeed! Just the bonniest wee lad! And -Miss Letty was sair fashed about him,--and she would have given her -best of all in the world to have got him wi’ her, and adopted him as her -own. Ah, she’s a grand leddy! What a wife and mither she would ha’ made -to any man gude enough for her!” - -“And she loved Boy very much then?” went on Violet, playing abstractedly -with a gold chain she always wore, on which Max Nugent had hung a heart -of fine rubies and diamonds. - -“Ay, that she did!” said Margaret, stitching away at the frill of one of -her “leddy’s” silken gowns. “And she loves him still just as much, I’ll -be bound. You mark my words, Miss Violet,--I’m pretty sure the dear -woman hasna done wi’ Master Boy!” and she nodded her head and pursed up -her lips mysteriously. - -“You think he will want Miss Letty to help him on in his career -perhaps?” said Violet. - -“I couldna tell--I canna say!” replied Margaret. “But if ever a lad had -feckless parents, it’s this same lad--and if ever a bairnie had a bad -start to begin life upon, it’s this same bairnie! You tell me what you -think of him, Miss Violet, after ye’ve had a bit look at him?” - -“Oh, if he knows you are here, he’ll want to see you himself, surely!” -said the girl. - -Margaret looked up with a shrewd smile in her kind eyes. - -“Don’t ye be thinking of that, Miss Violet,” she said. “There is -naebody like myself for kennin’ how soon we’re forgotten by the folks we -have loved. I mind me when I used to put Master Boy to bed, he would -throw his wee arms round me and say, ‘I’ll never forget ye, Margit,’ and -it just pleased me for a while to believe it. But when I married -Plimpton, I sent the laddie a bit o’ wedding cake marked ‘from Margit,’ -and never a word did I hear o’ the lad or the cake at all. And I was a -fule to expect it; for ye see, when he was in Scotland wi’ us, we had a -bit few of his old toys, and with them there was one he used to be -amazing fond of----” - -“I know!” said Violet quickly--“The Cow!” - -Margaret laughed. - -“Yes--just the Cow!” she said--“The wee wise-looking thing you see ever -on a shelf somewhere near Miss Letty, with the old shoes Master Boy left -behind him when he first stayed with her. Well, when he came to -Scotland, he didna care for the puir beastie any more,--and that’s just -how it is wi’ me,--he’s just as indifferent to me as he is to the toy he -put away in his babyhood. That’s where all we women have to suffer, Miss -Violet,--when the bairnies we ha’ loved and tended grow up to be men and -women, they never give us more thought than the playthings they have -done with!” - -Violet heard, and went away, thinking gravely of many things. She was -growing a little more serious and wistful in her manner; the -difficulties and disappointments of life were beginning to suggest -themselves to her young spirit, although vaguely as yet and -dimly. She had nothing to complain of at present in her own -fortunes--except--except that Max Nugent’s letters were all very brief -and scrappy. She would have liked longer and more ardent epistles from -her declared lover,--and she scolded herself for this wish, which she -said was selfish, because of course, with all his great responsibilities -of wealth, he must have a great deal to do. But despite her struggle -with herself, the little shadow of disappointment hung like a faint -cloud in her sky, and made her particularly sensitive to the possible -griefs of others. - -“It must be so hard to be disappointed in persons you love!” she -thought. “To find that they are not the good or noble beings you -imagined them--it must be so hard! I do hope Miss Letty will find Boy -all that she expects him to be--and more!” - -The anxiously expected Wednesday came at last, and Miss Letty ordered a -charming little luncheon in her private sitting-room, and decorated the -table herself with the loveliest flowers to welcome Boy. Violet, with -instinctive tact, arranged to go out that morning with her uncle, and -not to return till it was quite the luncheon-hour, in order that Miss -Letty might have the first meeting with her young friend alone. The dear -lady was in a great flutter; she was for once quite fastidious about her -appearance, and put on her newest gown, a soft, silver-grey silk, -trimmed with an abundance of fine old Irish point lace. And when she was -dressed, it was no exaggeration on the part of the faithful Margaret to -say she looked “quite beautiful”! With her sweet, good face, and soft -hair, now snow-white, raised from her clear, open brow, and that -indefinable grace of perfect breeding which always distinguished her, -Miss Letty looked much fairer than many a young woman in the pride of -her earliest days. And when, as the hour grew nearer for Boy’s arrival, -a little pink flush coloured the pale transparency of her cheeks, she -had such a charm about her as would certainly have made fresh havoc in -the good Major’s warm heart, had he seen her just at that moment. There -was an elaborate Parisian clock in the sitting-room, the pendulum of -which was an unpleasant-featured gilt nymph in a swing, and Miss Letty -looked anxiously at the ugly and inflexible young lady as she jerked the -minutes away with a seemingly infinite tedium. At last the hotel waiter -appeared with the brief announcement,-- - -“A young gentleman to see you, mum!” - -Miss Letty advanced trembling, as a slim lad, getting on for six feet in -height, stumbled over the door-mat and entered awkwardly. - -“Boy! I am so glad to see you again!” - -The stripling giggled nervously. - -“Yes--er,--how d’you do?” he stammered; and he sought anxiously about -for a place to put his bowler hat, and finally set it carefully down on -an empty flower-pot and began to stare doubtfully at the ceiling. But -Miss Letty was not disheartened by these signs of indifference. - -“What a big fellow you are!” she said tenderly, looking at him with eyes -that were almost tearful. “I really don’t think I should have known you -if I had met you in the streets by chance!” - -Boy giggled again. - -“N--o! I don’t suppose you would!” he said. “Mother said you wouldn’t!” - -“Have you just come from your college?” asked Miss Letty, her heart -beginning to sink a little as she noticed that his eyes wandered -completely away from her, and considered the wall-paper more attentively -than herself. - -“Yes. Some fellows came up for the exam. with me. Two are going for the -medical. I’ve done that!” - -“Oh! And have you passed?” - -“Oh yes! I’m all right!” - -Boy smiled foolishly, scratched his chin, and sitting down on a high -chair measured the toes of his boots carefully together. - -“What exam. are you going up for now?” asked Miss Letty, sitting down -also, and realising with a sudden pang that he was not in the least -moved to any affectionate outburst by seeing her. - -“Oh, just the first one for Sandhurst. I don’t expect I shall pass it.” - -“Why not?” - -“Oh, it’s pretty stiffish. I don’t care much if I don’t pass. There’ll -be another.” - -Good Miss Letty was not very deeply instructed on the subject of exams., -so she changed the subject. - -“I’ve been a long time away in America, you know,” she said. “I have -only just come back.” - -“Yes. So I heard.” - -Miss Letty looked steadfastly at him. He was a good-looking lad, thin -but well made, and delicately featured,--but his eyes were shifty and -avoided hers. - -“Do you remember me at all, Boy?” she asked very tenderly. - -Boy coloured and hesitated. - -“I--I think I do,” he said. “I stayed with you in Scotland.” - -“Yes. And you used to play with a little boy named Alister McDonald,--do -you ever think of him?” - -Boy looked puzzled for a moment. - -“Oh, yes! I know! A little round-faced chap!” - -Miss Letty went on patiently,-- - -“Do you remember Major Desmond?” - -“Yes--a little.” - -Miss Letty took up her sewing. She required that useful embroidery to -steady her trembling fingers. - -“I asked you when we were in Scotland to write to me sometimes,” she -said gently. “And you said you would. Why didn’t you?” - -“I did!” burst out Boy suddenly, getting very red, and remembering the -old injury which had rankled far more deeply in his soul all these years -than any remembrance of affection. “And you never answered!” - -Miss Letty laid down her work with a look of surprise and indignation -darkening her gentle eyes. - -“You wrote and I never answered!” she repeated. “My dear Boy, there must -be some mistake! I have never heard a word from you since you said -good-bye to me in Scotland!” - -Boy’s cheeks paled as suddenly as they had reddened, and he took to the -re-measuring of his boot toes. - -“Mother didn’t send the letter!” he said slowly,--“that’s how it was. It -was not my fault. I wrote to you before I went to school in France!” - -Silence fell between them. Miss Letty had much ado to keep back the -outward expression of her wounded feeling,--and, as she looked at the -lad and began to notice the air of listless indifference which -surrounded him like a natural atmosphere exhaled from his own -personality, she was conscious of a great bitterness and resentment in -her own mind. After a little, however, she managed to control herself, -and said gently,-- - -“Can you recollect what it was you wrote to me about?” - -“Oh yes,”--Boy answered readily,--“I wrote to tell you that I was being -sent to a school in France, and asked you to try if you could help me -not to go. I was a little chap and did not like it.” He paused a moment -and reddened at the recollection,--then smiled sheepishly. “But it did -not matter!” - -Miss Letty thought it did matter,--but she said nothing. - -“I went to France,” continued Boy. “It was all right!” - -“Did you like the school there?” - -“Oh, it was fairly decent!” he answered briefly. - -At that moment a diversion was created by the entrance of Major Desmond -and his niece. Miss Letty looked a little wearied and wistful as she -said,-- - -“Violet, this is Boy. Boy, this is Major Desmond’s niece who has been -with me in America, Miss Violet Morrison.” - -Boy jerked himself up out of his chair, glanced at the young lady shyly, -and smiled vaguely. - -“Won’t you shake hands?” said Violet kindly. - -Boy went through this act of courtesy with a curiously limp -ungraciousness, the Major staring at him the while. - -“He has grown very tall, hasn’t he?” said Miss Letty, with a little -sigh, as she rang the bell for luncheon to be served. - -“Tall! I should think so!” replied the Major. “He’s grown out of all -knowledge. Well, sir, how are you?” - -“Very well, thank you!” answered Boy, without raising his eyes from -their study of the carpet. - -“I suppose you don’t remember me at all,” pursued the Major--“do you?” - -“Y--yes! You took me to Scotland to see Miss Letty.” - -As he uttered her name thus--“Miss Letty,”--a sudden sparkle came into -his eyes, and he looked at her with more interest than he had yet shown. -Some little brain-cell was stirred which awakened old past associations, -and a number of half-forgotten memories began to run through his mind -like the notes which form the cadence of a song. “It was always like -this,” he considered--“beautiful rooms and beautiful flowers,--and -she--she always wore beautiful silks and lace like to-day,--but then, as -mother says, she’s got any amount of money.” - -Just then, the waiter entered with the luncheon, and they all sat down -to table, Violet glancing at Boy from time to time under the shadow of -her long eyelashes, not knowing quite what to make of him. - -“Well, what are you doing with yourself now?” asked the Major. “Going up -for Sandhurst?” - -“Yes.” - -“Are you glad you are going to be a soldier?” - -Boy was engaged in fastidiously picking one or two bones out of the -small piece of fish which had just been served to him, and he replied -abstractedly,-- - -“Oh, I don’t mind it!” - -“Don’t mind it!” exclaimed Desmond. “But--God bless my soul!--don’t you -_like_ it? Don’t you _love_ it? Don’t you think it’s the finest thing a -young chap can do,--to learn how to fight for the glory of his country?” - -Boy looked quite surprised at this outburst. Then it seemed to dawn upon -him in the light of a joke, for he sniggered. - -“Oh, not so much as all that!” he said, and fell to carefully -considering the fish-bones again. - -The Major gave a portentous cough, and swallowed his portion of fish -recklessly, somewhat as if he were swallowing a big “D----n!” by way of -sauce and flavour to the whole. Violet flushed and paled -alternately,--she was feeling worried on behalf of Miss Letty, who -looked nervous and preoccupied. - -“Would you have preferred some other profession?” she asked gently, -venturing to join in the conversation. - -“I never thought about it,” said Boy, eating his fish now that it was -picked and prepared to his particular liking. “When I came back from -France, father sent me just where he chose---- and--that’s how it is.” - -“Then you don’t really care about it, perhaps?” queried Miss Letty, -determined to get something out of him somehow concerning his tastes or -aversions. “You don’t really _love_ the work of preparing for the Army?” - -“Oh, I don’t think any of the fellows care much about the _work_,” said -Boy carelessly--“you couldn’t expect them to _love_ work! You see they -do just what their fathers and mothers want them to do. Some chaps have -a choice, I believe--but I don’t know any. It’s no good saying you want -to be one thing when your father wants you to be something else.” - -Major Desmond listened attentively, and his eyes, twinkling with anger a -moment before, softened a little. - -“What did you want to be?--if ever you _did_ want to be anything?” he -asked. - -Boy hesitated and shuffled his feet under the table. Miss Letty looked -at him anxiously,--so did Violet. Catching Miss Letty’s loving glance, -he took courage. - -“When I was quite a small chap like,--” he explained stammeringly, “I -used to think I would be an explorer. I wanted to travel a long long way -off to strange countries, and find things nobody had ever found.” - -He checked himself abruptly. The waiter was handing round new dishes to -tempt the appetite, and Boy had to choose between ‘vol-au-vent,’ and -‘cotelettes d’agneau, points d’asperges.’ - -“Well,” said the Major--“that wasn’t a bad idea. There’s nothing to -prevent your doing that still. A soldier can be an explorer as well.” - -“Yes, but I think that all gets knocked out of you at college,” said -Boy, beginning to gain more confidence as he talked. “You see, you can’t -be an explorer very well, unless you can get some Government to -commission you to explore, and find you all the money and the rig-out. -And when you’re an officer in the Army, you’ve got to obey orders, and -go where you’re told,--not where you like.” - -This statement was unanswerable, and for a few minutes the little party -of four at luncheon ate ‘vol-au-vent’ and ‘cotelettes d’agneau,’ without -much recognition of the delicacies they were supposed to be enjoying. -Miss Letty had certainly lost her appetite. But--as was her usual -habit--she mentally scolded herself for allowing any sense of hurt or -disappointment to weigh upon her mind. “What am I bothering my head -about!” she thought: “the boy is going through the usual training -necessary for his career, and is being turned out just like other boys.” -But there, though she did not admit it to herself, was the chief source -of her regret,--“just like other boys!” That was the pity and pain of -it. Ground down into the same educational pattern,--crammed with the -same assorted and classified facts,--trained by the same martinet rules -of discipline, without any thought taken as to diversity of character or -varying quality of temperament, Boy was being shaped, like a jelly in a -cook’s mould, to the required size and type of the military automaton. -There would be no room left for the expansion of any new or bold form of -disposition,--no chance would be given for any originality of ideas,--he -was destined to become merely one of a set of army chess-men, moving in -strict accordance with the rules of the game,--rules, not only of the -game of war, but of the game of life. And part of this game of life, -with latter-day Englishmen, is to check all natural emotion,--kill -enthusiasm,--and let all the wonders of the world and the events of time -and history pass by, while you stand in the place where fortune or -circumstance has thrown you, never budging, and indifferent to all -things but your own precious, and (if you only knew it!) most -unimportant and ridiculously opinionated self. It was the knowledge of -this system of education that gave Miss Letty the uncomfortable little -ache at her heart, as she noted Boy’s evident listlessness and cynicism; -for in the sweet, eminently idealistic, but unpractical way of women, -she had hoped something better and higher might have chanced for him. -She watched him as he ate his ‘vol-au-vent,’--which, after a slow -consideration, causing much irritation to the vivacious French waiter -who served it to him, he had chosen as the most tempting of the two -‘entrées’ offered,--and wondered what would be his ultimate fate! -In prospective fancy she saw him as an officer on halfpay, -like his father,--perhaps married to a slovenly woman, like his -mother,--and--who could tell?--finally taking to the same dissolute -courses which marked the daily existence of the Honourable Jim! And -while she was thinking this with a little inward shudder, Violet was -endeavouring to ‘draw him out’ on some other subject than the way in -which he considered his career,--a way which she could see was -distinctly vexatious to both her uncle and Miss Letty. Drawing towards -her one of the graceful clusters of flowers which so lavishly decorated -the table, she said,-- - -“How lovely the English roses are!--much sweeter than the American! Are -you fond of flowers?” - -This, with a bright glance at Boy. - -“I don’t mind them much!” he replied indifferently. - -Violet coloured a little, and was silent. Her attempt to turn the -conversation into a lighter and more pleasant vein, was frustrated. - -But now the Major spoke. - -“You don’t ‘mind’ flowers?” he said. “Well, what _do_ you mind? -Anything?” - -Boy laughed. - -“I don’t know.” - -“I wish you did know!” said the Major with impressive mock-solemnity--“I -should like to ascertain from you just exactly the worth of things. I am -sure you could tell me!” - -Boy took this quite seriously. - -“How?” he enquired. - -“Well, in this way. You are learning more at your college than I learned -in all my life. When I was a young chap drilling for the Army, I didn’t -know anything except the rough-and tumble glory of it. I had no one to -‘cram’ me,--I passed no ‘exams.’ It’s all altered, you see. A young -subaltern knows nearly as much (on paper) as his commanding officer -nowadays. That’s why I want you to tell me things.” - -“Don’t, Dick!” remonstrated Miss Letty with a faint smile. - -“Don’t--what?--Don’t try to learn any more than I know at my age? All -right!--if you ask me I won’t!” And the old gentleman gave one of his -hearty jolly laughs. “Now, for goodness’ sake, Boy, eat some pudding!” - -“I don’t care for pudding, thanks!” said Boy, allowing the suggested -dainty to pass him. “I never eat sweets.” - -“God bless my soul!” ejaculated the Major. “Here, waiter!--pudding for -me, please!--I’m a boy! A boy!--by Jove!--I’m a child!--this young -gentleman has so far outgrown me, that I’m a positive baby!” - -Boy looked vaguely surprised at the Major’s hilarity over this trifle, -but he was not personally moved by it, nor did he accept it as a -good-humoured satire on himself. He smiled, and sat, civilly serene, -crumbling a bit of bread on the table; and when the luncheon was -finished, every one,--even Miss Letty--seemed glad that an -exceptionally embarrassing meal had come at last to an end. - -After it, however, there was nothing more to be done. Any display of -affection towards Boy was rendered, by the impassibility of the lad -himself, out of place. Miss Letty felt that she could not have kissed -him for all the world as she used to do, and Violet saw that it would be -a hopeless business to try and remind him of his old friend Margaret, -who had tended him with such devoted care in bygone days. The Major, in -his strong interest and affection for Miss Letty, did his best to -enliven the dull atmosphere, and to coax Boy to express himself with -freedom and fearlessness and candour,--but it was no use. There was a -piano in the room, and Violet, who had a very sweet and beautifully -trained voice, gave them a pretty old ‘plantation’ song, eliciting from -Boy the remark that he ‘had not heard _that_ one before.’ Asked as to -the health of his father and mother, he said they were both ‘all right.’ - -“I thought your father was ill?” said Miss Letty. - -“Oh yes, if you mean _that_ kind of illness. He can’t move one of his -legs,--but he’s been like that a good while.” - -Pressed for his opinion on what he would like best in the world, he -answered, with more brightness than he had yet displayed,-- - -“Plenty of money.” - -“Why?” asked the Major. - -“Well, you can do anything with it, you see. There’s a fellow in our -college, for instance--he’s an awfully low chap--and if his father -hadn’t got what they call a ‘boom’ in some stock or other, he couldn’t -have got in, for it’s supposed to be a college of gentlemen’s sons only, -and his father kept a fish-stall, so they say. And he’s going in for the -Army now. You can do everything with money.” - -“You can’t buy friends with it,” said the Major. - -“Can’t you? I thought you always could!” And Boy smiled, the smile of -the superior cynic who knows he has uttered an unpleasant truth. - -The Major was taken aback for a moment. But he returned to the charge. - -“You can buy social friends, no doubt,” he said,--“but not true ones.” - -“I shouldn’t care for _very_ true friends,” said Boy calmly. “They would -be sure to interfere with whatever you wanted to do.” - -No one vouchsafed a comment on this remark, and Boy went on,-- - -“Mother says friends are always prying about and bothering you. If you -get too much of them like, they are an awful nuisance.” - -Still no observation was volunteered by either of the elderly people, or -the one young girl, who sat listening to these cutting statements from a -lad of sixteen. - -“If I had a lot of money--heaps and heaps of money”--continued Boy--“I -could do just as I liked. I could leave the Army--go travelling--or do -nothing but just amuse myself, which of course would be best of all.” - -“You think so?” said the Major. “Well, you would find it a pretty hard -task to amuse yourself, if you had no fixed occupation and no friends. -You’d go to the devil, as they say, in double-quick time, without so -much as a halt by the way.” - -Boy laughed, but looked incredulous. - -“Work,” pursued the Major sententiously, “is the greatest blessing in -the world. If a man has no work to do, he should find some.” - -“I don’t see how that is,” said Boy. “People only work in order to have -no need to work.” - -Miss Letty suddenly rose from her chair. She was looking tired and pale. - -“I think,” she said gently, “I will say good-bye to you now, Boy. I am -going out for a drive,--and you--you have to go for your exam., haven’t -you?” - -“Yes,”--and Boy glanced furtively at the clock,--“I’ve got to be there -by three.” - -“Well, it’s time you were off, then,” said the Major, somewhat gruffly. -“I’ll walk with you part of the way.” - -Boy scrambled about for a minute or two in search of his hat,--found it, -and stuck it on his head. - -“Good-bye!” he said, nodding at Miss Letty. - -“Take your hat off, sir!” said the Major, bluntly. - -Boy looked exceedingly foolish, and blushed deeply as he removed the -offending ‘bowler.’ Miss Letty felt sorry for him, and came up in her -own gracious, gentle manner to pat his shoulder, and to press a little -knitted silk purse into his hand. She had made the purse, dear soul, -herself, with loving thoughts as well as loving fingers. - -“Good-bye, Boy!” she said, rather sadly. “This is just a little -present--you can buy what you like with it. I hope you will pass your -exam. If you have time will you let me know?” - -“Oh yes,” said Boy, taking the purse, and cramming it into his pocket -without a look, or a smile, or a ‘thank you,’--“as soon as I know -myself. Good-bye!” - -“Good-bye!” said Violet, without offering her hand this time. - -“Good-bye!” - -The Major clapped on his hat. - -“Come along!” he said brusquely. - -Boy looked round,--at the ceiling, at the walls, and finally at Miss -Letty. - -“Good-bye!” he said again. - -“Good-bye, dear Boy!” - -The door opened--closed,--he was gone,--following the Major, who, in -somewhat irritated haste, led the way. - -When the echo of their footsteps had passed through the outer passage -and sunk into silence, Miss Letty sat quietly down in her arm-chair -again. Half mechanically she fingered the old Irish point lace at her -neck, and looked at the soft silken folds of her ‘best’ gown that swept -the floor. After all, she need not have been so particular about her -dress! Boy had not noticed her appearance with any visible amount of -affectionate liking or observation! - -Still slowly and musingly she played with her delicate lace and sighed -almost unconsciously, till Violet, after sympathetically watching her -for a few minutes, could bear it no longer. - -“My own Miss Letty!” she said fondly, going up to her chair and kneeling -down beside it,--“you are tired?” - -“A little, my dear!” - -“And--and disappointed?” murmured Violet timidly. - -Miss Letty paused before replying. Then she took the girl’s hand in her -own and patted it tremblingly. - -“Well--I won’t be a humbug about it, child!” she said with a faint -smile--“I _am_ disappointed. Yes. I don’t know why I should be, but I -am.” - -“He is a very nice-looking boy,” said Violet soothingly. “It is only his -manner that seems so curt and ungracious. But all English boys are like -that, I think, and he is at an awkward age.” - -Miss Letty shook her head. - -“Yes--that may be,” she said. “But it is not his manner, Violet,--it is -his heart! That is what frets me. It is the sweet little heart of the -child I loved so much!--that heart is gone, Violet! Quite gone!--there -is something withered and hard in its place that is not a heart at -all--the heart has gone!” - -Violet was silent. - -“The heart has been killed in him,” went on Miss Letty regretfully--“it -has been crushed out of him. There is no warmth--no brightness of -feeling in that starved little soul! He is not to blame. It is the fault -of his bringing-up. I am very sorry for him--very! Poor Boy!” - -She sat quiet for a few minutes, trying to control the little nervous -trembling which, like a cold ague, now and then shook her thin and -delicate frame,--then she said suddenly,-- - -“Violet, do you know I feel very strangely about Boy!” - -“Do you, my own Miss Letty?”--and Violet slipped an affectionate arm -about her--“What do you feel?” - -“Well,--you will think me a very foolish old woman perhaps, my dear--but -I feel that Boy--the Boy I loved--is not here any more. He is not dead, -but he has gone!--gone in some way that I cannot explain,--but I shall -meet him in Heaven! Yes!” and Miss Letty smiled--“I shall find him -again,--I shall find the little fair soul of the child that used to call -me ‘Kiss Letty’--the soul that is no longer here,--but--_there_!” - -She raised her soft blue eyes, radiant with love and trust; and Violet -looked at her with the worship of a devotee for a shrined saint. Miss -Letty, presently meeting this upturned adoring gaze, bent down and -kissed her very tenderly. - -“And so, dear girl,” she continued, “we will say no more of Boy just -now. Boy is put away among an old woman’s sentimental memories. The last -illusion of a life, my dear!--the last illusion of a life! Let it -go,--back to God where it came from! Because He will restore to us all -our lost beautiful things, and teach us why they were taken from us for -a little while--only for a little while....” - -She pressed Violet’s hand,--then, with a slight effort, rose from her -chair, and smiled cheerfully. - -“Put your things on, little one!” she said--“we will go for a drive. And -we will think of nothing except just how to make ourselves pleasant and -kind to every one for the passing hour,--for that is as much a duty as -anything else in this world. Run away!--dress quickly!” - -Violet kissed her, and ran off. - -When she was gone, Miss Letty stood gazing into vacancy, with a -strangely wearied expression. A grey shadow, like a hint of death, -clouded her sweet old face for the first time. - -“Good-bye, Boy!” she whispered softly to the silence.... “Good-bye, dear -little Boy! God bless you!” - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -One of the greatest among our most English of English poets has finely -expressed the melancholy transformation which one brief day may make in -human destinies, thus:-- - - One day! one night! yet what a change they bring! - High in the clouds the same sweet birds may sing, - The same green leaves may rustle in the air, - And the same flowers unfold their blossoms fair,-- - Still Nature smile, unchanged in all her plan, - But, oh, what change may blight the soul of man! - The sun may rise as brightly as before, - But many a heart can hail its beams no more; - ’Tis but one turn of earth’s incessant ball, - Yet in that space what myriad hopes may fall! - What love depart! what friendship melt away! - Ay, Virtue’s self may wane to her decay, - Torn from her throne, heart-placed, in one eventful day! - -And if this be true--as it is,--none of us should be surprised at the -changes wrought in six years. Yet Major Desmond was so far removed from -the philosophy of indifferentism as to be more than surprised at the -complete metamorphosis of “young D’Arcy-Muir,” as he now called him in -his own mind, instead of the old, familiar and endearing name of “Boy.” -In half an hour’s walk with him through the London streets the Major, -who had seen all sorts and conditions of men young and old,--lads -beginning their career, and veterans on the verge of finishing it, -gauged his disposition and temperament pretty correctly. Two -characteristics were particularly marked in him which did not augur well -for his future. One was a slighting contempt for women,--the result, of -course, of contact with his mother’s shiftless, slovenly, useless mode -of life. Her inability to awaken either admiration or respect in her -son’s mind, was a seed of mischief which was beginning to bear abundant -harvest. The other dominating point was a spirit of weariness, listless -boredom and cynicism, which might be real or might be affected,--but -which, whether it were one or the other, was indescribably irritating to -a man of the Major’s frank and vigorous type. “Nil admirari” was not his -Gospel. His particular habit of life was to consider all things with -gratitude and appreciation,--to be thankful for the simple privilege of -being alive, and having eyes wherewith to see the many varying wonders -and beauties of the world which Providence had ordained to him as his -home. But it may be remarked, in passing, that this is unfortunately not -the ‘habit’ which is generally encouraged by the latter-day masters of -schools and colleges among their boys. They make much of the -difficulties of life,--but little of its pleasures. The hardships of -learning are insisted upon, but not the delights. The little dry -pedagogues who undertake the high and responsible business of fostering -the growth and guiding the education of young unspoilt natures, do their -best as a rule to cramp and destroy all that is fresh and eager and -enthusiastic. A young colt gallops about in the meadows, and frisks and -rolls on the soft green turf, rejoicing in his youth and strength,--but -the young boy must take his college ‘sports’ as he takes his -lessons,--by rule and line and with more or less severity, under the -control of a master. Absolute freedom of body and soul,--or what may be -called pure revelry in the mere fact of life, is almost unknown to the -‘crammed’ modern lad,--he is old before his time,--and it is no uncommon -thing to see a stripling of fourteen or fifteen quite wrinkled in face, -with that dull film in his eyes which used to be the special and -distinctive sign of extreme old age. It is a sad pity!--for youth is a -gracious thing and life is full of beauty, and the natural joy, the -opulent vivacity and radiating force of a truly young heart, are the -most cheerful of all physical influences. One of the pagan philosophers -asserts that “if a country is peopled with joyous inhabitants, that is, -those who take pleasure in innocent and healthful pastimes, in which -young men and maids take equal part, such as country games, village -feasts and dances, it is a safe and good country to live in, and you may -be sure that the people thereof are more virtuous than vicious, more -wise than foolish,--but if things are in such a condition that the youth -of both sexes are constrained to dulness, and have no mirth set forth -for them, such as meadow festivals of flowers, and harmless tripping -forth together to the sound of music, then beware, for it is a country -full of languors and vapourish discontents, where there will be -seditions and troubles, if not sooner, then late, and men will agitate -with those who labour, for excess of payment rather than excess of toil, -while honesty and open dealing will be more known by memory than present -fact.” - -And if, in pagan times, they could so consider the merit and national -advantage of the spirit of joy, how much more ought we, in our Christian -generation, to feel that we cannot do too much to inculcate that happy -spirit among the young,--we who have almost ‘touched’ immortality in the -divine teaching of Christ,--we, who know there is no death but only a -‘passing on’ from joy to joy! - -Major Desmond was one of those few remaining ‘grand old men’ who, -without any cant or feigned excess of piety, believed humbly and -devoutly in the holiness and saving grace of the Christian faith. Both -as a man and a soldier,--safe at home, or face to face with death on the -battlefield, he had guided his conduct as best he could by its plain -principles, and it had, as he himself expressed it, ‘carried him -through.’ But it lay too close to his heart for him to willingly make -it a subject of conversation,--yet, while he talked with Boy, or rather -while he elicited certain scrappy monosyllables from him in reply to his -own easy chat, he became gradually aware that the lad was a complete -atheist,--that he had no idea whatever of God, and no sense of the -proportion and balance existing between the material and spiritual side -of things. The deep, hard cynicism which showed itself more and more as -the foundation of his character made him casual and flippant even in his -‘Yes’ or ‘No’; and by-and-by, after trying him on various themes,--his -home, his studies, his ‘sports,’ his interests generally--Desmond -instinctively realised that this young and embittered scrap of humanity -was sitting in cold judgment on himself, and relegating him to the level -of a garrulous old man who did not know what he was talking about. For -irreverence to age is one of the unadmirable features of a large -proportion of the rising ‘new’ generation. As soon as this idea was -borne in upon his mind, the Major came to a sudden halt. - -“Well, you’re nearly where you want to be, aren’t you?” he demanded. - -Boy looked about him. They were at the corner of Trafalgar Square. - -“Yes. It’s just down Northumberland Avenue.” - -“All right!” and Desmond glanced at his watch--“Five minutes to three! -You’d better look sharp! Good-bye!” - -“Good-bye!” said Boy carelessly, without raising his cap, and in another -moment he had gone. - -Major Desmond paused a moment, staring after him. Then he shook his -head. Then he took out his cigar-case, chose a cigar, and lit it. Then -he walked slowly and thoughtfully to his club, where he found his old -friend ‘Fitz,’ “of the rueful countenance,” in a favourite arm-chair -near the window reading the paper. - -“Hullo!” said that gentleman. - -“Hullo!” responded the Major dismally. - -“Where have you been?” inquired ‘Fitz’--“You look as if you were down on -your luck!” - -“Do I?” and Major Desmond threw himself into the opposite chair. “It is -not that. I’ve had a depressing companion.” - -“Oh!” said Fitz. “Where did you pick him up? Who was he?” - -“Boy,” said the Major, with a sort of grunt that was half a groan--“at -least, not Boy, but the young chap that used to be Boy.” - -Fitz raised his melancholy blue eyes with a bewildered expression. - -“Do you mean the little fellow Miss Leslie was so fond of?” - -“Yes. It’s a blow to her, Fitz!--I’m sure it _must_ be a blow!” - -Fitz was puzzled, and grew more saturnine of aspect than ever. - -“What do you mean?” he asked. “What’s happened? Has he got anything the -matter with him?” - -“He’s got everything the matter with him!” said the Major, bursting -forth into hot speech--“everything! Callousness is the matter with -him--worldliness is the matter with him--indifference to affection is -the matter with him,--d----n it, sir!--general priggishness is the -matter with him! By Jove! The rascal doesn’t seem to have an ounce of -real warm blood in all his body!” - -The thin stern physiognomy of the worthy Captain ‘Fitz’ remained -unmoved, except for the faintest flickering expression, which might have -been satire, grief, surprise, scorn, or humour, whichever way the -observer chose to take it. - -“Ah!” he said, letting the ejaculation escape his lips slowly, as though -it were a puff of smoke. - -The Major rolled his eyes indignantly. - -“Ah!” he repeated--“Is that all you can say?” - -“My dear chap, what do you want me to say?” remonstrated Fitz--“There’s -nothing to be said!” - -“That’s true!” said the Major, and relapsed into silence. But not for -long, however. Drawing his cigar out of his mouth after an interval of -meditative smoking, he began in subdued tones,-- - -“When I think of her, Fitz--you know who I mean--Letty,--when I think of -her sweetness and patience and goodness, and when I remember all the -pretty tender ways she had with that little fellow!--and when--after all -these years, he came to visit her to-day, and I saw her looking -wistfully at him to see if he had the smallest pulse of affection -beating in his hard young heart for her, I could have cried! Yes, I -could! I’m an old fool of course,--you can call me one if you like and -have done with it. But that’s how I felt. Of course years have gone -by,--he was a child when she saw him last--but I should have -thought--yes, I should certainly have thought, that if he had any -recollections of his childhood at all, he would at least have remembered -her--and how she loved him!” - -Whereupon Fitz roused himself to utterance. - -“There’s where you were wrong, Dick”--he said. “You have made the same -fatal mistake we all make when we think that love--love of any -kind--will last!” - -The Major looked at him steadfastly, but did not interrupt him. - -“It’s the same thing everywhere. Men and women fall in love,--swear -eternal fidelity--and by-and-by we find them figuring in the divorce -court. Other men and women resign themselves gracefully to the monotony -of each other’s companionship for life, and God sends them children to -cheer up the dullness a little, and they think those children are -perfect paragons, who will grow up to love them in their old age. Not a -bit of it! Not nowadays. Old folks are voted a bore,--and the young cub -of the present day may often be heard declaring that the ‘Governor’ has -had ‘too long an innings,’ and ‘doesn’t know when to die.’ As for -Boy,--Miss Letty’s pet Boy,--from all you tell me, he has gone; there’s -only a young cub left now--a cub who doesn’t care, and doesn’t mean to -care about anything or anybody but himself. That’s the supreme result of -modern training,--it is ’pon my soul! Boys are brought up in the code of -selfishness from the very beginning. Their mothers spoil them and foster -all their bad points instead of their good ones,--and as soon as they -begin to go about in the world, a lot of idiotic girls and women--the -kind of women who _must_ have a masculine thing to pay court to them, -whether he be a raw youth or a seasoned old stager--get hold of them and -make shameless love to them. And their heads are of course turned the -wrong way round,--they think they are the most precious and amazing -objects in all creation,--and instead of paying court to women, and -learning to be chivalrous and reverential, they expect to be courted -themselves and admired, as if they were full-blown heroes from the -classic world of conquest. That’s the way of it. Boy has no doubt caught -the fever of conceit. He probably expected Miss Letty to kneel down and -kiss his boot-ties.” - -“Part of your argument may be right,” said the Major,--“but part of it -is entirely wrong. You said in the beginning that we all of us make a -mistake when we think that love--love of any kind--will last. Did you -not?” - -“I did,” admitted Fitz, looking slightly shame-faced under the calm -stare of the Major’s eye. - -“Well, you know that’s d----d nonsense!” pursued the Major bluntly. -“You know as well as I do that I--I, for example, have loved the same -woman ever since I was thirty, and there’s no change in me yet. And -Letty--Letty has loved the same ne’er-do-weel all her life, though he’s -a corpse and not a very entire one by this time I should say, though she -thinks, God bless her, that he’s a sort of angel-King on a throne in -Heaven--which is a pleasing and pretty picture enough, only it doesn’t -seem to quite fit Harry Raikes. However, there you are, you see,--love -does last--when it _is_ love!” - -“When it _is_--yes--but when _is_ it?” asked Fitz, with the smile which -so beautifully altered his features beginning to illumine his deep-set -eyes. “You see, you and Miss Leslie are old-fashioned! That’s what it -is! You’re old-fashioned, sir!” he repeated, getting up and prodding a -finger into the Major’s waistcoat. “You belong to the last century, like -one’s grandmother’s old china! You are a part of the days when, if a -married woman entertained a score of lovers apart from her own husband, -she was considered a disgrace to her sex. All that is altered, my boy! -She is now a ‘queen of society’! Ha, ha, ha! You believe in God’s -blessing on true love! But, my dear fellow, the present generation -doesn’t care whether there’s a God to bless anything or not, or whether -love is false or true. It isn’t love, you see. It’s something else. Love -has gone out with the tinder-boxes and stage-coaches. It’s all -electricity and motor-cars now--flash and fizzle through life at a -tearing pace, and leave a bad smell behind you! Ha, ha! You’re -old-fashioned, Dick! I like you for it because I’m a bit old-fashioned -myself--but we’re out of it,--we’re old stumps of trees that can’t -understand the rank and quickly withering weeds of youth that are -growing up around us to-day--weeds that are going to choke and poison -the destinies of England by-and-by!” - -The Major got up, possibly moved thereto by the pressure of his friend’s -fingers in the middle of his waistcoat. - -“By that time you and I will be underground, Fitz,” he said -half-lightly, half-sadly. “And thank God for it!