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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0591e29 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68544 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68544) diff --git a/old/68544-0.txt b/old/68544-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 28de70f..0000000 --- a/old/68544-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13394 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of St. Cuthbert's tower, by Florence -Warden - -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: St. Cuthbert's tower - -Author: Florence Warden - -Release Date: July 17, 2022 [eBook #68544] - -Language: English - -Produced by: MWS, Thomas Frost 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 ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER *** - - - - - - Lovell’s International Series - - OF - - MODERN NOVELS. - - - No. 1. MISS EYON OF EYON COURT. By Katharine - S. Macquoid. 30 Cents. - - No. 2. HARTAS MATURIN. By H. F. Lester. 50 Cents. - - No. 3. TALES OF TO-DAY. By George R. Sims, author - of “Mary Jane’s Memoirs.” 30 Cents. - - No. 4. ENGLISH LIFE SEEN THROUGH YANKEE - EYES. By T. C. Crawford. 50 Cents. - - No. 5. PENNY LANCASTER, FARMER. By Mrs. - Bellamy, author of “Old Man Gilbert.” 50 Cents. - - No. 6. UNDER FALSE PRETENCES. By Adeline - Sergeant. 50 Cents. - - No. 7. IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL. By Mary - Linskill. 30 Cents. - - No. 8. GUILDEROY. By Ouida. 30 Cents. - - No. 9. ST. CUTHBERT’S TOWER. By Florence - Warden. 30 Cents. - - No. 10. ELIZABETH MORLEY. By Katharine S. - Macquoid. 30 Cents. - - No. 11. DIVORCE; OR FAITHFUL AND UNFAITHFUL. - By Margaret Lee. 50 Cents. - - No. 12. LONG ODDS. By Hawley Smart. 30 Cents. - -Other books by well-known authors are in course of preparation, and -will be published at regular intervals. - -⁂ _The above published in cloth; price per volume_, $1.00. - - - FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY, - 142 AND 144 WORTH STREET, NEW YORK. - - - - - ST. CUTHBERT’S TOWER - - BY - - FLORENCE WARDEN - - - AUTHOR OF “THE HOUSE ON THE MARSH,” “SCHEHERAZADE,” - “A WITCH OF THE HILLS,” ETC., ETC. - - - NEW YORK - FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY - 142 AND 144 WORTH STREET - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1889, - - BY - - JOHN W. LOVELL. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -Rishton Hall Farm was let at last. Lord Stannington had had it on his -hands a long time, and had offered it at a lower and ever lower rent. -It was an open secret that John Oldshaw, who had a long lease of Lower -Rishton Farm at the other end of the village, had expected the Rishton -Hall lease to drop into his hands at last for a very trifling rent -indeed. He was a careful man; the property under his hands throve; and -he was fond of saying that his lordship would make a better bargain -by letting him have the land at £10 an acre than by letting another -man have it at £15. However, Lord Stannington had apparently thought -otherwise; at any rate, when a stranger appeared upon the scene and -offered him a fair rent for the land without any haggling, they came to -terms without delay, and John Oldshaw found that his hoped-for bargain -had escaped him. - -This West Riding farmer was not a nice person to deal with when he was -disappointed. He drove over to Sheffield to the agent’s office, and -stamped into that gentleman’s presence, his square, heavy face purple -with ill-suppressed rage. - -“Na then, Maister Garrett, be pleased to tell mah if yender’s true as -Ah hear, that Rishton Hall Farm’s let to a stranger?” he bellowed, -thumping the table with his broad fist, and glaring at the agent with -the unreasoning fierceness of an angry bull. - -Mr. Garrett was a slight, fair man of uncertain age, whose light eyes -were accustomed, by long practice, to read men pretty accurately. - -“Quite true, Mr. Oldshaw,” he answered, civilly, with imperturbable -coolness. “It was let a fortnight ago; and the new tenant comes in--let -me see--” referring to his papers--“on the 16th; this day week in fact.” - -“And dost tha’ knaw, Maister Garrett, that Ah’re had ma mahnd set on -Rishton Hall Farm for this twelvemonth and mair?” - -“How could we know it, Mr. Oldshaw, since the farm’s been in the market -more than twice that time, and we have never had any intimation from -you of a wish for it?” - -“We Yarkshiremen doan’t do thing’s in a hurry. But every mon in t’ -village knawed Ah’d set ma heeart on t’ farm, and noo Ah’m to be t’ -laughin’-stock o’ a’ t’ feeals i’ t’ coontry, and Rishton Farm let ower -ma yead to a stranger as nawbody’s ever heeard on!” - -And the farmer gave an apoplectic snort of malignant anger. - -“Oh, but that is not the case, Mr. Oldshaw,” said the agent as quietly -as ever; “Mr. Denison, the gentleman who has taken the farm, is a -friend of friends of his lordship, and in every way a tenant of the -most desirable kind.” - -John Oldshaw calmed down suddenly, and into his small, bloodshot blue -eyes there came a satisfied twinkle. - -“A gentleman, ye say. A gentleman’s got the farm!” in a tone of the -deepest contempt. “Thank ye, Maister Garrett, Ah’m quite satisfied. -It’s not for me to grumble at his lordship, then. Ah can pity him. The’ -never was t’ gentleman barn could do any good at farming, and if a -gentleman barn’s got Rishton Hall Farm, all t’ ill I wish his lordship -is--may t’ gentleman barn stick to’s bargain.” - -And with these words, uttered in a tone of fierce triumph, the farmer, -who had not removed his hat on entering the office, turned and stalked -out with every appearance of enjoying, as he had intimated, a complete -revenge. - -The village of Rishton boasted two inns, both of the most unpretending -kind. The larger and more important of these was the Chequers, a stone -building of the simplest kind of architecture, to which were attached -numerous small outbuildings, forming three sides of a quadrangle for -Mr. Tew’s gig and Mrs. Tew’s hens. The Chequers stood just outside the -gate of Rishton Hall Farm, and its windows commanded the approach from -Matherham, the nearest market town, which was three miles away. On the -16th of January, the day of the expected arrival of the new tenant of -Rishton Hall, John Oldshaw took up his stand at one of the inn windows, -watching with malevolent eyes for the approach of his rival. It was a -bitterly cold day, grey overhead and black under foot; and the frost, -which had held for three days, was growing harder as the afternoon wore -on. John Oldshaw, with a sense of keen disappointment, had at last to -acquiesce in the general belief that the new tenant would not come -to-day. - -“If he’s coom as far as Matherham he’ll stop there t’ night, Maister -Oldshaw,” said Tew, the landlord, a small man, ruled by his wife. “T’ -ground’s too slaippery for e’er a horse to stand on, lettin’ alone t’ -road’s all hill and dale ’tween this and Matherham. Besides, t’ awd -house is as bare as a barn; he’d never coom till he’d sent some stuff -to put in it, and a coople o’ servants to set it to rights a bit.” - -“Well, it ain’t ma way o’ doin’ things, to neame wan day for coomin’ -and then to coom another,” said Oldshaw, contemptuously. “But, then, -Ah’m naw gentleman, and my lord Stannington ’ll mighty soon wish as he -could say same o’ t’ new tenant, Maister Tew.” - -Mr. Tew could not afford to have an independent opinion in the -presence of the great man of the village, with that miserable Cock and -Bottle, not five hundred yards away, gaping for first place as the -hostelry of the _elite_. - -“It’s ta mooch to expect to get another tenant like you, Maister -Oldshaw,” he said, discreetly. - -It was by this time nearly four o’clock, and the grey day was already -beginning to darken towards a black evening when Mat Oldshaw, the -farmer’s oldest son, who had been sent by his father to the top of the -hill on the look-out, re-entered the inn at a pace somewhat faster than -his usual shambling gait. He was a tall, round-shouldered lad of about -twenty, with fair hair and a weather-tanned face, whose heavy dulness -was for the moment lightened by a passing gleam of great excitement. - -“Weel, Mat, hast seean a ghoost?” asked his father. - -“Naw, feyther; but there’s a cab coomin’ down t’ hill----” - -“So Maister Gentleman’s coom, has he?” shouted the farmer, -triumphantly; and he had seized his stout ash stick, and was making -with ponderous strides for the door, as if with the intention of -inflicting bodily chastisement on the insolent new comer, when his son -interposed, blushing a deep brick-red to the roots of his hair. - -“Eh, but feyther,” he stammered, turning the door handle uneasily, and -dividing his glances between the floor, the window, and his father’s -boorish face, “it’s na t’ gentleman; it’s nobbut twea lasses.” - -After which admission, he fell to blushing more violently than before. - -“Twea lasses?” echoed Oldshaw, incredulously. - -“Hey, feyther. An’ wan o’ them’s got a feace lik’ a rose.” - -“Feace lik’ a rose?” thundered the farmer. “Doan’t thee daze tha dull -wits lookin’ at wenches’ faces, for Ah tell tha Ah’ll have na son o’ -mine hangin’ aboot t’ Hall noo.” - -“She bain’t na lass for t’ likes o’ mea, feyther; yon lass is a leady,” -said the lad, simply. - -If the stranger’s fair face had not, as his father suggested, dazed -his dull wits already, the young man would surely have had the tact -to restrain these rash words, which fanned the flame of his father’s -coarse malevolence. - -“A leady! A foine leady! ta foine for any son o’ mine? Ah tell thee, -feeal, t’ day’ll coom when tha foine leady’ll wish she wur good enoo -for t’ loikes o’ thee; and good enoo she shall never be--tha heears?” - -Though the young man’s head was bent in a listening attitude, and he -assented in the meekest of gruff voices, the