--for if any harm comes -to England, I don’t want to be alive to see it. I wonder if I shall be -sitting on a gold throne in Heaven, next to Harry Raikes? If so, angel -Letty will have to choose between us!” - -He laughed,--and the two old friends presently left the club together -and went for an afternoon stroll through Piccadilly and the Park, where -they saw Miss Letty driving in her victoria with pretty Violet Morrison -by her side. They raised their hats to both ladies, and Fitz commented -on their looks. - -“Nothing will ever make Miss Letty old,” he said. “She always has the -eyes of a child who trusts both God and man.” - -The Major nodded approvingly. - -“That’s very well said, Fitz,--and it’s true,--but she’s had a blow -to-day. I’m sure she has. She doesn’t say much--she’s not one to say -much,--she may say nothing, even to me,--but she’s had a blow. Boy’s not -what she thought he would be. I’ve got a bit of a heartache over it. I’m -sorry we came back to England!” - -Fitz was silent. He fully understood and participated in his old -friend’s feelings, but he felt that the subject was too sore a one to be -discussed, and when he spoke again it was on a different theme. - -That evening Major Desmond escorted his niece and Miss Letty to the -theatre, and just before starting, while Violet was still engaged in -putting the finishing touches to her pretty evening toilette, Miss Letty -came in alone to the Major, where he pensively waited in the -sitting-room, and said softly,-- - -“Dick!” - -He started, and turned round, and was fairly taken aback for the moment -by the spiritual beauty of her gentle face framed in its snow-white -hair. She was fully attired for the theatre, and wore an opera-mantle of -some silvery neutral tint, showered with lace;--and a pretty flush came -on her cheeks as she met the faithful tender gaze of the man who had -loved her so loyally and so long. Having expressed his admiration of -her charm by a look, he responded,-- - -“Well, Letty?” - -“I want you,” she said, laying her delicately gloved hand on his arm, -“to promise me one thing. Will you?” - -“Anything and everything in the world!” said the Major recklessly. - -“It is only just this,--do not talk to me at all, or ask me what I feel, -about Boy.” Her voice trembled a little,--then she went on,--“It is no -use,--it only makes me think of what might have been and what is not. I -am a little disappointed,--but then--what of that? We all have -disappointments, and it is no use brooding upon them. We only make -ourselves and others miserable. You see I loved Boy as a child;--he is -not a child now--he is getting to be a young man,--and--he does not want -me,--it is not natural he should want me. Do you understand?” - -The Major was profoundly moved, but he only nodded and said,-- - -“Yes,--I understand!” - -“He is just a college lad now,--like--like all the rest,” went on Miss -Letty quietly--“and it was my mistake to have expected him to be in any -way different. He will no doubt turn out very well and be a good -soldier. But”--and she suddenly looked up with a swift glance and smile -that went straight to the Major’s heart--“he is Robert D’Arcy-Muir -now,--he is not Boy!” - -The Major said not a word, but he took up the little gloved hand resting -on his arm and kissed it. A moment afterwards Violet entered, looking -like a blush rose in a pretty gown of pink chiffon; and the two elderly -folks, welcoming her presence as a relief from emotion and -embarrassment, turned to admire her sweet and fresh appearance. And then -they went to the theatre, and enjoyed “David Garrick,” and the subject -of Boy was avoided among them by mutual consent, both on that evening -and for many a long day afterwards. - -But he was not forgotten. Day after day, night after night, Miss Letty -thought of him and wondered what he was doing, but she never heard -whether he had passed his examination or not. His mother never -wrote,--and he himself was evidently unmindful of his promise. Major -Desmond, however, kept his eyes and ears open for news of him, not so -much for the lad’s own sake, as for Miss Letty’s. He had friends at -Sandhurst, and to them he confided his wish to know all the information -they could get concerning “young D’Arcy-Muir,” if he should eventually -go there. To which he received the reply that if the young chap did get -to Sandhurst at all, they would let him know. With this he had to be -satisfied, knowing that it would be worse than useless to enquire about -him from his parents, the Honourable Jim being half paralysed, and Mrs. -D’Arcy-Muir being incapable of giving a straight answer at any time to a -straight question. - -By-and-by, however, the attention of Major Desmond and Miss Letty began -to be entirely engrossed by a new cause of anxiety and perplexity. -Violet was looking ill, and getting pale and thin, and it was evident -she was unhappy. Yet she never complained, and always tried to be -cheerful, though it seemed an effort to her. - -“Look here, Letty,--what is the matter with the girl?” asked the Major -bluntly one day. “I have worried her to tell me, and she won’t. Does she -tell _you_?” - -Miss Letty’s kind face clouded, and her eyes grew very sorrowful. - -“No, Dick, she has not actually told me, but I can guess. She has not -heard from Max Nugent for a long time,--his letters have practically -ceased.” - -“Ceased!” repeated the Major, getting very red. “What do you mean, -Letty? Ceased?” - -“She will not admit it,” continued Miss Letty. “She will not own, even -to herself, that he is neglecting her. When I ask her if she has heard -from him, she answers me all in a nervous hurry, and assures me that it -is because he is away travelling somewhere that she has received no -letters. She says he has no time to write. But one would think that if -he loved her as he professed to love her, he would certainly find time, -or make time to write.” - -“Of course he would!” said the Major brusquely. “There is no power on -earth that can hinder a man from writing to the woman he loves. Even if -he were ill or dying, he could get a friend to send a wire for him. No, -no,--there is some humbug going on,--I am sure of it!” He took one or -two rapid strides up and down the room. “Letty!” he said, stopping -abruptly in front of her,--“when you were engaged to Harry Raikes did he -write to you often?” - -“Not as often as I should have liked,” answered Miss Letty with a faint -smile,--“but then you see he was in India,--that is a long way off--and -of course he could not possibly write by every mail.” - -“Couldn’t he?” And the Major gave a curious grunt of incredulity. “Why -not?” - -“If he could he would have done so,” said Miss Letty gently but firmly. -“I am sure of that.” - -The Major walked up and down the room, loyally battling against the -temptation which assailed him to tell her the whole truth and nothing -but the truth. - -“You never doubted him?” he asked suddenly. - -“Doubted him!” And Miss Letty’s eyes opened in mild half-reproachful -amazement. “Never! How can you suggest such a thing! I knew how true and -good he was, and how much he loved me,--and that is why I have devoted -all my life to his memory.” - -Up and down, up and down, once more strode the Major, and at the third -turn the temptation was conquered and he was himself again. - -“Then according to your experience, Letty, Violet ought not to doubt Max -Nugent, because he has, as you say, practically ceased writing to her?” - -Miss Letty looked puzzled. - -“Well, I don’t know what to say,” she answered. “You see they are not -engaged,--you would not consent to an engagement till Mr. Nugent had -proved his sincerity,--and I think you were wise; but as matters now -stand, the child cannot insist on his writing to her. She has no hold -upon him, save that of his professed love and honour.” - -“That ought to be a strong hold,” said the Major. “Honour especially. No -man has a right to win a woman’s love and then throw it away again. I -must speak to Violet.” - -And he did. He called unexpectedly one morning to take her to a Picture -Exhibition, and after sauntering about the galleries a little, he sat -down in a retired corner with her and put his first question very -gently. - -“Violet, when did you last hear from Nugent?” - -The girl coloured hotly. - -“Some time ago.” - -“How long ago?” - -“I forget,” she answered listlessly. - -Her face was bent, and he could not see it under the shadow of her hat. - -“Violet!” - -Slowly she raised her head,--her eyes were full of tears. The Major -smothered an oath and strove to speak calmly. - -“Look here, child: you can trust me, can’t you?” - -“Yes, uncle,” she murmured inaudibly. - -“Well, don’t fret. Be a brave little woman. _I_ will see to this for -you. It is no good living in suspense. Better know the worst at once!” - -Violet furtively dashed away her teardrops, and looked at him anxiously. - -“The worst ...?” she murmured. - -The Major squared his shoulders resolutely. - -“Look here, Violet: when we have to swallow a dose of bitter medicine, -we don’t like it, but if we are told it will save our lives, we do it. -Now, in this affair of Max Nugent, the sooner your medicine is swallowed -the better. I am afraid the man is not sincere. What do you yourself -think about it?” - -Violet sighed deeply. - -“I do not understand it,” she said, in rather a tremulous voice. “I have -written to him several times, but have had no reply. You may as well -know all. The last letter I had from him was quite two months ago, and -in that he said he was coming to Europe immediately--to Paris first--and -he promised to come on to London afterwards and see me.” - -“And was that letter exactly what you expected it to be?” asked the -Major, looking at her narrowly. “Was it all that you had a right to -expect?” - -Violet hesitated, then answered truthfully,-- - -“No. It was just the letter--of a friend.” - -The Major rose. - -“Come along now,” he said. “I will see into this for you. A millionaire -like Nugent can’t hide his light under a bushel. I will find out where -he is, and see him myself, if I have to cross the ocean to do it.” - -Violet looked up at him with tearful eyes. - -“You _are_ good to me, uncle!” she said; “but--you know--if he does not -care for me any more----” - -“You do not care for him!” finished the Major. “That’s what you must -say, and that is what you must feel.” - -The girl shook her head. - -“Ah, you may shake your head!” said Desmond; “but I am not going to let -you waste your life as Miss Letty has wasted hers, all for the love of a -rascal. You do not know Letty’s history. I do. She was engaged to a man -I knew, and when he was out in India well away from her he was getting -ready to marry some one else and throw her over. But he caught fever and -died--just in time. Letty never knew that he had been false to her. _I_ -knew--but I never told her. And I never mean to tell.” - -Violet laid her hand on his arm caressingly. - -“Uncle! And you loved her yourself!” - -“Now how did you find that out?” said the Major with a little smile. -“Well! You are right--I have loved her nearly all my life. And we have -rubbed on pretty well as friends together--and we have kept the memory -of that dead rascal as holy as if he were a saint. So you see I know -something about love and loyalty, little girl--and I can enter -thoroughly into your feelings. But fortunately you are very young, and -if Nugent turns out a failure your heart will be sore for a while, but -it will mend.” - -“Never, uncle!” said Violet. “I can never care for any one else.” - -“Nonsense!” said the Major. “You must not talk like that at nineteen. -This is your first love, I grant--but one gets over first love like the -measles.” - -“Did you?” asked Violet anxiously. - -“God bless my soul! Of course I did. When I was nineteen I fell in love -with my father’s cook. She was a very pretty woman, and made jam puffs -divinely. She married the grocer round the corner,--and somehow I lived -through it. I was nearly thirty when I found Letty--and I have loved -_her_ ever since.” - -Violet pressed his arm but said nothing. - -“Now come along,” said the Major cheerfully. “Don’t worry yourself, thin -yourself, or lose your looks. Nobody will thank you for that except your -kind female friends. We will clear this little matter up somehow. And I -am sure you are far too high-spirited and straightforward to care for a -man who turns out to be a dishonourable scamp--though mind, I don’t say -he _is_ dishonourable till I have proved it. But unless he has been -kidnapped for his millions by brigands, I don’t see any excuse for his -silence. If he were ill he could send you word,--so there is only one -inference to be drawn from his conduct, and that is, that he doesn’t -mean to keep his promise to you. It is hard for you to look at it in -that light, but you must try, Violet--you must try. If he does turn out -a villain, I will take care he gets a jolly good horsewhipping.” - -Violet uttered an exclamation. - -“Oh no, uncle!” - -“‘Oh no, uncle?’--I say ‘Oh yes, uncle!’ Leave this to me, child! There -are too many scamps sneaking about in society embittering and spoiling -the lives of innocent women, and a few sound thrashings on the backs of -such fellows would be pure joy and relief to the feelings of the -majority. I should like to thrash a millionaire!--especially if his -conduct is on the level of a play-actor, who is the worst kind of -unprincipled rogue between this world and the nearest gallows.” And the -Major chuckled. “I _did_ thrash one of those painted fellows once, and -by Jove!--how I enjoyed it!” - -Violet looked up at him timidly with a faint smile. - -“It was in India,” said the Major, his eyes twinkling and his cheeks -beginning to crease up with wrinkles of satisfaction at the -recollection. “There came what was supposed to be a tiptop theatrical -company to the place where we were, and among the players there was a -thin, white-faced fellow, as conceited as they make them, who ‘made up’ -to look a king or a villain, whichever you fancied--though, to my mind, -the villain suited his style of beauty best. Well, when he was off the -stage, he pretended to be a very fine gentleman indeed,--explained that -he had taken to the stage as a freak--that his mother had nearly broken -her heart over it, and all that sort of ancient stock-in-trade nonsense; -and he pushed himself by degrees into the society of the women, till he -came across a little creature who was fascinated by his artful ways, -thought him a budding ‘genius,’ and listened to his long stories as if -he were an angel singing. And then he poured out more confidences: he -told her how he had in an evil hour married a woman he could not love, -and that she--the little creature aforesaid--was his own true mate, and -all that kind of gibberish. Poor little soul!--she believed him, and was -for immolating herself on the altar of what she believed to be an -‘ideal’ passion. Only there happened to be another little creature -round, to whom he had told the selfsame tale, and she, having more -spirit in her than the first one, came to me and told me all about it. -‘And I have written letters to him!’ she said, stamping her little foot -and flashing her pretty eyes--‘and he won’t give them back--the coward!’ -‘What do you want me to do, my dear?’ I said. ‘Thrash him!’ she replied. -And of course I did. I went for him one day when he was tripping -gingerly out on his tiptoes from the place where he put his rouge and -false legs on. I said, ‘Look here, Hamlet--King Richard--As you Like -It--or whatever you are,--you are a scoundrel! Make yourself into all -the people that ever blessed or disgraced the world, you are an -unprincipled cad! I am not Hamlet, thank God!--I am a British officer, -and though you are not worth kicking, you are worth whipping for the fun -of it. Now, Hamlet, look out!’ He smiled pallidly, and said ‘Sir!’--but -the rest of his sentence was lost. I forget what happened afterwards, -till I saw him picked up by two coolies, and carried off. He couldn’t -act for some time afterwards,--he was ill with a kind of influenza! But -I got back the girl’s letters for her.” - -The Major laughed heartily over this reminiscence, and enjoyed himself -very much for several minutes, till he noticed the pretty pensive face -of the girl at his side. Then he scolded himself violently and called -himself a brute for not considering her feelings more tenderly. - -“Come, come, don’t be downhearted, little woman!” he said kindly. “Take -a bright face to Miss Letty. She has her own trouble to bear--and I can -see she frets over it too, though she never mentions it, and has asked -me not to talk to her about it. But I am sure she had set a good many of -her hopes on Boy.” - -“Ah, yes!” and Violet’s quick sympathy showed itself in her expressive -face. “I know how disappointed she was in him! She had been building up -an ideal ‘Boy’ who did not exist.” - -“And you have perhaps been building up an ideal Max who does not exist,” -said her uncle good-humouredly. “What a pity it is that all the best and -nicest women in the world will persist in imagining men to be so much -better than they are! We don’t deserve it--we always fail to come up to -the required standard.” - -“Not always,” said Violet, her eyes beaming on him affectionately. “You -never fail!” - -The Major laughed. - -“Oh, don’t idealise _me_, for Heaven’s sake, child!” he said. “I am just -a bluff old man with a highly inflammable temper and an average sense of -honour that’s all. Now try and put your sad thoughts away for the -present, and take Miss Letty for your example,--you can’t do better. -Always bright, always patient, always brave,--she takes everything God -sends her in the same equable spirit, and does her best to keep a -cheerful heart and cheerful face through everything.” - -“Yes--but remember,” said Violet tremulously, “thanks to you, she has -never known that her lover was false to her!” - -The Major was taken aback by this pathetic observation, and pulled his -white moustache dismally. - -“True!--I forgot! She has never known.” - -He gave a compassionate side-glance at his niece, and said no more. They -returned to the hotel in silence,--but that afternoon Violet had a long -quiet chat with Miss Letty all alone and told her frankly all the extent -of her troubles, doubts and fears. After this her heart was considerably -relieved, and she felt more resigned. For Miss Letty was the wisest and -tenderest of counsellors, and out of the store of her life’s experience -she was able to bring many consolations and suggestions of peace. - -But the storm which had been so mysteriously gathering over Violet’s -life was ready to break more suddenly and heavily than either of her -kind guardians knew,--and scarcely a week had elapsed since her talk -with her uncle Desmond, when the fashionable worlds of London, Paris and -New York were electrified by what was set forth late one evening in bold -headlines on all the newspaper placards as “Great Society Scandal.” -Major Desmond heard the news first at his club, and promptly clapping on -his hat, took a hansom, and urging its driver to his utmost speed, -dashed through the streets to Miss Letty’s house in Hans Place, whither -she had recently returned to set things in order after her vacating -tenants. - -“Where’s Violet?” he demanded, as he burst into the drawing-room and -startled his gentle old friend out of a mild little doze in her -arm-chair. - -Miss Letty gazed at him affrighted. - -“My dear Dick! What is the matter? Violet is out. She has gone to the -theatre with some friends.” - -The Major sank into the nearest chair with a groan. - -“Then it’s all up!” he said. “She will hear everything before she gets -home!” - -Miss Letty gazed at him, hopelessly bewildered. - -“Hear what? You alarm me, Dick! Is anything wrong?” - -And she trembled from head to foot as she laid a hand pleadingly on his -arm. He looked up at her, and saw how nervous she was,--how her slight -worn old frame shook with the agitation she sought to repress, and he at -once cursed himself for his impetuous brusquerie. - -“What a brute I am to frighten you!” he said, getting up as quickly as -he had sat down, and taking her hand tenderly in his own. “Come back to -your chair, Letty,--sit down,--there now!