father guessed that this -deep attention was not all for his discourse, when the sound of hoofs -and wheels on the hard ground outside attracted him to the outer door, -which he reached in time to see a luggage-laden cab slowly descend the -hill and pass the inn door, giving time for a look at the two young -faces inside. Mistress and maid evidently; both bright, eager, and -rather anxious. The former met full the surly stare of the farmer, -and she drew back her head as if a blast of chilling wind had met her -on her approach to her new home. The little maid, who had rosy cheeks -and what one may call retrousse features, was less sensitive, and she -looked out to resent this cold unwelcome with a contemptuous toss of -the head. - -“They’re reg’lar savages in these parts, Miss Olivia,” she said, in a -slightly raised tone. “I only hope we may be uneaten by the time the -master comes!” - -The cab had passed the front of the inn, and was rounding the sharp -turn which led up a slight ascent through the open farmyard gate, when -suddenly, without any warning except a few rough jolts over the uneven -ground, it turned over on its side, to the accompaniment of shrill -screams from one female throat, and a less loud but more plaintive -cry from the other. Mat Oldshaw, who was standing on the inn doorstep -behind his father, made a spring forward to help them. But the elder -man, with a movement quicker than one would have expected from his -clumsy form and ponderous gait, grasped his arm with a violence which -made the lad reel, and giving him a push back against the wall of the -house, said, in a low, thick voice-- - -“Doan’t thoo meddle with what darn’t concern thee. Wheer there’s so -mooch cry, there ain’t mooch hurt, tak’ ma word for’t.” - -“Feyther!” said Mat, indignantly, entreatingly. Then he was dumb, for -even through his not over-bright brains came a suspicion that this -accident was perhaps not wholly unexpected by one of its witnesses. - -As this brief scene passed between father and son, a man in a short -frieze coat, knickerbockers, gaiters, and deer-stalker cap, who had -quickened his pace down the hill into a run on seeing the accident, -looked full into the faces of both men with a keen, shrewd expression -as he dashed by. - -“It’s parson Brander, o’ S’ Cuthbert’s, feyther. He heeard thee,” said -the young man in a husky, awed whisper. - -“An’ wha not? Ah’d loike to see sik as him say a word to me!” said the -farmer, in a loud voice of boastful contempt. - -And the attitudes respectively of father and son, the one of -contemptuous disgust, the other of awestruck respect, represented the -two views most commonly taken in the country-side of the Reverend -Vernon Brander, vicar of Saint Cuthbert’s. - -Before the last disdainful word was out of John Oldshaw’s mouth, the -new comer had opened the cab door, and extricated the two girls from -their unpleasant position. The maid was uppermost, but she was a little -creature, and had probably inflicted far less inconvenience on her more -massively built mistress than that young lady would have inflicted on -her had their positions been reversed. Her rosy cheeks had lost their -color, and from her forehead, which had been cut by the broken glass of -the carriage window, blood was trickling down. - -In answer to the gentleman’s inquiries as to whether she was hurt, she -said in a trembling voice that she didn’t know yet, and begged him to -get her mistress out. This he at once proceeded to do, and was rewarded -by the thanks of a young lady whom he at once decided to be one of the -handsomest girls that this or any other country ever produced. - -Olivia Denison was indeed an unchallenged beauty, and had occupied -that proud position almost ever since, twenty years ago, she had been -pronounced to be “a lovely baby.” She was tall--of that cruel height -which forces short admirers, on pain of looking ridiculous, to keep -their distance; of figure rather massive than slender, with a fair -skin, a fresh color, dark hair, blue eyes, and a winning expression of -energy and honesty which gave to the whole face its greatest charm. For -the moment, however, the rose color had left her cheeks, too, and her -lips were drawn tightly together. - -“You are hurt, I am afraid,” said the stranger, with concern. - -“I’ve only--pinched--my finger,” she answered, trying to laugh. - -But the effort of speaking brought the tears to her eyes, much to her -indignation. For she was brave, and she liked to have the credit of it. - -“Let me see,” said he, with kindly authority. - -She presented her right hand, from which he drew the glove very gently, -disclosing bruised and slightly discolored finger tips. - -“They do hurt a little, but it’s nothing very dreadful. I don’t know -how I did it,” she said. - -“Lucky it’s no worse,” said the stranger, kindly. “Now for the lad.” - -The young driver was looking ruefully at the overturned vehicle. He -proved to have