--don’t tremble so! You will -want all your strength to help Violet, poor child! That d----d Nugent -has run off with Lord Wantyn’s wife--the low rascal! If I ever get hold -of him I will----” - -He stopped, silenced by a gesture from Miss Letty’s trembling hand. - -“Wait a minute, Dick,” she said faintly. “I don’t quite grasp it. Do you -mean to say that Max Nugent,--the man who professed to love, and asked -to marry our little innocent Violet,--has taken another man’s wife away -from him?” - -The Major nodded violently. - -“Yes--it’s in all the papers. Wantyn’s wife, ‘the beautiful Lady -Wantyn,’ as the feminine asses of the fashion papers call her. He has -taken her--or she has gone with him--one is as bad as ’tother. Anyhow -they are off--sloped from Paris last night, reached the South of France -this morning--Nugent’s yacht was waiting for him at Marseilles--and they -are away, the Lord knows where! And everybody will sympathise with the -miserable cad because he is a millionaire. I tell you it is in all the -papers--and one penny-a-liner has already put in print that it is the -outcome of an ‘old and romantic’ love affair! Old and romantic! By Jove! -A little old and romantic treatment of the right sort would do them both -good,--a few of the old and romantic notions which put a bullet through -a rascal’s head, and whipped a bad wife at the cart’s tail! That would -be the proper ‘old and romantic’ way to deal with them!” - -But Miss Letty sat very still, her hands clasped in her lap,--her eyes -full of pain. - -“My poor Violet!” she murmured at last. “Poor little girl! Dick, what -shall we do?” - -“I don’t know,” said the Major despairingly. “I came here post haste to -ask you to keep the newspapers away from her for a day or two,--but it’s -no use now--if she has gone to the theatre she will see Nugent’s name -on all the placards. And if she does by chance miss it, one of her -friends will be sure to see it and tell her.” - -“You forget, Dick,” said Miss Letty, “that no one in England knows of -Max Nugent’s connection with her, and only two or three in America. That -is very fortunate! How wise you were in not allowing any engagement to -take place! You have saved Violet much indignity. It is true the poor -child will have to bear her trouble alone, but I think that is better -than if she had to endure the possibly contemptuous pity of her -friends.” - -“Yes, that’s true,” said the Major. “There would be no real sympathy -whatever for her,--all the feeling in our latter-day social sets goes -out to the moneybags. Nugent’s a villain,--but he will be turned into a -hero by the time Wantyn gets his divorce. Didn’t I tell you I never -liked that glass in his eye?” - -Miss Letty could not smile. She was thinking of Violet. She glanced at -the clock. - -“Violet will soon be coming back,” she said. Poor, poor Violet! I dread -seeing her face! I think I should have died if my Harry had been false -to me!” - -The Major was here afflicted with a violent cough, which kept him -barking hoarsely for some minutes. - -“Dear me!” said Miss Letty, solicitously watching him as he got redder -and redder in the face and kept on coughing. “I am afraid you have -caught cold, Dick! Did you have your overcoat on when you came just -now?” - -“Yes, I had everything on,” said the Major, still struggling with the -strange obstruction in his throat. “Everything that was necessary.” Here -he suddenly recovered himself and relapsed into calm. “When do you think -Violet will be back?” - -“She cannot be later than eleven or half-past,” replied Miss Letty. “But -we must be very careful. She may not have seen the news as yet.” - -“I am afraid there is no hope of that,” said Desmond bitterly. “It is -all over the place. You know what these wretched papers are,--anything -to sell their copies. A scandal is treated to the biggest headlines, -just as the dress of a stage woman gets more notice than the death of a -great man. Oh, she’s seen it, you may be sure!” - -Miss Letty clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. - -“We must be brave, Dick,” she murmured. “We must not let her see us -break down--we must not pity her too much.” - -“Pity her!” ejaculated the Major. “I feel more like congratulating her -on a narrow escape from getting a bad husband. Only it won’t do to put -it that way. She might think it unkind----” - -“Hush!” said Miss Letty, lifting a warning finger and growing very -pale, as the wheels of a carriage came to a stop outside. “There she -is!” - -The Major held his breath, listening. Violet’s clear young voice could -be heard distinctly saying--“Good-night! Thanks for a delightful -evening.” - -The Major turned his eyes round amazedly on Miss Letty. - -“‘A delightful evening!’ She cannot have heard----” - -The door-bell rang, and to the two elderly people who were in such -suspense, its peal seemed to waken loud and discordant echoes through -the house, suggestive of everything horrible. Another minute, and Violet -entered--looking no longer merely pretty, but radiantly beautiful. Her -eyes were dark and brilliant,--her cheeks were flushed,--she held her -little head up like a queen, and her light step as she advanced was -almost regal in its pride and grace. - -“Uncle Desmond!” she exclaimed, smiling--“You here!” - -The Major instinctively scrambled out of his chair and reverentially -stared at the dazzling creature who seemed to be suddenly transformed -from a mere slip of a girl into an exquisite woman. - -“Yes--I am here!” he stammered. - -Violet loosened her cloak, threw it aside, and put her arms round his -neck and kissed him, still smiling into his eyes with such a straight -sweet look that he was quite bewildered. Then she dropped on her knees -by Miss Letty’s chair, and raised her fair young face to the equally -fair old one bending so anxiously over her. - -“Darling Miss Letty!” she said. “Why did you sit up for me? You must be -tired! My own Miss Letty! And Uncle Desmond coming here so late too!” - -They glanced at one another, silent and sorely puzzled. Did she know? Or -did she not know? What was it that made her so unusually royal and proud -in her bearing? Still kneeling by Miss Letty, she looked up at the -perplexed Major with that new and wonderful brilliancy in her eyes which -seemed to be the reflection of a strong soul-flame within, and said,-- - -“Dearest uncle! Don’t be unhappy about me! I know what brought you here -to-night--I know everything!” - -“You do, Violet?” murmured Miss Letty, catching the girl’s hand in -hers--“Are you sure you do?” - -“Am I sure?” And Violet sprang up from her kneeling position, and stood -with her fair head thrown back and her whole face expressing a grand -disdain--“Indeed I am! I am sure that the man I thought a gentleman, is -beneath contempt! I am sure that the love I bore him for what I thought -his goodness, his chivalry, his honour, was the love for a fancied being -of my own heart who did not exist! I am sure that I do not, and could -not love a man who has deliberately disgraced himself and ruined the -honour of a woman! I am sure--yes--that if I met Max Nugent now I would -pass him by as beneath the notice of an honest girl! I mean it!” -continued Violet, her eyes glowing more brilliantly than ever with the -intensity of her thought. “Yes! for though I am only a girl, I have -never done any harm to any one that I know of, nor would I hurt any one -by so much as a word if I could help it, and so far at least I am above -this millionaire, who has made himself too mean for even a _man_ to -know!” - -The Major brought his hand down with a vigorous slap on the table near -which he stood. - -“There spoke Jack Morrison’s girl!” he exclaimed. “Blood will out! you -have got your father’s mettle in you! Bravo! Let the fellow go to the -dogs in his own way and be d----d to him!--excuse me!” - -“Wait, uncle!” said Violet, looking at Miss Letty’s pained and anxious -face with great tenderness in her eyes. “You must not think I don’t -suffer! I do! When I saw that horrible news to-night--when I heard -people talking of it, I felt like killing myself! Yes!”--for Miss Letty -uttered a piteous exclamation,--“Yes, dear Miss Letty, you must not -think I don’t feel. I feel cruelly!” Her lips trembled, her voice shook. -“But you have both been so good to me--you have taken such care of me, -that I should be a wicked, ungrateful girl if I thought of myself only. -I think of _you_--dear kind Uncle Desmond!--darling sweet Miss Letty! -and I will try to bear it bravely, I will indeed! I am trying now. Don’t -you see I am? My heart is wounded, and the wound hurts--yes, it hurts! -But I will try--I will try hard, that the pain may make me better!” - -And here, her pride breaking down entirely, she fell again on her knees -beside Miss Letty, and buried her head in her lap, sobbing bitterly. -Quietly Miss Letty laid her two hands over the soft hair, stroking it -gently,--and controlling her own tears, she made a gentle sign to the -stricken Major to go. With a mute glance of farewell tenderness, that -gallant officer stole out of the room on tiptoe,--and pausing in the -hall outside, wiped his eyes and blew his nose guardedly lest he should -make too much noise. - -“God bless my soul!” he ejaculated. “These women beat everything! Break -their hearts, and they say the pain shall make them better! ’Pon my -soul! What brutes we men are--what revolting, dirty, selfish, downright -brutes! We don’t deserve ever to have had mothers. Here, let me get out -of this!” - -And opening the street door gingerly, he closed it as gingerly after -him, and stood for a moment in the street with the guilty air of a -burglar who had just abstracted some valuable plate. And again he blew -his nose--with greater freedom and vigour this time. - -“Poor little girl!” he murmured. “Poor little Violet! Only -nineteen!--and faces the music like an old warrior of a hundred -battles! Brave child--brave child! And by Jove, what a beauty she’s -growing! A positive beauty! Never noticed it till to-night, ’pon my -soul.” - -And a couple of lines suddenly came into his head as it seemed from -nowhere,--lines he remembered vaguely, as having heard when quite a lad: - - “ ... This is truth the poet sings, - That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.” - -“That’s it!” he said. “That’s what’s the matter with her! She is crowned -with that crown--poor little Violet! And by Jove she wears it royally! -And she will rule her sorrow and conquer it with a fine strength and -firm spirit,--and she will be a queen among women yet!--my little -broken-hearted girl!” - -And he wafted a kiss back to the windows of Miss Letty’s house as he -pulled his hat over his eyes and walked away. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -After a storm comes a calm, and the old proverbs which tell us that the -longest lane must have a turning and the darkest cloud a silver lining -are not without something of a cheery note in their constant -reiteration, like the repeated warble of a thrush telling us of the -certainty of spring. And Violet Morrison soon began to prove these -old-fashioned truths for herself, though the sudden and ruthless -destruction of her first love dream had cast a shadow over the bright -opening of her life, and had made her graver and more thoughtful than -her youth and beauty warranted. Her troubles were none the less hard to -bear, when the recalcitrant Max Nugent, weary of his connection with -Lady Wantyn, promptly severed it as soon as her husband divorced that -famous “beauty,” and sought to make his peace with the innocent girl -whom he had so deeply wronged. Again and again he wrote to her and -implored her to forgive him and to marry him,--but she answered none of -his letters. The first faith and devotion of her heart were killed, and -she knew she could never trust him, but he very persistently urged a -renewal of his attentions in spite of the curt return of his letters -through the Major’s hands, and she was therefore very glad when her -uncle and Miss Letty decided to take her abroad for a time on a tour -through France, Italy and Spain, as this gave her freedom, and an escape -from the constant pleading of her former lover. The interest in new -countries, and the constant distraction of thought caused by the various -wonders and beauties of the shifting panorama, served as an excellent -mental and moral tonic, and braced up all the energies of her mind. They -stayed abroad, residing sometimes in one beautiful place, sometimes -another, for about three years, and it was while they were wintering in -Palermo in the last year of their wanderings that the Major received a -letter which gave him the burden of another secret which he had to keep -from Miss Letty in addition to the one concerning the “dead rascal” -Harry Raikes. The letter was from an old friend and fellow-officer, and -among other items of the news he gave was the following:-- - -“By the way, you asked me to tell you if I ever heard any news of -D’Arcy-Muir’s son. I have heard something, and I expect it won’t please -you. He passed by the skin of his teeth into Sandhurst,--and the other -day was expelled for being drunk and kicking up a disorderly row. It is -a bad job for the young chap, but what’s in the blood will out--and I -suppose he has caught the drink disease from his father. He has ruined -his military career at the outset.” - -Long and deeply did the good Major ponder over this piece of depressing -intelligence. He read it in the courtyard of the hotel in Palermo where -they were just then staying, a courtyard which, as is the custom in -Southern climes, presented the appearance of a fairy flower-garden, -festooned with climbing plants in blossom, with oranges ripening in the -warm sun, and odours of mimosa, heliotrope and violets on the air. -“Expelled for being drunk”! The news seemed an infamy and an insult, in -such a scene of beauty as that which he looked upon. - -“God bless my soul!” he murmured disconsolately, fixing his eyes on a -fair cluster of white clematis swinging above his head. “It seems to me -that some of us aren’t fit to inhabit this planet! There’s everything -beautiful in it, and everything is wisely ordained,--and it is only we -who make the mischief and create the trouble. ‘Expelled for being -drunk’! And that kind of thing ends in being expelled from the world -altogether before one has served one’s time. What would Letty say!” - -He sighed heavily,--but in a few minutes of consideration decided that -it would be worse than foolish to tell her. - -“Let her keep her little ideal somewhere in her heart,” he said to -himself. “Don’t let me be such a great blundering idiot as to smudge all -the picture out for her. She believes in Harry Raikes,--she may as well -believe in Boy as long as she can. And if anyone tells her what’s -happened, it won’t be me!” - -And he steadily adhered to this resolution. It was easy to do so, as -Boy’s name was never mentioned by Miss Letty now, and all her thoughts -seemed taken up with Violet. He put away his friend’s letter unanswered, -carefully marking the date on which he received it,--and as he -calculated that Boy must be getting on now for twenty, he shook his head -and decided that everything, so far as “that unfortunate young chap” was -concerned, was rather hopeless. - -“However, it’s no use blaming the lad himself too severely,” he -considered--“He has had everything against him--his parents have both -shown him the worst of examples. His nature was warped at its very -commencement and in its very growing--and if he takes to the bottle like -his father and runs down-hill at a tearing speed, the fault doesn’t rest -entirely with him.” - -In the spring of that same year they returned to London, and “settled -down,” as the saying is, in order that Violet might take up the career -her heart was pining for--that of a thoroughly trained nurse. She was -never happier than when she could soothe pain and alleviate suffering, -and she was altogether eminently fitted for the profession she sought to -adopt. Miss Letty did not deter her, nor did her uncle, for they both -saw that work and active interest in the welfare of others was the only -way to make her life interesting to herself. She had really no need to -work, for Miss Letty had, though Violet knew it not, left her a -considerable fortune in her will, and of course Major Desmond, though -not a rich man, had made over to her everything he possessed,--but the -fact of having money is not sufficient to fill lives which are strong -and earnest, and which would fain prove to God that they are worth -living. So Violet with her firm faith, pure heart and gentle manner, -went into the forests of difficulty, unarmed and fair as Una in -Spenser’s famous poem, and studied hard, consecrating herself heart and -soul to the work she had undertaken, with the usual result of all -earnest endeavour--complete success. Max Nugent had long ceased to -importune her for the mending of the broken threads of affection,--and -of this she was glad. Her disappointment in her first love had, however, -deprived her of any interest or expectation of marriage for herself,--in -fact the idea had become repugnant to her mind. One day her uncle asked -her,-- - -“Are you going to devote all your life to the memory of Max Nugent, as -Letty has devoted hers to the lost and gone Harry Raikes?” - -Violet smiled. - -“No, uncle. _I_ have been undeceived--Miss Letty keeps her illusion. I -never think of Max now.” - -“Well, do you ever think of anybody else?” demanded the Major. - -“No.” - -“Why not?” - -Violet laughed outright. - -“Dearest uncle! I cannot fall in love to order! I don’t much like the -men I see,--they don’t want me, and I don’t want them. Leave me alone to -work, dear uncle,--I love my work--I am useful--I can help a great many -people to bear their troubles,--and it will be all right for me. If I am -to marry, why, I shall,--if not, I shan’t.” - -And she kissed him and slipped away. - -Meanwhile, in the self-same monster metropolis of London, where Violet -went daily to her work in the hospital--where the Major divided his days -between his club and Miss Letty’s always charming house--and where Miss -Letty herself, growing more feeble and ailing with years, was content to -sit very much at home with her embroidery,--Boy, who had unconsciously -been a link in the chain of their three lives, was drifting like a wreck -in a vast ocean. The terrible blow of his expulsion from Sandhurst had -been taken by his parents as a deadly injury to themselves,--and for the -shame, the misery, the utter breaking-down of the lad’s own life and -ambitions, they, his progenitors, took no thought and had no pity. The -Honourable Jim, half-paralysed as he was, had plenty of strength left -for swearing, and used oaths in plenty to his son, calling him a “d---- -d low rascal.” - -“You don’t seem to belong to me at all!” he shouted, his red face -becoming purple with rage and excitement. “D----n it, sir, I am a -gentleman--my father was a gentleman, but you--you are a blackguard, -sir! D----n it!--when I took my glass I took it like a gentleman, I -didn’t go about disgracing myself and my profession as you have done. -You had better enlist if they’ll have you. Anyhow you must do something -for your bread--I can’t afford to keep you!” - -Boy heard in absolute silence. He was too completely scornful of life -and the ways of life to care to remind his father that he himself had -been one long disgrace to his son from that son’s babyhood--and that his -paralytic condition was altogether owing to his indulgence in strong -drink,--What was the good? More oaths and a redder face would be the -sole result. And his mother? Had she one word of pardon or of sympathy -for him in his deep humiliation? Not she! Embedded in fat, all she could -do was to shake her double chin at him over a mountain of maternal -bosom. - -“It’s always the way,” she said, dabbing a handkerchief into her eyes, -“when good mothers do everything for their sons! They have to suffer! -You have broken my heart, Boy!--your mother’s heart! All my hopes of you -are ruined! I don’t feel as if you were _my_ Boy! I’m sure I don’t know -what you are going to do. We have no fortune, as you are perfectly -aware--we can’t afford to keep you idling about, doing nothing!” - -Boy, tall, pale, handsome, and with an indefinable air of languor and -scorn about him, smiled wearily. - -“Don’t trouble yourself, mother!” he said. “I will earn enough bread to -keep me alive, if I do it by sweeping a crossing. Good-bye!” - -“Where are you going?” demanded his mother, somewhat frightened at his -set face and blazing eyes. - -“Do you care?” And he laughed bitterly. “I’m going--to the devil, I -suppose!” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir moaned and dabbed her eyes again. - -“Oh dear, oh dear!” she wailed. “When I think of all the sacrifices I -have made to send you to college--and all the trouble I have had, really -it seems too dreadful! A mother’s life is martyrdom--complete martyrdom! -Why don’t you go and hunt up old Miss Letty?” - -Then, and quite suddenly, Boy flared up. “Miss Letty! The Miss Letty who -wanted to adopt me as a child--and you wouldn’t let her? Not I! It would -have been a jolly sight better for me perhaps if I had been with -her--but to go to her now--now, when I am expelled”--he choked at the -word and had a struggle to go on--“and in disgrace,--now! No, mother, -never!” - -With a strange gesture, half of fury, half of despair, he turned and -left her and went out of the house. His mother was far too unwieldy and -comfortable in herself to rise from her chair and enquire where he was -going, and though she called “Boy!” once as he disappeared, he did not -hear her. - -He had two or three pounds in his pocket, and rather than put up with -any more useless reproaches and complaints at home, he decided to take a -cheap lodging somewhere near the Strand, and seek for work,--any kind of -work. - -“It’s all the same,” he said with a sort of cynical philosophy which had -come of “cramming” and the weariness resulting from that pernicious -system--“whether one sweeps out an office or controls it, work of every -kind is simply work. It only differs in the quality and the pay.” - -In a few days, through the help of a young fellow he had known at -Sandhurst, one who was unaffectedly sorry for his disgrace, he got a -place as assistant clerk in an agency office. It was dull business, but -he drudged through it uncomplainingly, and earned enough to keep himself -going. Sometimes a vague idea occurred to him that he would go on the -stage. - -“Everyone does that when they are down on their luck!” he said. “I might -begin as a super. But if I began as one I expect I should stay as one, -for I haven’t an idea of acting. However, some people would say that is -an advantage. Because if you _can_ act, you may never get an -engagement!” - -He took to going to the theatre of an evening, and studying the various -antics and grimaces of all the puppets in the different shows. Sometimes -it amused him,--more often it bored him. But for a lonely and -downhearted lad as he was, it was better to sit among human beings in -the warmth and light, with the sound of music about him, than to be all -alone in his cheap lodging, brooding on his miseries. One night he saw a -very pretty little play performed, in which the heroine was a maiden -lady who had made the mistake of loving where she was not loved. -Something--a mere trifle of pathos--a touch of sentiment in one scene, -suddenly called Miss Letty to his mind. Quite involuntarily, and almost -as if his brain had taken to acting independently of himself, he began -to retrace his life, and follow it backward step by step to his -childhood’s days, till gradually, very gradually, small incidents and -circumstances began to arrange themselves like the pieces of a puzzle, -and he remembered a number of things he had long forgotten. Again he saw -himself rambling down by the sea-shore, a solitary, sad little fellow, -talking to Rattling Jack,--again he saw Miss Letty’s house in Scotland; -and the memory of the last walk he had taken with her there through the -Pass of Achray came back to him as freshly as if it had only happened -yesterday. - -Though his eyes were fixed on the stage he saw an entirely different -picture from that which the actors were representing--a picture which -had been blurred and blotted out from his mind for many years by the -heavy mass of information which had been thrown at him to digest as best -he might in the shortest possible time. This obscuration of mental -faculty was beginning to clear like a thick fog away from the mirror of -his brain, and with a strange pang of regret he recalled the gentle -face, the soft voice, the sweet and kindly ways of the good woman who -had loved him so much when a child. As soon as the play was ended he got -up and went out with the rest, but lingered near the theatre door while -the crowd of fashionable and unfashionable folk were hustling themselves -and each other into cabs and carriages, watching each face as it passed -by and wondering if by chance Miss Letty might be among them. Or if not, -perhaps Major Desmond, to whom he would at once tell his miserable -story,--the story of his disgrace at Sandhurst, which had not been so -much his fault as that of a “superior” officer who had tempted him to -drink and had laughed at him when drunk, himself escaping scot-free when -the matter was inquired into, and the unhappy boy whom he had led to -ruin was expelled. Yes--it might be well to confide in Major -Desmond,--he would do so, he resolved, the very next day. With a deep -sigh he roused himself from his reverie, and moved away from the -threshold of the corridor to the theatre, where he had been standing, -when suddenly his arm was touched timidly and a sweet anxious voice -said,-- - -“I beg your pardon!--but would you mind----! Might I ask you to find me -a cab? I have missed my father in the crowd--I am all alone!” - -He turned and looked at the speaker, and was quite startled by the -exquisite beauty of the face uplifted to his own. Such large eloquent -dark eyes!--such beautiful black curly hair!--such an exquisite -complexion!--a smile that fairly dazzled him!--and a figure of the most -girlish and fairylike grace to crown and complete all these attractions! -Hastily he raised his cap, and blushed hotly at the extreme honour he -felt at being spoken to by such a beautiful woman. - -“Do you mind?” murmured the fair one again. “I am afraid it is very -dreadful of me to ask you!--but papa must have taken the carriage--he -must have thought I had gone home with some other friends who were here -to-night. And I do feel so very nervous,--I have never been left alone -anywhere!” - -Boy started from his stupor of admiration into instant action. - -“I’ll get you a cab directly--of course I will,” he said. “Just sit down -here in the corridor--it’s very draughty though, I am afraid--won’t you -catch cold?” - -“I have a warm cloak, thank you,” said the bewitching siren, smiling up -at him. “Thank you _so_ much!” - -“A hansom or a four-wheeler?” asked Boy. - -“Oh, anything! I am _so_ sorry to trouble you!” - -Boy dashed off into the street. It never for a moment occurred to him -that the young lady could just as well have asked the same attention -from one of the stalwart policemen on guard near the theatre door, and -that perhaps it would have been more in keeping with the proprieties if -she had done so. He soon secured a hansom, the smartest and cleanest he -could find, and ran back to the charming creature who had so confidingly -thrown herself upon his protection. - -“Oh thank you! But won’t you come with me?” said the beautiful heroine -of this dramatic incident. “Please _do_! Come home and see papa! He will -be _so_ glad!” Nothing could have been more winning than the innocent -and childlike way in which she gave this invitation. She made it all the -more irresistible by pressing her little daintily gloved fingers on -Boy’s arm,--a touch which thrilled him through and through. - -“I shall be so frightened,” she went on, “in a cab all alone! Please see -me home, if only to the door!” - -“All right,” said Boy resolutely. “I’ll come!” - -He assisted her into the hansom with the greatest tenderness, and -carefully tucked her pretty skirts about her tiny feet,--oh! what -charming skirts, all soft and silken and frilled and rustling, like the -leaves of fringed French poppies! - -“What address?” he inquired. - -She gave him a number and street near Sloane Square, and he, confiding -the same to the cabman, sprang in beside her, and they rattled away -together through the streets, Boy delighted with the adventure and the -pleasure of being chosen as the protector and cavalier of so fascinating -a being as his companion. - -“Isn’t this fun?” she said, her eyes sparkling like jewels in the light -reflected from the cab lamps. “I feel so safe now! You ought to know my -name, I think. Shall I tell you?” - -“If you don’t mind,” answered Boy, still troubled by a tendency to blush -at his own temerity--“I should like to know it, so that I might remember -it--and you--always!” - -This was a fairly good hit, and was promptly responded to on the part of -the fair one, by a modest droop of the head and tender side glance. - -“How sweet of you to say--_that_!” she murmured, “but I am afraid you -will soon forget. My name is Lenore de Gramont. I am the only daughter -of a French nobleman, the Marquis de Gramont.” - -Boy blushed more hotly than ever. What a position for him! Here he was, -in a hansom cab, with the daughter of a French Marquis! He did not know -whether he ought to be proud or humiliated! - -“Papa is a very clever man”--went on the charming Lenore -confidingly,--“he has a beautiful castle in France, but he is so fond of -England--oh, _so_ fond!--He would rather live in quite little -apartments in England than in a palace in France!” - -“Really!” said Boy. - -“Yes! And he is so fond of Englishmen. He adores them! You are English?” - -“Yes,” answered Boy. “My name is Robert D’Arcy-Muir. I am the only son -of the Honourable James D’Arcy-Muir.” - -“The Honourable?” queried Lenore with a fascinating uplifting of her -delicate eyebrows. “Ah yes, that is one of your English distinctions--so -grand and meaning so much! Our titles in France mean nothing!” - -“I have been in France,” said Boy. - -“Have you? Did you like it?” - -“I was only at school there when a boy,” he replied. “The school was -near the sea-coast in Brittany.” - -“Ah, dear Brittany! So charming--so picturesque--so poetic!” - -“Well, I can’t say much about that,” said Boy. “I was there just for a -year,--but I didn’t care about it. The boys were rather a bad lot.” - -“It was perhaps a bad school,” said the daughter of the Marquis, with a -little laugh. “Oh, you must not be too severe about my dear Brittany! -Here we are! Do come in!” - -Boy helped her out of the cab, and as she sprang lightly to the ground -she looked up with tender entreaty in her eyes and repeated the words. -“Do come in!” - -Boy hesitated,--then paid the cabman and dismissed him. - -“Do you think your father--the Marquis----” he stammered uneasily. - -“He will be charmed!” said the captivating Lenore. “Come--I will take no -denial. You must have supper with us--come!” And almost before he knew -how it happened, Boy found himself in the highly decorated hall of a -small flat, bowing to a stoutly built gentleman with a red face and a -superabundance of moustache, whom Lenore introduced as-- - -“My father, the Marquis de Gramont!” - -And while Boy made his bashful salute, father and daughter exchanged a -profane wink which had their guileless guest observed, would certainly -have surprised him. - -“Dear papa!” said Lenore then, in her pretty caressing voice, “how could -you leave me behind at the theatre in that cruel way? What were you -thinking about? This is Mr. Robert D’Arcy-Muir, the son of the -Honourable Mr. D’Arcy-Muir, who was good enough to get me a hansom and -bring me home,--and if he hadn’t been so kind to me, where do you -suppose I should have been, you naughty papa!” - -By this time the Marquis appeared to understand and grasp the position. - -“My dear, I am very sorry!” he said in smooth deep accents--“very sorry! -I really thought you had gone home with our other friends! But you have -been most fortunate in finding such a handsome and gallant cavalier to -take care of you. You are very welcome, my boy,” he said heartily, -laying a fat hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Supper has just begun. -Come in, _sans cérémonie_! Come and share our simple meal!” - -He led the way,--Lenore threw off her opera cloak, thereby showing her -dazzling beauty to much greater advantage than before, and slipping her -bare rounded arm through Boy’s with a little coaxing pressure, she took -him into a room of considerable size, where a light supper was laid out -with a good deal of elegance, and where several other men were sitting, -all rather red-faced, and with something of a free-and-easy air about -them. Boy was introduced to the party as “the son of the Honourable -James D’Arcy-Muir,” whereat he wondered a little, as he could not see -what his parentage had to do with his present way of passing his -evening. But he presently decided that as his host was a Marquis, no -doubt all the gentlemen with him were of the bluest blood and highest -degree, and that therefore it was necessary to say who he was, in order -that he might be known as a fit companion for such distinguished -personages. Suppose they knew he was expelled from Sandhurst! The hot -blood surged to the very tips of his ears as this thought crossed his -mind, and he took his seat at table like one in a dream. - -“Champagne, Mr. D’Arcy-Muir?” inquired the Marquis courteously, passing -the bottle. - -“Thanks!” And Boy, filling his glass, raised it to his lips and bowed -low to the fair Lenore sitting next to him, who, smiling, bowed in -return. And after the little pause which generally follows the entry of -a stranger at a feast, conversation began again and soon became -argumentative and noisy. Politics and society were discussed, and -several of the gentlemen present appeared, for gentlemen, to have some -curious notions of honour. - -“Oh, hang all that sort of rot,” said one, a man with a clean-shaven -face, and a physiognomy apparently got up as a copy of Mr. -Pinero’s--“Success is the only thing you need care about. Money, money, -money! People don’t care a brass button whether you are honourable or -not. Tradesmen are more civil to the fellows who run up long bills than -to those who owe short ones. It’s all a matter of hard cash. Principle -is an old card, long played out.” - -“Did you see that new girl in the piece at the Harem Theatre last -night?” said another. “Little idiot! She can’t act. She ought to be a -charwoman.” - -“Perhaps she cannot do charing,” suggested the Marquis, nodding at his -daughter, who at once replenished Boy’s glass. “It is a _métier_!--it -may require study!” - -They all laughed. - -“She’s an idiot, I say,” went on the former speaker--“She could make -thousands if she would just let the actor-manager do as he likes with -her----” - -“Gentlemen,” interrupted the Marquis with a fierce twirl of his -moustache, “I must beg you to remember that my daughter is present!” - -Boy looked at him admiringly, and warmed to the fine spirit he -exhibited. He, Boy, was rapidly getting indignant at the unmannerly way -in which these eating and drinking men were eyeing the exquisite -Lenore,--one man had actually wafted her a kiss from the other side of -the table,--and she had pretended not to see. But of course she had -seen, and was no doubt hurt and disgusted. She must have been -disgusted,--any sweet girl like that would feel outraged at such vulgar -familiarity! Boy was growing more and more heated and excited as the -time went on; he had eaten scarcely anything, but he had taken all the -champagne given to him, and there was a buzzing in his head like the -swarming of a hive of bees. At a sign from the Marquis he got up -unsteadily, and accepting a cigarette went with all the party into a -side room, where Lenore drove him to still further desperation and -infatuation by taking his cigarette from him, putting it for a moment -between her own rosy lips, then lighting it and giving it back to him -with a mischievous curtsey and smile that were enough to confuse a much -wiser and clearer head than that of a young man only just turned twenty. -Dimly he became aware of a card-table being pushed towards him,--dimly -through the brain-fumes of smoke and champagne he heard his host, the -Marquis de Gramont, asking him to play a game with them. - -“What is it?” he demanded thickly--“I am not clever at cards. Are you?” -This with a stupid laugh and sentimental look at Lenore. - -“Oh no! I never play anything!” said the young lady, smiling sweetly. “I -only look on! But I think baccarat is a very amusing game. Do play!” - -Whereupon he sat down with the rest of the men, and was soon, under the -guidance of the Marquis, in the full heat and excitement of play. He did -not know in the least what he was doing,--he obeyed every hint from the -Marquis, or from Lenore, who leaned over his shoulder caressingly and -whispered now and then--“I would play that if I were you”--or “I would -do that.” Everything was in a whirl with him, and he only came to his -senses at last with a sharp shock when, at the conclusion of four or -five games, the Marquis asked courteously,-- - -“Would you care to go on any further, Mr. D’Arcy-Muir? Pray do not think -me officious for reminding you that you have lost five hundred pounds -already!” - -Boy started from his chair. - -“What? Five hundred pounds! Nonsense! I thought we were playing for -fun,--for sixpences,--for----” - -“No, not exactly!” said the Marquis urbanely and with a slight smile. -“You have been rather unlucky so far,--but if you wish to go on, it is -possible you may win back what you have lost.” - -But Boy still stood amazed, with a wild look in his eyes. - -“Lost! Five hundred pounds! My God!” Then rallying a little he looked -around him bewilderedly. “To whom do I owe this money?” - -The other men laughed carelessly. - -“Why, to the winners, old chappie,” said one. “The Marquis”--with a -slight somewhat sarcastic emphasis on this title,--“will tell you all -about it. Don’t worry!--he’ll settle it all for you.” - -“I shall be most happy to be of any service to Mr. D’Arcy-Muir,” said -the Marquis at once. “He has only to give me his note of hand that in -ten days he will repay me, and the five hundred pounds is ready for -him--even more, if he requires it.” - -“Repay--five hundred pounds!” And Boy still stared about him in horror -and fear. “But--I have not five hundred pence in all the world!” - -The Marquis smiled again and stroked his moustache. - -“No? That is certainly unfortunate! But your father, the Honourable Mr. -D’Arcy-Muir, will no doubt be answerable for you. This is a debt of -honour, of course--not a public matter--but involving serious private -disgrace if left unpaid. However, don’t distress yourself, my dear boy! -I will accept your note of hand at fourteen days instead of ten.” - -Boy was silent--his face was deadly pale, his eyes bloodshot. Then he -suddenly walked up to his smiling host and looked him full in the face. - -“I understand!” he said hoarsely. “I begin to realize what _you_ -are!--and what kind of a trap I have fallen into! Very well! Let it be -as you say. Pay these men what I owe to them--what you have made me lose -to them, and I will give you my note of hand for the amount. And in -fourteen days you shall be paid back--somehow!” - -“Good!” And the Marquis went at once to a writing-desk conveniently at -hand and scrawled a few lines hastily, which Boy as hastily glanced at -and signed with his name and address,--“Thank you!” And the -distinguished French nobleman shifted about a little, and avoided with -some uneasiness the steady glance of the young man’s eyes. “Five -hundred!--and I will charge you no interest for the loan! Will you play -again?” - -“Play again?” And Boy turned upon them all with such a tragedy of pain -written on his face as for a moment awed even the callous gamesters, -accustomed to ruin young men’s lives with as little compunction as they -cracked their nuts after dinner. “No! Had I known better I would not -have played at all.” With a sudden fierce movement he sprang towards the -bewitching Lenore and seized her hands, while with a slight cry she -tried to drag herself away from him. “You--you--betrayed me into this! -_You_ brought me here!--_you_, with your beautiful face and beautiful -eyes--you whom I thought a good innocent girl! A good girl!” And he -broke into a loud harsh laugh, like the laugh of a madman. “God help me! -I thought you were good!” - -He flung her hands from him with a gesture of loathing and contempt, and -then, with one look of miserable defiance at the practised villains who, -seated round the card-table, were smoking leisurely and smiling as -though they were listening to a very amusing farce, turned and left the -room. - -His first thought when he stood in the open street again was -suicide,--his next, Miss Letty. He walked along swiftly, scarcely -heeding where he went, his head burning, his heart throbbing, his whole -being possessed by the exceeding wrong done to him by Fate in endowing -him with the mere fact of life. He was unconscious of making any -protest, yet a protest there was in his own soul which would not and -could not have found its way into words, because he did not himself -recognize the nature of it. God alone was able to read that protest and -understand it,--the terrible indictment brought against those who had -been given this young life to guard and train to noblest results,--an -indictment involuntarily and invisibly set before a crowd of witnesses -every day by young men and women who owe their mistakes and miseries to -the blind tyranny and selfishness of the parents who brought them into -existence. If Boy had made an end of his troubles then and there he -would not, strictly speaking, have murdered himself so much as his -parents would have murdered him. From the earliest beginnings of -childhood, all the seeds of his present misery had been sown,--by -neglect, by carelessness, by bad example, by uncomfortable home -surroundings, by domestic quarrellings,--by the want of all the grace, -repose, freedom, courtesy, kindliness and sympathy, which should give -every man’s house the hall-mark of “Home.” His childhood had been sad -and solitary--his boyhood embittered by disappointment, followed by the -excessive strain of “competitive cram,” which had tired and tortured -every little cell in his brain to utter exhaustion,--he was old before -he had had time to be young. Miss Letty! The thought of her just now in -all his wretchedness brought a sudden mist of tears to his eyes. He had -forgotten her so long--so long! And when he had seen her last he had -scarcely been conscious of her, because so stupefied by the weight of -the things he had to remember for his “exam.” She had seemed a dream to -him, and so had the Major. Now, when the mass of undigested learning -had all rolled off and been absolutely forgotten as though it had never -been studied, the remembrance of her love for him as a child came -freshly back like a breath from the sea, or the perfume of flowers. He -slackened his hurried pace, and grew calmer. The stars were shining -brightly above his head, though London was enswathed in a kind of low -fog, which crept dismally up from the ground to the top of the ugly -brick houses, and there hung like a veil--beyond this, the deep heavens -arched high and clear, and Venus shone steadfastly like a lamp to guide -lost travellers on their way. - -“I will try Miss Letty,” he said to himself. “I won’t tell her just yet -how I have been caught in a gambler’s snare--I will just simply ask her -if she will lend me a little money. Then if she says ‘Yes’ I will go to -her and explain. I don’t think she will refuse.” - -He carried this plan into action the next day, and wrote to his old -friend as follows:-- - - “DEAR MISS LETTY, - - I am afraid you will have thought me very careless in not writing - to you all these years, and very selfish now to write when I have - only a favour to ask of you, but I hope you will not mind, and try - still to keep as good an opinion of me as you can. I have got into - rather a difficulty, and am in urgent need of a little money. Can - you lend me some? I do not know when I shall be able to pay you - back, but I do not think you will be a very hard creditor to - - Yours affectionately, - - BOY.” - -He posted this in the morning about ten o’clock. At eight the same -evening he got his answer, enclosing a cheque for fifty pounds and the -following letter:-- - - “MY DEAR BOY,-- - - I am so very glad to hear from you again. Please accept the - enclosed as a little present. Change it at my bank, and if you like - to come and see me afterwards, and talk over your difficulties, I - shall be only too happy to help you. I am nearly always to be found - at home, as I am rather an invalid. - - Your old friend, - - LETITIA LESLIE.” - -The letter dropped from his hand and he looked at the cheque with a kind -of despair. Fifty pounds! In his extremity it was useless. How foolish -he had been not to ask Miss Letty for the whole sum at once! He took up -the letter and read it again--again and again he looked at the cheque. - -“Had I better go and see her?” he meditated. “But if I do I shall have -to tell her all about the row at Sandhurst,--and this gambling -business--she will think me a regular villain. She must be quite an old -lady now--and I should worry her to death. She would be so disappointed -in me----” - -He looked at the cheque again,--and then--like a black cloud crossing -the horizon, a Thought began to creep over his mind, darkening it -steadily into gloom. He sat quiet, fingering the cheque and Miss Letty’s -letter together, his face growing paler and paler,--his eyes harder and -colder--his form rigid. - -“People should always write the amount they are drawing in plain letters -on their cheques,” he half-whispered with dry lips--“Miss Letty should -have written the _word_ ‘fifty,’ not the _figure_ ‘50.’” - -He put away letter and cheque and went to bed early,--not to sleep but -to toss about restlessly all night long. What a horrible time he -passed!--what fretting dreams tortured him!--what strange and evil faces -haunted him, chief among which were those of the “Marquis” de Gramont -and his fascinating daughter Lenore--and the smooth cold handsome face -of the officer who had first tempted him to drink at Sandhurst. Of his -mother and father he never thought,--they had never shown him the -slightest sympathy. Once, during this wretched night of fleeting -visions, he saw the bent crooked figure and wrinkled countenance of the -old sailor Rattling Jack, whose last words had been “I’ll just think o’ -ye as if ye were dead.” Death was better than disgrace--and yet--Miss -Letty was so good a woman--she had loved him so much--she would be sure -to forgive him--if----! - -With the daylight he rose and sat at his writing-table, vaguely turning -over bits of paper and scribbling figures on them without any apparent -intention,--then after a hurried breakfast he went out. At about -half-past ten he made his way to Miss Letty’s bank and drawing her -cheque out of his pocket, passed it across the counter. The cashier -glanced at it with a little uplifting of his eyebrows. - -“All in notes, or would you like any gold?” he demanded. - -Boy was staring fixedly in front of him and did not hear. The cashier -was busy, and spoke again impatiently and with a suspicious glance. - -“Notes or gold? Will you have all notes or any gold?” - -“Notes, please,” answered Boy in a low voice. - -The cashier turned over the cheque. - -“You have forgotten to endorse it,” he said, passing it back and handing -him a pen ready dipped in ink. - -Boy took the pen--but his hand shook. Again the cashier looked at him -suspiciously. When he had endorsed the cheque the cashier vanished into -the manager’s room and was absent some minutes. Then he came back and -said with great civility,-- - -“Will you kindly call back in an hour? There is a little formality to go -through with this before paying out so large an amount from Miss -Leslie’s current account----” - -“Is there?” stammered Boy, turning deathly white. - -“Oh, only a mere matter of form,” said the cashier, watching him -narrowly, “and our manager is rather busy just now. If you will call -back at twelve he will explain everything to you, and hand you over the -money.” - -Boy bent his head mechanically and went out, sick with terror. -Meanwhile, one of the bank’s confidential clerks, acting on instructions -received, went out of the building by a side door, and jumping into a -hansom was driven straight to Miss Letty’s house. Could he see Miss -Leslie? The servant who opened the door was not quite sure,--Miss Leslie -was not very well. - -“Please say to her that the business is urgent, and that I come from the -bank,” said the clerk. - -Upon this, the servant showed him into the hall, where he waited for a -few minutes impatiently. Then he was shown into Miss Letty’s -morning-room, where, near a sparkling fire, and surrounded by many -flowers, sat Miss Letty herself, a picture of fair and tranquil old age, -quietly knitting. - -“Excuse me troubling you, madam,” began the clerk, stumbling awkwardly -into the dainty little sanctum, and standing abashed in the presence of -this gracious, sweet old lady, who as he afterwards said when speaking -of her, looked like a queen. - -“Pray do not mention it, sir,” said Miss Letty with her old-fashioned -courtesy. “I am quite ready to attend to business at any time. Excuse my -not rising to receive you,--I am not very strong to-day.” - -The clerk hesitated. - -“Our cashier was not quite certain about this cheque,” he at last went -on. “As it is not usual for you to draw such a large sum at once out of -your current account, we thought it might be as well to make an inquiry -before paying it----” - -He paused, alarmed at the white face Miss Letty turned upon him. - -“What cheque are you speaking of?” she asked. “For a large sum? Pray let -me see it.” - -He took out his pocket-book and handed her the cheque, carefully folded -in two,--then awaited her response. With trembling fingers she opened it -and read--“Pay to Robert D’Arcy-Muir the sum of £500.” - -A dark mist swam before her eyes,--she turned faint and giddy--the room -whirled round her in a circle of firelight and flowers, with the -conventional figure of the bank clerk standing out angularly in the -centre,--then with a strong mental effort she recovered herself and -quietly re-folded the cheque. - -“Yes!” she said faintly, then clearing her voice, she forced herself to -speak more distinctly and to smile. “Yes!--it is quite right! -Quite--correct!” - -And she rose from her chair, her soft grey cashmeres falling about her, -and the old lace kerchief knotted on her bosom heaving a little with -her quickened breath. “It is quite correct,” she went on. “The young -man--Mr. D’Arcy-Muir--presented it himself, no doubt?” - -“Yes, madam,” said the clerk humbly, “he did, but--we thought it best to -ask. Very sorry, I am sure, to have had any doubt! But you see the last -‘_nought_’ is not precisely in your usual way of finishing a -figure--and--er--the sum being large----” - -“Yes, yes, I see,” said Miss Letty, bravely smiling. “My writing is not -so good as it was,--I am getting old! Thank you for your trouble in -coming,--and thank the manager, please! Tell him it is quite correct!” - -She gave him back the cheque, and he accepted it with a bow. - -“Sorry to have troubled you, madam, I am sure!” - -“Not at all!” said Miss Letty. “Not at all! Good morning!” - -“Good morning, madam!” - -He left her, and she stood like a creature turned into stone. - -“Boy! Oh, Boy!” The name escaped her lips in a half-whisper. - -She looked around her--her eyes were dim,--and she was still troubled by -a sickening giddiness. She moved to her chair, and laid one hand on the -arm of it to steady herself. - -“You should have died when you were a child, poor Boy!” she said still -whisperingly--“Poor little Boy! You should have died when you were a -child!” - -Still she stood rigid and tearless, unconscious of all around her, her -blue eyes fixed on vacancy. The door opened--she did not hear it. Violet -Morrison, very fair to see in the neat grey gown and spotless white cap -of her calling, entered--she did not notice her. - -“Miss Letty!” - -She started a little, turned her head, and strove to smile and speak, -but could not. Violet, alarmed, sprang to her side. - -“Darling Miss Letty! What has happened?--What is the matter?” - -A deep sigh broke from Miss Letty’s lips. She trembled a little. - -“Nothing, dear! Nothing! I was only just thinking--of Boy!” - -“Were you?” And Violet’s face grew more serious. Something was surely -wrong with Miss Letty!--she had not mentioned Boy for years. “What made -you think of him just now, dearest?” And she slipped her strong young -arm about the old lady’s trembling figure. - -“A little circumstance reminded me,” replied Miss Letty dreamily, “of -the days when he was a child. Do you see up there, Violet?”--and she -pointed to a small shelf above the mantelpiece,--“Those quaint little -shoes? He used to wear them--and rub them out at the toes--you will -notice they are quite worn! And that toy there--that cow--it moves its -head--he used to call it ‘Dunny,’ and he loved it so much that he took -it everywhere about with him. Such a funny little fellow!--such a dear -innocent little man--such an innocent--sweet little man!” - -The last words were almost inaudible--for as she spoke them her face -suddenly changed and grew ashen grey,--she reeled and would have fallen, -had not Violet caught her just in time, and laid her gently back in her -arm-chair in a dead faint. The house was soon in confusion,--one servant -flew for the doctor, another for Major Desmond, who arrived on the scene -just as his old friend was beginning to recover consciousness under the -careful tending of Violet, whose trained medical knowledge stood her in -good stead. - -“What has upset her like this?” he asked, his kind face growing drawn -and haggard as he saw the death-like pallor of his beloved Letty’s -features. “How did it happen?” - -“I don’t know,” answered Violet in a low tone. “I found her standing by -her chair, and talking to herself about Boy!” - -The doctor soon came, and after careful examination pronounced it to be -shock. - -“A nervous shock,” he said cheerfully. “She’ll get all right presently, -won’t you?” And he patted his patient’s pretty old hand soothingly. -“You’ll get all right presently?” - -Miss Letty looked upon them all with her sweetly patient air and smiled. - -“Oh yes! I shall soon be quite well. You must not worry about me.” - -“But what’s the matter, Letty?” asked the Major tenderly, bending over -her chair. “What is troubling you?” - -“Nothing, Dick! It was only a little faintness. I am almost well -now--almost well!--only weak--very weak----” - -She closed her eyes and lay back again in her chair, while Violet still -bathed her forehead and chafed her hands. She was reviving gradually, -and after a few minutes the doctor took his leave. Out in the hall, -however, he beckoned mysteriously to Major Desmond. - -“She may last a couple of years or so longer,” he said, “but she will -require the greatest care,--it is the beginning of the end.” - -And with a hurried bow after these ominous words, he got into his -brougham and was driven away. Major Desmond stood where the doctor had -left him, stupefied. - -“The beginning of the end!” Letty! He shuddered. Letty had got her -deathblow! She was going away to be an angel with Harry Raikes, and sit -on a golden throne---- - -“No! By G----! She shan’t!” said the Major desperately. “If she goes -I’ll go with her!” - -Meanwhile, the confidential clerk from the bank, whose visit was the -unguessed cause of all this trouble, went back to his chief and reported -the result of his mission. - -“Well, I’m glad it’s all right,” said the manager after hearing him out. -“I confess I had my suspicions, for Miss Leslie has never drawn five -hundred all at once from her current account before. I am sorry I -doubted the young man. Tell the cashier to attend to him at once when he -calls.” - -At the appointed hour, Boy came into the bank, walking slowly and -feebly, and looking very ill. The cashier greeted him smilingly, and -with effusive civility. - -“Just ready, sir!” and he began counting out crisp bank notes rapidly. - -Boy leaned on the counter looking at him. - -“I thought you said there was some formality----” he began. - -“Quite right, sir! Yes--so there was, but we hurried the matter by -sending the cheque to Miss Leslie and asking her if it was all -right----” - -Boy took a deep sharp breath. - -“And she----?” he began. - -“She said it was quite correct. You see we were a little uncertain,--we -have to be very cautious in banking matters--sorry to have caused any -delay, I’m sure! Now let me see,--three hundred--two fifties--four -hundred--fifty--twenty-five--another twenty-five. Kindly look through -the notes before leaving the counter.” - -Boy did as he was told with shaking fingers. - -Then he folded them all together and put them in his pocket, and looked -at the cashier very strangely indeed. - -“Good morning!” he said. - -“Good morning.” - -Boy walked to the heavy spring door and pulled it open--then passed -through and was gone, the cashier watching him till he had disappeared. - -“Curious--very curious!” he soliloquized. “That young chap looked as if -he had got poison instead of bank notes. I wonder what’s up?” - -Often did that wonder affect the worthy cashier. The people who came and -went in the bank, with money, and without it, were strange enough in -their various expressions of countenance and mannerisms to provide many -a student with subject-matter for thought,--still, it was not often that -so young a lad as Boy was seen there with such a whole history of -despair and shame written on his face. And that despair and shame had -not lightened with his possession of the much-needed and sorely coveted -money,--it had, on the contrary, deepened and become far heavier to -bear. But he had now made up his mind as to his immediate course of -action. He had resolved upon it in the very moment that the cashier had -handed him the bank notes, and he was only anxious to go through with -his intention while it was fresh and newly formed in his mind, lest -anything should make him hesitate or falter. He went back straight to -his lodgings and there putting all the bank notes into one large -envelope wrote the following letter:-- - - “DEAR GENEROUS MISS LETTY! - - I don’t know what to say to you for your kindness and your mercy to - me, which is so much more than I deserve!--but I know what I ought - to do and I am doing it as well as I can. I send you back here all - the money I tried to get by the wicked fraud of adding another - figure to the one in your cheque--and I hope you will try and - forgive me for my attempted and intended theft. I don’t understand - how it is you can be so good to me as to shield me in this way, but - your great mercy has made me bitterly ashamed of myself, and I do - beg your pardon with all my heart. I will try to make amends - somehow, so that you shall not hear any bad of me again. God bless - you always, dear Miss Letty, for your unexpected and most heavenly - kindness to your wretched - - BOY. - - I have brought this letter myself, but I won’t come in, as I could - not bear to see your kind face just now.” - -He put this epistle in with the bank notes and sealed the -envelope,--then anxious to be rid of the now hateful money and put -temptation away from him as far as possible, he took a hansom and drove -to Hans Place. The servant who opened the door looked pale and flurried, -and her eyes were red as if she had been crying. - -“Give this to Miss Leslie, please,” he said, holding out the packet. - -“Miss Leslie is very ill, sir,’ said the girl. “I do not think she will -be able to read any letters to-day.” - -Boy’s heart almost stood still. - -“_Very_ ill? Since when? - -“Since this morning, sir. She was taken quite sudden-like.” - -Boy uttered a little cry. His fault! His fault! If his old friend died, -it would be his fault! - -“Give her that,” he repeated sternly between his set teeth. “If she is -not able to receive it, give it to Major Desmond. He will understand. -And--when Miss Letty gets better, if she can hear a message, will you -say that Boy left his love?” - -The servant stared at the pale eager young face and the pained sorrowful -eyes. - -“‘Boy left his love,’” repeated the girl,--“Oh well, sir, wouldn’t you -like to come in a minute, sir?” - -“No!” said Boy almost fiercely. “I’m not fit to come in! I am a thief -and a scoundrel! But all the same--say to her that Boy left his love!” - -He rushed away leaving the servant panic-stricken, gazing after him with -the sealed packet for Miss Letty in her hands. - -Hurrying back again to his lodgings with grief and fury raging in his -soul, Boy sat down for a moment to think. The force of his trouble and -the mental victory he had gained over himself in the restoration of Miss -Letty’s money had cleared his brain, and he was able to consider his -position more calmly than he had considered it before. A sense of -freedom came over him,--he had shaken himself out of a net of crime -before it was too late--and it was the beautiful, merciful, angelic -spirit of his childhood’s friend, Miss Letty, that had saved him! When -she had the power to ruin him she had rescued him,--and for this, he -resolved to prove himself worthy of her clemency! After a little -meditation, he wrote a long letter of explanation to Major Desmond, -telling him the whole history of his adventure at the theatre and his -visit to the house of the “Marquis” de Gramont, begging him to say the -best he could for him to Miss Letty. - - “Tell her,” he wrote, “that the horror she has saved me from, shall - bring out whatever good stuff there is in me, if any. Please do not - come to see me, for I could not bear it. And do not send me any - money, because I could not bear that either. If you will just let - me have a wire saying how dear Miss Letty is some time to-morrow, - that is all I ask of you. And after that, both of you forget me - till you hear of me again. - - Yours, - - ‘BOY’ - - (R. D’ARCY-MUIR).” - -This done he wrote a note to the “Marquis” de Gramont, who had carefully -reminded him of his address that very morning. The note was as -follows:-- - - “SIR, - - I have placed my affair with you in the hands of my old friend - Major Desmond, who will inquire into the exact justice of my debts - of honour. - - Yours faithfully, - - R. D’ARCY-MUIR.” - -Full of nervous hurry and excitement he posted these letters, and could -hardly sleep all night for wondering what the answers would be. The next -day brought him first of all a wire--“Keep up your courage. Miss Letty -much better.