escaped with no worse damage than a battered hat. -Lucy, the maid, who had ascertained that her head was still on her -shoulders, had bound up her cut forehead with her handkerchief, and -was scolding the driver for his carelessness as she pointed to the -scattered luggage. The traces having broken as the cab fell, the horse -had sustained very little hurt, so that, on the whole, the accident had -been without tragic consequences. The rescuer took hold of the girl, -and shook her by the arm. - -“Now, don’t you think, considering all things, you might find some -better use for your tongue than scolding. You might have been upset a -mile away on the road, instead of which you are turned out comfortably -at your own door. For, I suppose, you are coming to the Hall?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered Lucy, abashed, but still rather mutinous, not -having the least idea that she was speaking to a clergyman. - -“So that the real sufferer by this spill is neither you nor your -mistress, but the poor lad who has driven you safely more than three -miles over a very dangerously slippery road, and who will perhaps get -discharged by his master for having injured the cab. Your mistress does -not scold you for half an hour if you break a plate.” - -“Yes she does, sir,” fired up Lucy, so unexpectedly that Mr. Brander -involuntarily glanced with surprise at the young lady. “Oh, not Miss -Olivia,” added the little maid almost indignantly; “it’s Mrs. Denison I -mean.” - -“Well, then, if you find the habit so unamiable in Mrs. Denison, as -I see you do, you should take the greatest care not to fall into it -yourself,” said the vicar, suppressing a smile. - -Then he turned again to the lady. - -“Is everything ready for your coming?” he asked, doubtfully. - -For he had passed the house that morning, and found it deserted, -mildewed, and shuttered-up as usual. - -“No, nothing,” said the girl. “We’ve come on in advance to prepare -things for papa and mamma and the rest,” she added rather tremulously. - -The frightful immensity of the undertaking perhaps struck her now for -the first time, as she stood, still shaking from the shock of the -accident, staring at the smokeless chimneys and shuttered windows of -the new home. Mr. Brander looked from one girl to the other, very sorry -for both, wondering what kind of idiots the parents could be to send -two inexperienced young lasses to grapple with all the difficulties of -installation. - -“And the furniture? I suppose that has come?” he suggested, dubiously. - -“Oh, I hope so,” said the girl, anxiously. - -“I’ll ask at the inn here. If it has come they will have seen it pass. -And Mrs. Tew will give you both a cup of tea. You don’t mind going into -an inn, do you? It’s a very respectable place.” - -“Oh, no; of course we don’t,” said Miss Denison. “Indeed, it is very, -very kind of you to take so much trouble for us.” - -“Trouble! Nonsense. It’s a splendid excitement. As far as I am -concerned, I should like a pair of travellers overturned here once a -week.” - -He beckoned to Lucy, and led them the few steps back to the inn door. -John Oldshaw was still standing in a defiant attitude on the doorstep, -whence he had watched the proceedings with malicious interest. His son -was still peeping out, sheepish and ashamed, from behind him. - -“Here, Mat, will you run round to Mrs. Wall’s--tell her that Miss -Denison has come, and ask for the key of the Hall?” said he. “And then -you might lend me a hand to take some of the lady’s trunks into the -house.” - -Mat’s face brightened and flushed. - -“All right, sir,” he said, and tried to push past his father. - -But the elder man blocked the doorway with his arms, and stood like a -rock. - -“Nay,” he said, obstinately; “Mat doesna’ stir at tha’ bidding. Help -the wenches thasel’; thoo’s used to ’t.” - -Olivia drew back; she was shocked, frightened, by the dogged ferocity -of the farmer’s face and by the sudden expression of some strong -feelings--whether anger or anguish she could not quite tell--which -for a moment convulsed the features of her unknown companion. As -for Oldshaw’s coarse words, the strong Yorkshire dialect rendered -them unintelligible to her. They, however, roused the spirit of the -phlegmatic Mat. - -“For shame, feyther!” cried he, in a voice which was a new terror for -the young lady whose champion he thus declared himself to be. “Maister -Brander, Ah’ll go loike a reace horse.” - -And ducking his long body under his father’s left arm with an -unceremonious roughness which shook that mighty man from his dignity, -he touched his cap to Olivia with oafish respect, and ran off down the -lane past the Hall barns with the best speed of his long legs. - -“We won’t go in there, thank you very much,” said Olivia, when Mr. -Brander had come back to the spot to which she had retreated. “I could -not pass that man; I would rather not go near him.” - -“Will you wait here while I find out about the furniture, then?” - -“Please promise not to quarrel with that horrid man about his rudeness -to us. I can see he is one of those people who can’t help being rude -and horrid, just as some other people can’t help being unselfish and -kind,” said the girl, shyly, but with much warmth. “Will you please -promise?” - -“Yes,” said he, simply, looking into her face with a grave, -straightforward expression of interest and, as it seemed to her, of -gratitude which surprised and touched her. - -Then he turned without another word, almost as if afraid to say another -word, and going back rapidly to the inn, passed the farmer, who -sullenly made way for him, and disappeared into the house. When he came -back, his face was full of deep concern of a different kind. - -“I bring bad news,” he said to the girls, who, mistress and maid, were -shrinking together in their desolation. “I am afraid your furniture has -not come, and--they say they haven’t a room to spare in the inn for -to-night. But if Mrs. Tew could see you and speak to you herself----” - -“I wouldn’t stay in the house,” burst out Olivia, indignantly. “If we -can only get into the Hall, Lucy and I can manage very well indeed.” - -“But the place is sure to be hideously damp, and there are no carpets; -in fact, there’s nothing,” said Mr. Brander, in dismay. - -“The resources of the feminine mind are infinite,” said Olivia, who was -again blinking behind her veil. “Here comes the old woman who has the -keys, I suppose. I shall get her to take us in for a little while--at -least, she’ll have a cottage and a fire somewhere or other. And perhaps -while we are waiting there the furniture will come.” - -Mr. Brander looked at her with renewed compassion. He thought this last -a forlorn hope. - -“Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t come yet,” he said, encouragingly. -“Old Sarah Wall will do her best for you, I’m sure, and all the better -if she doesn’t see me talking to you. For you won’t hear any good of me -from her.” - -And before Olivia could detain him to pour out again the thanks for -his kindness with which her heart was overflowing, he had raised his -hat with a sudden cold withdrawal into himself, and turning with the -rapidity of the most accomplished athlete, disappeared along the -road which led through Lower Rishton, leaving her overwhelmed with -surprise at the abrupt change in his manner and with desolation at this -unexpectedly sudden loss of their only friend. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Old Sarah Wall, the key-bearer, who now came ambling up at a very slow -pace, holding her hand to her side, and muttering feebly as she moved, -was a poor exchange, Olivia thought, for the masculine friend who had -ended his kindly services so abruptly. He had not even waited, as he -had intimated an intention of doing, to see the luggage safely moved -into the house. Mrs. Wall looked very cross and not too clean. Scarcely -deigning to glance at the strangers, she muttered, “This way!” and then -fell to groaning as she led the way through the farmyard up to the -house. - -Olivia paused to look despairingly at her scattered trunks, and to -give a kindly word of comfort to the unlucky cab driver, who was still -occupied in estimating the damage done to his vehicle, and his chances -of getting it back to Matherham that night. As she did so she heard a -footstep on the hard ground beside her, and found the shamefaced and -blushing Mat at her side. - -“Ah’ll get t’ luggage in seefe, never fear,” said he, in a voice so -gruff with excessive bashfulness that poor Olivia thought him surly, -and shrank back with a cold refusal of his services rising to her lips. - -Mat thought she identified him with his father and so hastened to offer -a neat apology for that gentleman’s conduct. - -“Feyther’s a pig,” said he. “Boot he wunna harm ye! an’ Ah’ll do what -Ah can to mak’ oop for him being so rough.” - -And he shouldered one trunk and caught up another, and strode along -towards the house, whistling to himself with the defiant carelessness -of one who feels he has done a bold stroke. The lady and her attendant -followed, somewhat soothed by this little show of friendliness. - -Even in the midst of her feelings of desolation and disappointment, in -spite of the keen cold and of the forlorn, blind look which shuttered -and shut-up windows, broken chimney pots, and untrimmed ivy gave to the -house, Olivia could not look quite without admiration and a youthful -sense of delight in the picturesque at the old Hall. The body of the -house was a long, plain, two-storeyed building, with a flagged roof -and a curious wide, flat portico, supported by two spindleshank wooden -windows, beneath which three stone steps, deeply hollowed out and -worn by generations of feet, led to the front door. At the west end -a gabled wing, flag-roofed like the rest, ran back from the body of -the house; and at right angles to this there jutted out