--DESMOND.” - -Later on came a letter:-- - - “DEAR BOY, - - Yours is a sad and very common story, and this isn’t the time for - reproaches. Miss Letty, who is an angel, never told me what had - happened,--and I shall not mention to her, unless it is necessary, - how you were trapped into de Gramont’s little den. Don’t trouble - yourself about this ‘Marquis’; he is no more a marquis than I am, - and he is particularly wanted to attend a little party given by the - police. You will hear no more of your ‘honourable’ debts in that - quarter. I wish you would be reasonable and let me come and see - you. A little talk would do us both good, and I might be able to - help you out of present difficulties. _Keep on the square_, and - everything will come right. - - Yours heartily, - - DESMOND.” - -Boy gave a great sigh of relief. Miss Letty was better--thank God! The -money was restored,--and the spectre of the “Marquis” de Gramont was -dwindling and dissolving gradually into thin air like a black dream -following on a bad digestion. And now--what should he do? One step -more--and all was plain sailing. He made that step by writing to his -employer and setting himself free of his daily business as a clerk. -Then, without pausing to think any more about it, he walked rapidly down -to a certain office in a certain quarter, where there were certain showy -bills put up outside, the chief lettering on which seemed to be “Her -Majesty” in very large capitals. There stepping in, he addressed himself -at once to a neat and well-set-up man, in smart uniform, who was at -that moment taking his “rest” in rather a novel way by standing very -bolt upright against a wall and smoking. - -“Are you the recruiting sergeant?” said Boy. - -“I am, young feller! What can I do for you?” - -“Oh, nothing in particular,” said Boy shyly, with a sudden smile which -made his face very captivating. “I want to enlist, that’s all!” - -The sergeant looked him up and down. - -“H’m! You’re a gentleman, aren’t you?” - -“Well, I’m not so sure of that,” said Boy with a forced laugh. “I’ll try -to be one when I’m a soldier!” - -Upon which the sergeant gave him such a heavy blow of approval on his -shoulder that he almost fell down under it. - -“I like that!” he said. “That’ll do for me! Sound in wind and limb, -aren’t you?” - -“I think so!” And Boy, warmed and encouraged at heart by the kindly -twinkle of the sergeant’s keen eyes, began to feel almost happy. - -“Right you are! Come along then. Here’s your shilling,” and he pressed -that silver coin, which Boy at the moment desired more than a nugget of -gold, into the young man’s hand--“Done! Come along--name, age, and all -the etceteras--and then a drink--and God save the Queen!” - -“Amen!” said Boy as he followed his new commander. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Two years had fully elapsed since the incidents narrated in the last -chapter, and Miss Letty, in spite of the doctor’s ominous predictions, -was still alive, and, as she expressed it, “in fairly good health for a -woman of her age.” Major Desmond, however, was a prey to constant -alarms, and in spite of the gout and rheumatism which nowadays afflicted -him, used to visit her constantly, being always more or less in terror -lest she should be snatched away suddenly from him and no time for a -last “Good-bye.” And Miss Letty, with her always swift perception, saw -his anxiety, and considered him very tenderly,--for he, though he did -not seem to recognize it, was also suffering from the inevitable aches -and pains of age, yet he held himself as bravely as ever. He wasn’t -going to stoop and crawl about with a stick,--no, not he! And he bravely -demonstrated his force of will by walking from his club in Piccadilly to -Hans Place whenever his gouty foot was causing him the most acute -suffering. Other men in his plight would have taken a cab, or at least -availed themselves of a crutch--but he did neither. And there was so -much practical good sense in the resistance he offered to the attempted -siege of illness, that he cured himself of threatened attack many a time -and saved the doctor’s bill. - -Both he and Miss Letty had lost sight of Boy. Since the morning on which -he had restored the bank notes, and had, as he said, “left his love,” he -had disappeared mysteriously and unaccountably. The Major had inquired -in vain for him at his old lodgings, and finally, in desperation, had -essayed the disagreeable task of interviewing his parents on the subject -of his whereabouts. But he could get no news from them. The “Honourable” -Jim, bolstered up in his chair, with drawn countenance and hollow eyes, -was scarcely recognizable, save when his son’s name was mentioned, and -then he straightway woke up from his semi-lethargy to swear. The Major -was therefore reduced to the necessity of endeavouring to get what -information he could out of Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, who, breathing hard and -heavily like a porpoise, wept profusely at his first question, and -allowed her tears to trickle down and mix with the various food stains -on the dirty front of the ample dressing-gown in which she now enveloped -her elephantine proportions. - -“Oh, don’t talk to me about Boy!” she said. “Think of my sufferings as a -mother! The disappointment I have had to endure is too terrible for -words! The sacrifices I have made for him! The trouble I have had!” - -“What trouble?” demanded the Major sharply. “You have done about as -little for him as any one could, I fancy!” - -Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir stopped producing her tears,--and stared at him with -the air of an injured Roman matron. - -“Little!” she echoed. “I have done everything for him--everything! -Through my efforts, when his father grudged me any money for his -education, he went to school in France----” - -“And he’d better have stayed at home,” interpolated the Major. - -“Then I never rested day or night till I could get him to college; and -then--and then----” - -“Then he was ‘crammed,’ and forgot that he was anything but a machine to -take in facts and grind them to powder,--and then he went to Sandhurst, -and then he got expelled for being drunk, having seen his father drunk -before him all his life. Yes, ma’am, we know all that! But what I’m -asking you now is--what’s become of him?” - -“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir, beginning to be -snappish. “I have not seen or heard anything of him for ages. He has -deserted his mother! He is ungrateful--unnatural--and cruel! Sometimes I -think he cannot be my son. I’m sure”--here she put her handkerchief to -her eyes--“the stories one hears of changelings might really be -true,--for Boy was never the same to me after he stayed with Miss -Letty.” - -As she spoke she almost screamed, for the Major, with one big stride, -came close up to her and glared down upon her like a figure of fury. - -“Why--why, you miserable woman!” he suddenly burst out. “You ought to be -ashamed of yourself! You dare to hint anything against one of the finest -creatures God ever made, and the best friend your son ever had--and -I’ll--I’ll _shake_ you! I will! If that wretched object -inside--Jim--whom I used to know when he was younger, had shaken you -long ago it would have done you and him a world of good! You don’t know -any news of Boy, don’t you? Well, _I_ do. I know this much, that if Miss -Letty had been a woman like you, that unfortunate young fellow you have -brought into the world would be serving his time in prison for---- Well, -never mind for what! But with all his faults and follies he is better -than his mother. If I had my way, his mother should hear a thing or two! -Yes, ma’am, you may stare at me as much as ever you like--I’ve often -wanted to speak my mind to you, and now I’ve done it. You were never fit -to have a son. You never knew what to do with him when you got him. Your -carelessness, your selfishness, your slovenliness, your downright d---- -d idleness, are at the bottom of a good deal of the mischief he’s -tumbled into. There, ma’am! I’ve said what I think, and I feel better -for it. Good morning!” - -And before Mrs. D’Arcy-Muir could say another word he abruptly left her, -and she heard the street door shut after him with a loud bang. Her -husband yelled to her from the adjoining room. - -“What’s that?” - -She went to him, her heavy tread shaking the flooring as she moved. - -“It’s that horrible old Major Desmond just gone,” she said viciously. -“He’s been most insulting! He actually says _I_ am to blame for Boy’s -turning out so badly!” - -The Honourable Jim began to laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh, and the -nature of his illness did not conduce to agreeable facial expression. -But what latent sense of humour remained in him was decidedly awakened -by his wife’s indignation. - -“You’re to blame, eh! He said that? Well, he’s right--so you are! So you -are!” - -“Jim!” - -And over her fat cheeks her little eyes peered at him with a look of -amazement and wrath. - -“I mean it,” he persisted thickly, trying to twist his poor paralysed -tongue to distinct utterance. “You haven’t been fair to me or Boy,” and -he began to whimper feebly. “The house has always been at sixes and -sevens--never knew when one was going to have one’s bit or drop--no one -in their senses would ever have called it a home--and you never tried -to do me any good. If you had I might not be lying here now. Desmond’s -right enough--old Dick Desmond was always a good sort of thoroughgoing -chap. He knows what’s what. He’s right--it _is_ your fault. God knows it -is!” - -His head fell back wearily on his pillow, and his lack-lustre eyes -rolled restlessly in his head as if in search for something -unattainable. There was something really pitiable in the wretched man’s -helplessness,--and in the neglected state of his room, where medicine -bottles, cups and glasses were littered about in confusion, and where -everything showed carelessness and utter disregard of the commonest -cleanliness and comfort. But no touch of compunction moved his wife to -any consciousness of regret or compassion. On the contrary, she assumed -an almost sublime air of majestic tolerance and injured innocence. - -“Oh, of course!” she said resignedly, “of course it’s my fault! I ought -to have known you would say that. It’s the way of a man. He always -blames the woman who has been good to him--who has waited upon him hand -and foot--who has worked for him night and day--who has----” here she -began to grow hysterical--“who has loved him--who has been the mother of -his son--who has sacrificed herself entirely to her home! Yes--it is -always the way! Nothing but ingratitude! But you are ill, and I will not -blame you--Oh no, Jim--I’ll not blame you, poor man!--you will be -sorry--sorry for being so cruel to your good wife who has been so kind -to you!” - -With a sort of fat chuckling sob the estimable woman retired--not to -weep, oh no! but merely to eat some eggs and macaroni, a dish to which -she was particularly partial, and which had consoled her often before -for the wrongs inflicted on her as the chief martyr of her sex. - -And the Major returned to Miss Letty with the account of his embassy, -whereat the gentle soul laughed a little, though there was a sadness in -her laughter. All her old affection for Boy as a child had come back in -full force for Boy as a young man, now that she knew all the story of -his griefs and temptations. For after the affair of the bank notes, the -Major had judged it best to tell her of the lad’s expulsion from -Sandhurst, and when she knew everything, her pity and tenderness for him -knew no bounds. Her whole heart went out to him--and she had but one -wish--to see him again and lay her hands in a farewell blessing on his -head. “Just once before I die,” she thought, for she knew in her own -soul that death could not be far off--“just to kiss him and say I -understand how he was tempted, poor fellow!--and how heartily I forgive -him and pray for him.” - -The Major knew of this secret longing of hers, though she seldom spoke -of it, and it was in his great desire to gratify her that he sought -everywhere for some clue to Boy’s whereabouts, but in vain. A police -raid on the “Marquis” de Gramont’s gambling den had effectually cleared -that rats’ nest out of London, so there were no difficulties left there -by means of which Boy might have been traceable. Anxious and disturbed -in mind, the good Major rambled up and down the Strand and all the -bye-streets appertaining thereto, under the vague impression that he -should perhaps find Boy reduced to selling matches or bootlaces at a -corner, or coming out of a cheap eating-house,--“for,” said the Major -feelingly, “he will have to get a dinner somehow or somewhere. One of -the chief disadvantages of life on this earth is that none of us can do -without feeding. If a world were invented where the creatures in it -could exist simply by breathing in the air and drinking in the light, it -would be perfection--there would be no cause for quarrelling, strife, or -envyings of one another, though I expect some of the fashionable ladies -would even then keep things pretty lively by quarrelling over their -lovers and their gowns.” - -Violet Morrison was away from London just at this time. Her course of -study in surgical nursing, followed with the most intense and -painstaking care, had made her an invaluable assistant to two or three -of the greatest surgeons in London--and “Nurse Morrison,” as she was -called, was always in demand. She was no fancy follower of her -profession. She had not taken it up for the express purpose of flirting -with the doctors, and inveigling one of them into marrying her. She had, -however, grown into a very beautiful woman, and many a clever and -brilliant ‘rising man’ cast longing eyes of admiration at her fair face -and graceful form, as she moved with noiseless step and soft pitying -eyes through a hospital ward, soothing pain by her touch and inspiring -courage by her smile. But she set herself steadfastly against every hint -of love or marriage, and never swerved for an hour or a moment from the -lines of work and duty she had elected to walk in. Her only personal -anxiety was for Miss Letty, and willingly would she have stayed with her -beloved old friend, had not Miss Letty herself refused to be “coddled,” -as she expressed it. - -“If you don’t go and do your work, child, I shall fancy I am in -immediate danger,” she said with a smile, “and I shall die right off -before you have time to look round! Go where your duty calls you,--I -shall be ever so much better and happier for knowing that you are where -you ought to be.” - -“I ought to be with you, I think,” said Violet tenderly. “My first duty -is to you.” - -Miss Letty patted her hand kindly, - -“Your first duty is to help those who are in instant need, my dear,” she -said. “Be quite happy about me,--I am really feeling much better and -stronger, and I don’t think I shall go away from you just yet--not quite -just yet. I think I shall live”--and her eyes softened tenderly--“to see -Boy again.” - -So Violet went, though not till after consultation with her uncle, who -swore vociferously that if she remained to “nurse” Miss Letty, it would -be all up with her at once. - -“She’ll get it into her head that she can’t be left alone,--that she’s -just on the point of dropping down dead--and I don’t know what else in -the way of sickly rubbish,” he said warmly. “Look here, child! I’ve got -the gout--and your wiseacres of doctors tell me that it may fly to my -heart and do for me in a minute. Well--all I say is, let it! It can’t do -any more when it’s done! But because I have to be dismissed out of the -world one way or the other, I’m not going to crawl round on sticks, with -a nurse bobbing about after me by way of a walking advertisement to -announce--‘All’s up with this chap! Look at him and bid him good-bye!’ -Not a bit of it!” - -Violet laughed. - -“You dear uncle! You are always so plucky!” - -“Plucky! There’s no pluck about it,--we’ve all got to die--and when the -time comes, let us for heaven’s sake go decently and in order, without -making a fuss about it. The animals show us a good example--they go into -holes and corners to die, in order not to distress their living friends. -That’s what we ought to do, if we were not so deuced conceited as to -think ourselves the most valuable objects in all creation. Yet, as a -matter of fact, there are a good many horses and dogs who are superior -to most men. No, Violet!--Don’t you bother about Miss Letty. _I’ll_ -take care of her. She’ll live all the longer for not being fussed over. -You talk of pluck! She’s twenty times more plucky than I am--and -we’ll--we’ll both make a stand against the final enemy--_together_!” - -There was a pathetic note in the Major’s voice as he uttered the last -few words, and Violet felt her eyes grow suddenly moist. But in her deep -respect for the fine old man’s personal courage as well as for his -fidelity to a lifelong passion, she forbore to utter one word of the -sympathy which she knew would be unwelcome. - -And time went on, till all at once England was thrilled and aroused by -the declaration of war with the Transvaal,--a trumpet note which, -re-echoing through the whole Empire, called into action the dormant -martial spirit of all the men who love their country and their Queen. -Excitement followed upon excitement,--hurried preparations for -battle--embarkations of troops--rumours, now of victory, now of -defeat,--and all the world was astir with eagerness to see how -lion-hearted England would respond to the sudden and difficult demand -made upon the strength of her military power. Regiment after regiment -was despatched to the front,--ship after ship bore away sons, brothers, -husbands and fathers from their homes and families, some to come back -again loaded with honour and victory,--some never to return. The Major -woke up like an old war-horse who hears the “réveille” sounded in the -darkness of his stable,--and almost forgot his gout in the eagerness -with which he tramped to and fro from the War Office to gather up the -latest news of friends and old comrades in arms who had thrown up -everything to go to the front and be again in active service. - -“I never regretted my lost youth till now,” he said enviously to his old -friend Captain Fitzgerald Crosby, who on account of a certain skill in -the management of some special form of gun, was going out to the -Cape--“Why, God bless me, Fitz, you’re only fifteen years younger than I -am!” - -“That’s true,” said Fitz,--“still fifteen years count, old boy! I wish -with all my heart you were going with me,--but perhaps you would not -care about leaving Miss Letty.” - -“No--you’re right--I shouldn’t,” said the Major promptly. “I’m not -jealous of you--don’t you think it! I wish you luck and a late chance of -promotion!” - -And when Fitz had gone, in company with many others whom the Major knew, -another parting took place which caused the old man a very decided -twinge of pain, and almost moved him to urge his own personal claims -against those of duty. One of the famous surgeons for whom Violet had -worked so well, was leaving for hospital work at the front, and made it -a particular request that “Nurse Morrison” should also go on the same -steamer. - -“We don’t want any amateur ‘fancy’ nurses out there,” he said, -explaining the position to the Major, who heard him with a mingling of -pride and pain,--pride that his niece’s skill was so highly valued--pain -at the idea of her leaving him,--“We want brave capable women, who will -be examples to the others, and who really mean to work. There is no one -I know who will be so valuable to me in my operations on the wounded as -Nurse Morrison. I have talked to her about it, and she is quite willing -to go if you give her leave.” - -The matter had to be decided in a hurry, and so the Major, with a -somewhat dismal face, confided it all to Miss Letty, who at once pleaded -eloquently that Violet might be permitted to undertake the high duties -offered to her. - -“Let her go, Dick, by all means,” she said. “It’s a splendid chance for -her--I know she will win the highest honours. She is perfectly fearless, -and she may help to save many a valuable life.” - -“But you, Letty,” said Desmond. “Who’s going to look after _you_?” - -Miss Letty smiled. - -“I’m all right, Dick! I have my maid,--and if I get any worse than I am, -I will ask my old Margaret to come over from Scotland and nurse me. We -mustn’t be selfish in our old age, Dick! We must let Violet go. Her -services will be invaluable, and if we miss her, as of course we shall, -during her absence, we shall at any rate feel we are doing our little -best towards helping our brave soldiers by giving our dear girl to -their cause.” - -And so Violet sailed for the seat of war, bidding her uncle and Miss -Letty good-bye with many tears, forebodings and private griefs,--but -moved to heroic resolution to do her best where her work was so -strenuously demanded. The moment she arrived at the Cape, she and the -eminent surgeon who had secured her services were sent on to join the -forces moving towards Colenso, and she soon had her mind as well as her -hands full with the instructions she received as to the interior -arrangements of hospital field tents, and the preparations for what has -been rightly termed the “merciful cruelty” of the operating tables. - -On the eve of the now famous battle of Colenso she stood at the entrance -of one of these tents, pale but resolute, gazing out into space, her -heart strangely heavy, her eyes burning with the heat of the dry, dusty -air, and her whole mind oppressed with premonitory forebodings. Danger -and death seemed very near,--and though cheerfulness was one of her -qualities as a nurse, she found it difficult on this particular night to -shake off the gloom and dread, which, like a black storm-cloud, steadily -darkened down over her soul. She tried to think of all the things -connected with her work--of the field hospital train, which she had -walked through from end to end at the request of her commanding surgeon, -examining everything, and admiring the forethought and care with which -so many comforts had been provided for the coming wounded. The coming -wounded! A faint shudder ran through her frame,--how un-Christian, how -terrible it seemed, that shot and shell should be used to tear poor -human beings to pieces for a quarrel over a bit of land, so much gold, -or a difference as to the gain or loss of either! - -“If the politicians who work up wars could only realize the true horror -of bloodshed they would surely be more careful!” she thought. “It is -terrible to be waiting here for the bodies of the poor fellows, mangled -and bleeding, who have to suffer the most frightful agonies just at the -command of Governments sitting safe in their easy chairs!” - -“Thinking of home, Nurse Morrison?” said a cheery voice; and she looked -up to see the famous surgeon she served addressing her. “Or of the -coming Christmas?” - -“Neither, sir. I was thinking of the cruelty of war.” - -“It is a relic of barbarism,” said the great man, the while he peered -into the hospital tent and saw that things were as he would have them. -“Indeed, it is almost the only vestige left to us of the dark ages. The -proper way for civilized nations to behave in a difficulty is to submit -to peaceable arbitration. War--especially nowadays--is a mere -slaughter-house--and the soldiers are the poor sheep led to the -shambles. The real nature of the thing is covered up under flying flags -and the shout of patriotism, but, as a matter of stern fact, it is a -horrible piece of cowardice for one nation to try murdering another just -to see which one gets its way first.” - -“I am glad you think as I do,” said Violet, her eyes shining. “It is -surely better to serve Queen and Country by the peaceful arts and -sciences, than by killing men wholesale!” - -The surgeon looked at her quizzically. - -“Yes, nurse, but you must remember that the arts and sciences are very -seldom rewarded--whereas if you kill a few of your human brethren you -get notice and promotion! Don’t let us talk about it. We must do as we -are told. And when the poor chaps are shot at and battered about, we -must try to mend them up as well as we can. You’ve got everything very -nice in there--very nice! Now oblige me, nurse, by trying to rest,--for -from what I hear you will be actively wanted to-morrow.” - -He nodded and went his way. Accustomed to obedience, Violet lay down on -her little tent-bed, and before she closed her eyes in sleep prayed -fervently for her uncle and her “darling Miss Letty.” - -“I wonder how she is?” she thought, “and I wonder if she has yet heard -anything of Boy?” - -The morning broke clear and calm over the distant heights called -Drakensberg, and an intense heat poured down from the cloudless sky, -making the very ground scorching to the tread. There was not a breath -of air, and the scarcity of water made it impossible to cool the tents -by ordinary means. Violet awoke to the thunderous crash of the British -naval guns opening fire on Fort Wylie. As dawn deepened into day, the -bombardment grew faster and more furious, but no response came from the -hidden enemy. For some time, storms of shell and shrapnel poured on in -their destructive course without any apparent result, till all at once -one shot crashed fiercely from the hills behind Colenso. This was -followed by an appalling roar of guns and a deluge of fire from the Boer -line of defence, and the fray began in deadly earnest. Sick and -terrified at first by the hideous din, Violet instinctively put her -hands to her ears, and sat, with one or two of the other nurses, well -within the first field hospital tent, waiting for she knew not what. -Once the great surgeon looked in, pale with excitement. - -“Be ready, all of you!” he said briefly. “This is deadly work!” And he -was gone. - -“Are you not afraid?” asked one of her companions, whispering to Violet. - -“Afraid?” she answered. “Oh no, not afraid,--only sorry! Sorry with my -whole heart and soul for what these poor soldiers will have to suffer! I -am thinking of them all the while--not of myself.” - -The hammering of the guns continued, and far away, from the heights, -invisible cannon thundered and boomed. As the day advanced the combat -grew more closely contested, and wounded men were beginning to be -rapidly carried to the “donga,” or shelter, at the rear of the British -forces. Disaster followed disaster; and presently a word was whispered -that turned the hearts of the waiting women in the tents cold--“defeat.” -Defeat! For the British? Surely there was no such possibility! Defeat! -While they were whispering together in low awestruck voices, the great -surgeon suddenly entered with some of his assistants, his sleeves rolled -up, his whole manner emphatically declaring work--and work too of the -promptest and smartest character. Violet moved at once to his side. - -“Do as I tell you,” he said, “and--you must not shrink! You will see -some horrible sights. Are you prepared?” - -“Quite!” she replied tranquilly. He gave one glance at her calm face and -steadfast eyes--nodded approvingly, and went on with his preparations. A -young lieutenant suddenly rushed in. - -“They’ve shot the Colonel!” he exclaimed wildly. “He wouldn’t leave the -guns! They wanted him to, but he said ‘Abandon be damned! We never -abandon guns!’” And away he rushed again. - -On went the crash of the Maxims behind the Boer trenches,--the earth was -torn up in every direction by the bursting of lyddite shells--dead and -wounded were brought in by their comrades, or carried on ambulances by -the Army Medical Corps. The nurses were soon more than busy,--Violet -Morrison did her best to soothe the frantic ravings of many of the men -who, growing delirious with pain, fancied themselves still fighting on -the field, and filled the air with their shoutings. “Look to the guns! -Splendid! Splendid work! Don’t leave the guns!” And the hospital tent -she controlled, so quiet and orderly some hours previously, was now -transformed into a scene of breathless horror and interest. - -The hot suffocating day went on, till, as the afternoon lengthened -towards evening, there came the appalling news that the young and -gallant Lieutenant Roberts, the only son of one of the most heroic of -English generals, had been killed in a brave attempt to rescue the guns. -This awful fatality seemed to create something of a panic among the -bravest,--some of the steadiest heads lost account of what they were -doing for the moment, and by a fatal forgetfulness on the part of the -Staff, orders were never given to the Devons and Scots Fusiliers to -leave the “donga” where they, with many wounded, were sheltered. -Faithful to their duty, these unfortunate and valiant men remained where -they were, waiting till they were told to move,--with the dire result -that as the evening closed in the enemy crossed the river and -treacherously surrounded them under cover of the white flag. Cruel -slaughter followed,--but in the very midst of the fire and the falling -men, a young officer on horseback suddenly dashed out from behind a -hillock, galloping with all his might and bearing a wounded comrade -across his saddle. A rain of shots greeted his appearance, but he seemed -to bear a charmed life, for he raced on and on through the hail of -bullets and never stopped till he reached the first field hospital tent, -where his horse suddenly reeled and fell dead, bringing himself and his -wounded burden to the ground. - -Some of the medical staff were round him in an instant, and as soon as -he could get breath he spoke. - -“I’m not hurt,” he explained, “but this chap is. I found him -wounded--and a rascal Boer making a barricade of his body to hide -himself behind while he fired at our men. I shot the Boer, and took away -this fellow--he’s a young private--I’m afraid he’s done for. I should -like to know who he is, for he gave a sort of cry when I took hold of -him, and called me ‘Alister,’ and swooned right off. Alister’s my -name--so he must know me.” - -He shook himself like a young lion, free of dust, and wiped away the -blood that was trickling from a small scar in his cheek. His wish that -the comrade he had rescued should be attended to at once was gratified -as quickly as possible, and as the surgeon bared the terrible wounds of -the insensible mangled human creature before him he shook his head. - -“No hope!” he said,--“it’s no use operating here! It would only prolong -the poor fellow’s agony. He’s coming to, though. Do you think he knows -you?” - -“Well, my name’s McDonald,” said the young officer,--“Alister McDonald. -My father’s in the Gordon Highlanders. And this chap called me Alister. -Let me have a look at him.” He came up to the side of the wounded -soldier, who was gradually returning to consciousness with heavy -shuddering breaths of pain,--and looked long and earnestly in his face. -Then he gave a sharp exclamation. - -“By Jove! It’s Boy!” - -Violet Morrison heard the cry, and turned swiftly. - -“Boy!” she exclaimed, and came forward, her lips apart, her whole frame -trembling. Alister McDonald looked at her in surprise and admiration. - -“Do you know him?” he said. “I’ve never seen him since he was a little -chap, but I remember his face quite well. I don’t know how he comes to -be a private, though. I think it must be the same fellow. His name is -Robert D’Arcy-Muir----” - -But Violet, bending down over the poor shattered frame of the dying man, -quickly recognized, through the trickling blood and clammy dews of fever -heat, the delicate refined features and clustering fair locks which had -once been the fond admiration of one of the sweetest women in the world, -and, despite all her efforts at self-control, a low sob escaped her. - -“Oh my darling Miss Letty!” she whispered--“Oh Boy!” - -Young Alister McDonald heard her. - -“Miss Letty!” he echoed with quick interest--“Oh, then it must be Boy. -He stayed with her up in Scotland at a house just opposite my -father’s----” - -The surgeon raised a warning finger,--and he was silent. Boy opened his -eyes, dimly blue, and slowly glazing over with a dark film, and looked -up in the face of “Nurse Morrison.” - -“Have we won?” he asked faintly. - -The surgeon laid his firm kind hand upon the fitfully beating pulse. - -“Don’t fret! We _shall_ win!” he said. - -Boy gazed blankly up from his straight pallet bed. - -“Shall we?--I don’t know--it’s all defeat--defeat!--and they’ve got the -guns!--by treachery. Where’s Alister?” - -“Here!” said the young lieutenant, advancing. “Cheer up, old chap!” - -“I knew it must be you!” said Boy, trying to stretch out his hand. “When -you shot that Boer coward--and took me up on your horse--I -knew!--Alister all over!--You were always like that--about fighting the -enemies of England--do you remember?” - -“Yes, I remember”--and Alister affectionately touched that feebly -groping hand--“Don’t you worry! It’s all right!” - -“Ah, you’ve done something brave--already!” murmured Boy. “You always -said you would--you wanted to be a hero, and you’ve--you’ve begun! I -wanted to do something great too--for Miss Letty’s sake....” - -His voice sank. Moved by a passionate wish to rouse him once more, -Violet Morrison suddenly put her arms round him as he lay, and said -clearly-- - -“Boy!” - -He stared at her, and a little smile crept round his mouth. - -“Boy!” she went on sobbingly--“Can you hear me--can you understand?” - -He made a faint sign of assent. - -“I know Miss Letty,” she went on in her sweet thrilling tones--“and you -have seen me, and I have seen you, only you don’t remember me just now. -Poor Boy! I know Miss Letty--and I know how she loves you and wants to -see you again!” - -The smile grew sweeter on the poor parched lips. - -“Does she?” His voice seemed to come from a long way off, so faint and -feeble it had grown. “Ah! But I must do something great--and she will -forgive me----” - -“She has forgiven you!” said Violet.--“Oh Boy!--dear Boy!--try to -understand!” - -A grey shadow fell warningly on his features, but he still kept his eyes -fixed on Violet. - -“Does--she--know?” - -“She knows--she knows!” answered Violet, unable now to restrain her fast -falling tears. “She knows how hard everything was for you--yes, dear -Boy, she knows!--and she loves you just as dearly now, as when you were -a little child!” - -A grave peace began to compose and soften his face, as though it were -touched by some invisible sweet angel’s hand. - -“Tell her--that I enlisted--to get a chance--of making amends--doing -something good--brave--to make her proud of me,--but it’s too late -now--too late....” - -A terrible convulsion seized him, and the sharp agony of it caused him -to spring half upright. The surgeon caught him and held him fast--he -stared straight before him, his eyes shining out with an almost -supernatural brightness--then all the light in them suddenly faded--the -lids drooped--and he sank back heavily. Violet put her arms round him -once more, and drew the fallen head, disfigured and bleeding, to her -bosom, weeping and murmuring still-- - -“Boy! Oh Boy!” - -“It’s all right!” he said dreamily--“All forgiven--all right! Don’t cry. -Tell Miss Letty not to cry. Tell her--Boy--Boy left his love!” - -An awed silence followed--and then--young Alister McDonald, with a -tenderness which, though he knew it not, was destined to deepen into a -husband’s lifelong devotion later on, drew the weeping Violet gently -aside that she might give her tears full vent,--while the surgeon -reverently drew a covering over the quiet face of the dead. - - * * * * * - -At home in England the news of the battle of Colenso and the capture of -the British guns was received by a whole world with incredulity and -dismay. Throngs of people crowded the War Office, clamouring for -news--pouring out inquiries and lamentations,--reading the terrible list -of casualties, and while reading scarcely believing what their own eyes -beheld. Major Desmond, furious at the mere idea of any disaster to the -British arms, stood reading the list, without half understanding what he -saw, so bewildered and stunned was his mind with the cruel and -unexpected nature of the dispatches from the front, till all at once he -saw-- - -“Captain Fitzgerald Crosby. Killed.” - -He staggered back as though he had received a blow. - -“What, Fitz? Poor old Fitz! Gone so soon? No--surely not possible!” - -He read the announcement again and again, feeling quite sick and giddy; -and his eyes, wandering up and down the column, suddenly fell on the -name “D’Arcy-Muir.” - -“Robert D’Arcy-Muir--Private. Killed.” - -“Now wait a bit!” said the Major, sternly apostrophising himself--“This -won’t do! You’re dreaming, old man! It’s no good fancying oneself in a -nightmare. Robert D’Arcy-Muir,--private--in what regiment?--Scots -Fusiliers. Now let me see!” - -He went straight to one of the chief authorities at the War Office--a -man whom he knew intimately and who would be most likely to help him. - -“Robert D’Arcy-Muir,--private--Scots Fusiliers? Curious you should ask -me about him!--his name came under my notice quite by chance two years -ago. Yes--I remember the case quite well. He was the only son of an -officer of good family, Captain the Honourable D’Arcy-Muir. He was at -Sandhurst, but unfortunately got expelled for being drunk and -disorderly. He told his story, it appears, quite frankly, when he -enlisted, and his honesty stood him rather in good stead. He was quite a -favourite with the regiment, I believe. Killed, is he?--And you knew -him?--Sorry, I’m sure. Will I see that his parents are -informed?--Certainly. Have you the address? Thanks. They didn’t know he -had enlisted? Odd! They couldn’t have cared much. I suppose they dropped -him when he was expelled. Good morning! I’m afraid you’ve had a shock. -These are trying times for every one.” - -And the Major’s informant shook hands with him kindly, and turned to -other matters, for urgent business was crowding his hours of time, and -there was more than enough for him to do. Desmond went out of his -presence, weary, broken down, and as it were stricken old for the first -time. The curt and sudden announcement of the death of his old chum -‘Fitz’ had overwhelmed him--and now, the certainty of Boy’s death as -well, a death so swift, so tragic, so far away from home, made him -shudder with fear and horror as he thought of Miss Letty. She had been -very ailing since Violet had gone to South Africa, and yielding to the -Major’s entreaties she had sent for old Margaret, her former faithful -attendant. And Margaret had had come at once, and now scarcely ever left -her. To Margaret she talked constantly of Boy, and the hopes she had of -seeing him again--hopes, alas!--that were now to be completely and for -ever destroyed. - -“Shall I tell her?” thought the Major woefully--“or shall I keep it -secret for a little while? But if I do not speak, his parents will be -sure to write and inform her. Nothing would please that woman -D’Arcy-Muir more than to frighten her with a big black-bordered -envelope. I think I’d better try and break it to her gently. Poor Fitz! -He’s got his promotion! Well! I suppose it’s the way he would have liked -best to die if he’d been given a choice. But Boy! So young! Poor -fellow--poor little chap!--with mettle in him after all! Wasted -life--wasted hope--wasted love--all a waste! God knows I’ve done my best -to keep a stout heart--but upon my soul, life is a sad and cruel -business!” - -With slow and lagging footsteps he made his reluctant way to Hans Place -and to Miss Letty’s always bright house, though it was scarcely so -bright now as it used to be, for the hand of its gentle mistress was not -so active and her supervision was not so careful and vigilant. And to -the Major’s deeply afflicted mind the fact that some of the blinds were -down, impressed him with an uncomfortable sense of gloom. - -“Looks as if she were mourning for Boy already!” he murmured, as he rang -the bell. - -Margaret opened the door. - -“How is Miss Letty?” - -“Well, sir, she was a bit nervous last night and low in her spirits--but -this morning she woke up quite bright and bonnie-like--more like her old -self than she’s been for many a day. And she said to me, ‘Margaret, I -think I shall hear news of Boy to-day’----” - -The Major gave a sigh that was more a groan. - -“She said that?” - -“Ay sir, ’deed she did. But you’re lookin’ wan and weary yourself, -sir,--I hope there’s no bad tidings----” - -The Major interrupted her by a grave gesture. - -“Where is she?” - -“Just in the morning-room as usual, sir, reading. I left her there an -hour ago--she had some letters to write, she said--and she was just as -bright and cheery as could be--an’ a little while since I peeped in and -she was sitting by the fire wi’ a book----” - -“All right. I’ll go to her. If I want you, I’ll call.” - -He entered the morning-room with a very quiet step. There was a bright -fire sparkling in the grate, and Miss Letty was seated beside it, in her -arm-chair, with a book on her knee, her back turned towards him. Her -favourite bird was singing prettily in its cage, pecking daintily now -and then at the bit of sugar she daily gave it with her own hands. The -Major coughed gently. Miss Letty did not stir. Somewhat surprised at -this, he advanced a little farther into the room. - -“Letty!” - -No answer. - -“My God!” - -He sprang to her side. - -“Letty!--Letty dear!--Letty!--Not dead! Oh, Letty, Letty!--Not dead!” - -A smile was on her sweet old face,--her eyes were closed. The great Book -resting on her knee was the Book which teaches us all the way to -Heaven,--and her little thin white hand, with its diamond betrothal -ring sparkling upon it, lay cold and stiff upon the open page. Overcome -by too great an awe for weeping or loud clamour in the presence of this -simple yet queenly majesty of death, her faithful lover of many years -knelt humbly down, broken-hearted, to read the words on which that hand -rested. - -“Peace I leave with you,--My peace I give unto you,--not as the world -giveth, give I unto you!” - -And kneeling still, he reverently kissed that dear, loyal, pure little -hand,--once and twice for the sake of the slain “Boy” lying at rest in -his South African grave,--once and yet again for his own deep love of -the Angel gone back to her native home with God, and murmured,-- - -“Better so, Letty! 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