westwards a -second small wing of the same shape. In these, the oldest portions of -the house, traces of former architectural beauties remained in stately -Tudor chimneys and two mullioned windows, round which the ivy clustered -in huge bushes, long left neglected and untrimmed. At this end of the -building a little garden ran underneath the walls, protected from the -incursions of intrusive cows by a wall which began towards the back -of the house by being very high and ended towards the front by being -very low. From the wall to the house the garden had been shut in by -palings and a little gate; but these were now much broken and decayed, -and afforded small protection to the yews and holly bushes, the little -leafless barberry tree and the shabby straggling evergreens, which grew -thickly against the weather-stained walls of the old house, choking the -broken panes of the lower windows as the ivy did those of the upper -ones. It was this western end that was visible from the road, the view -of the front being obscured by a long stone-built barn, very old, and -erected on foundations older still, about which hung traditions of -monkish days. - -If she had seen it at any other time, Olivia would have been crazy -with delight at the thought of living in such a place; and even now, -cheerless as the immediate prospect was, it gave her a gleam of comfort -to reflect that, if she did have to pass the night without any bed -amongst the rats, the ancestors of those rats had scampered over the -place in the time of Queen Elizabeth. - -With some difficulty, Mrs. Wall turned the key in the rusty lock and -admitted them. It seemed that she had a grievance in the fact that she -had not known on what day they were to arrive. As a matter of fact, -she was one of those persons who are never prepared for anything, but -Olivia had had no means of learning her peculiarities, and so she met -the old woman’s complaints in a humble and apologetic spirit which -increased Mrs. Wall’s arrogance. - -The entrance hall was low-roofed and square; the walls were covered -with a cheap and commonplace paper, the wainscoting and the banisters -of the broad staircase were of painted wood. This was the portion -of the house which had suffered most during its decadence. Olivia, -examining everything with an eye keen to discover the good points to be -made the most of in her new home, found that where the paint had worn -off the staircase and wainscot dark oak was revealed underneath, and -she rashly uttered an exclamation of horror at the vandalism of the -farm’s late occupants. - -“The idea of spoiling beautiful dark oak with this horrid paint! Why, -the people who did it ought to be sent to penal servitude!” - -Mrs. Wall was scandalized. - -“T’ fowk ’as lived here last liked t’ place clean,” she said, severely. -“It’ll nivver look t’ same again as it did, wi’ a clean white -antimacassar stitched on to ivery cheer, an’ wax flowers under glass -sheades in a’ t’ parlor windows. An’ t’ parlor a’ways as neat as a new -pin, so ye wur afreaid a’most to coom into ’t. Ah, ye meen talk o’ yer -gentlefowk, but they’ll nivver mak’ it look t’ same again!” - -Olivia had opened the door to the right, and throwing wide the shutters -of one of the three large windows, revealed a long, low-ceilinged room, -used as the living room by the late farmer’s family, and having at the -further end a wide, high, old-fashioned fireplace, the mouldings of -which had been carefully covered with whitewash, now smoked-begrimed -and worn into dark streaks. The shutters and the wainscoting, which -in this room was breast high upon the walls, had been treated in the -same way. Olivia uttered a groan, and turned to the door, afraid of -uttering more offensive remarks. Then they went upstairs, and opened -the doors of a lot of little meanly papered bedrooms which formed the -upper storey of this part of the house. Having allowed the new comers -to examine these, while she remained sniffing in the passage, Mrs. Wall -shuttled hastily back to the staircase. - -“Stop!” cried Olivia, as the old woman placed one downtrodden shoe on -the second step; “we haven’t seen the other part of the house at all. -Where does this lead to?” - -And she peered into a crooked passage which led into the first of the -two older wings. - -Mrs. Wall paused with evident reluctance. - -“There’s nowt yonder but t’ worst o’ t’ bedrooms; ye’ve seen t’ best,” -she grumbled. - -But Olivia was already exploring, followed by Lucy; and the old woman, -with much reluctance, brought up the rear. The passage was quite dark, -and very cold. The tallow dip which Mrs. Wall carried gave only just -enough light to enable the explorers to find the handles of the doors -on the left. One of these Olivia opened, not without difficulty; for -the floor was strewn with lumber of all sorts, which the last occupier -of the farm had not thought worth carrying away. The walls of this -room, which was very small, were panelled right up to the low ceiling; -and the panelling had been whitewashed. A second chamber in this -passage was in a similar condition, except that the panelling had been -torn down from two of the four walls, and its place supplied by a layer -of plaster. Holding up her skirts very carefully, Olivia stepped across -the dusty piles of broken boxes, damaged fireirons, and odds and ends -of torn carpet with which the floor of this room also was covered, and -looked through the dusty panes of the little window. - -“Now you’ve seen a’,” said Mrs. Wall, rather querulously. “An’ t’ lad -downstairs ’ll be wanting to know wheer to put t’ things.” - -She was retreating with her candle, when Olivia stopped her again. - -“No,” she said, eagerly, “we’ve not seen all. There’s a wing of the -house we have not been into at all; and I can see through the little -window, on this side of it, some curtains and a flower vase with -something still in it. It doesn’t look empty and deserted like the -rest. I must get in there before I go down.” - -But Mrs. Wall’s old face had wrinkled up with superstitious terror, and -it was only by force of muscle that the young girl succeeded in cutting -off her retreat. - -“Na’,” she said, her voice sinking to a croaking whisper. “I canna tak’ -ye in theer. An’--an’ t’ doors are locked, ye see,” she added, eagerly, -as Olivia, still grasping her conductress’ arm, in vain tried the door -at the end of the passage, and one on the left-hand side, at right -angles with it. - -“Well, but why are they locked?” asked the young girl, impatiently, her -rich-toned, youthful voice ringing sonorously through the long-disused -passage. “The whole place is ours now, and I have a right to see into -every corner of it.” - -“Oh, Miss Olivia, perhaps we’d better go back--go downstairs--for -to-day,” suggested the little maid Lucy, rather timorously behind her. - -Mrs. Wall’s nervous tremors were beginning to infect the poor girl, who -was, moreover, very cold, and was longing for some tea. But her young -mistress had at least her fair share of an immovable British obstinacy. -Finding that both doors were firmly locked and that there was no key -to either forthcoming, she flung the whole weight of her massive and -muscular young body against the door on the left, until the old wood -cracked and the rusty nails rattled in the disused hinges. - -“Mercy on us!” exclaimed Sarah Wall, petrified by the audacity of the -young amazon. “Shoo ’ll have t’ owd place aboot our ears!” - -“Take the candle, Lucy,” said Olivia, imperiously, perceiving that the -dip was flaring and wobbling in an ominous manner in the old woman’s -trembling fingers. - -Lucy obeyed, frightened but curious. Her mistress made two more -vigorous onslaughts upon the door; the first produced a great creaking -and straining; at the second the door gave way on its upper hinge, so -that the girl’s strong hands were able to force the lock with ease. She -turned to the guide in some triumph. - -“Now, Mrs. Wall, we’ll unearth your ghost, if there is one. At any -rate, we’ll get to the bottom of your mystery in five minutes.” - -But she did not. Pressing on to the end of a very narrow, unlighted -passage in which she now found herself, Olivia came to a second door; -this opened easily and admitted her into a large chamber, the aspect of -which, dimly seen by the fading light which came through a small square -window on her left, filled her brave young spirit with a sudden sense -of dreariness and desolation. - -For it was not empty and lumber-strewn, like the rest of the rooms -she had entered. The dark forms of cumbrous, old-fashioned furniture -were discernible in the dusk; the heavy hangings of a huge four-post -mahogany bedstead shook, as a rat, disturbed by the unwonted intrusion, -slid down the curtain and scurried across the floor. As she stepped -slowly forward on the carpet, which was damp to the tread, and peered -to the right and left in the gloom, Olivia could see strange relics of -the room’s last occupant; the withered remains of what had been a bunch -of flowers on a table in front of the little window; an assortment of -Christmas cards and valentines, all of design now out of date, and all -thickly covered with brown dust, fastened with pins on to the wall -on each side of the high mantle-piece; even a book, a railway novel, -with its yellow boards gnawed by the rats, which she picked up rather -timorously from the floor, where, by this time, it seemed to have -acquired a consecrated right to lie. - -Still advancing very slowly, Olivia reached the opposite side of the -room, where her quick eyes had perceived the barred shutters of a -second and much larger window. With some difficulty she removed the -bar, which had grown stiff and rusty, and, drawing back the heavy -shutters, revealed the long, stone-mullioned window, with diamond -panes, which had been such a picturesque feature of the house from the -outside. The thick, untrained ivy obscured one end of it, but enough -light glimmered through the dirt-encrusted panes for Olivia to be now -quite sure of two things of which she felt nearly sure before--namely, -that this was the best bedroom in the house, and that, for some -mysterious reason, this chamber, instead of being dismantled like the -rest, had been allowed to remain for a period of years almost as its -last occupant had left it. Almost, but not quite; for the bedding had -been removed, the covers to the dressing-table and the gigantic chest -of drawers, and the white curtains which had once hung before the -shuttered window. - -On the other hand, a host of knicknacks remained to testify to -the sex, the approximate age, and the measure of refinement of the -late owner. More railway novels, all well-worn; flower vases of an -inexpensive kind; two hand mirrors, one broken; a dream book; a bow -of bright ribbon; a handsome cut-glass scent bottle; these things, -among others, were as suggestive as a photograph; while the fact that -this room alone had been studiously left in its original state, and -even furnished in accordance with it, threw a new and more favorable -light on the taste of that mysteriously interesting somebody whose -individuality made itself felt across a lapse of years to the wondering -new comer. - -Olivia Denison was not by any means a fanciful girl. She had been -brought up by a step-mother--a mode of education little likely to -produce an unwholesome forcing of the sentimental tendencies. She -was besides too athletic and vigorously healthy to be prone to -superstitious or morbid imaginings. But as she stood straining her eyes -in the fading daylight to take in every detail of the mysterious room, -the panelling, which in this apartment alone was left its own dark -color, seemed to take strange moving patterns as she looked; the musty, -close air seemed to choke her; and faint creakings and moanings, either -in the ancient woodwork or the loose-hanging ivy outside, grew in her -listening ears to a murmur as of a voice trying to speak, and miserably -failing to make itself understood. She was roused by a shrill cry, and -found Lucy, whose fear for her mistress had overcome her fear of this -desolate room, shaking her by the arm and pulling her towards the door. - -“Oh, Miss Olivia, do come out--do come out! You’re going to faint; I’m -sure you are. It’s all this horrid room--this horrid house. Oh, do come -and write, and tell master it’s not a fit place for Christians to come -to, and he’d never prosper if he was to come here, and nor wouldn’t -none of us, I’m positive. Do come, Miss Olivia, there’s a dear. It’s -fit to choke one in here, what with the rats and the damp, that it is. -And if we was to stay here long enough we’d see ghosts, I know.” - -Olivia laughed. No phantom had terrors for her, however strong an -impression half-guessed realities might make upon her youthful -imagination. - -“Don’t be afraid, Lucy,” she said, encouragingly. “We’ll soon frighten -the ghosts away by letting a little fresh air into these musty rooms. -Here, help me.” - -Half reassured by her resonant voice, the maid accompanied her to the -larger window, still clinging to her arm, but more for companionship -than with the idea of affording support to her mistress, who had -recovered her self-command. Together they succeeded in throwing open -both windows to their full extent, not, however, accomplishing this -without a shriek from Lucy as a great bird flew out of the hanging ivy -and almost flapped against their faces in his confusion at this unusual -disturbance. They both felt a sense of relief as the keen but fresh -outside air blew into the long-closed room, dispersing the mouldy, -musty smell of damp hangings and decaying wood. Even the old woman, who -had stood all this time in the doorway, apparently engaged in muttering -incantations over her tallow dip, but really transfixed by this -audacity of young blood, drew a long breath as the rush of fresh air -reached her, and gathered courage to ask “what they were after doin’ -now?” - -“Were ‘after’ ransacking every corner of this old ghost run, turning -it upside down and inside out, and chasing away the last shadow of a -bogey,” answered Olivia, cheerily. “Here’s another room to look into.” - -Crossing the room with a light step, she opened the door of the -second of the closed-up apartments. This chamber also had escaped the -dismantling of the rest of the house, but it contained very little -that would have been worth taking away. It was lighted by three small -windows, all much broken, and all hung with limp rags which had once -been muslin curtains, gaily tied up with blue ribbons, which were -now almost colorless with dust and damp. The floor was covered with -matting, which smelt like damp straw, and had evidently afforded many a -meal to the rats now scurrying behind the woodwork, which in this room -was much decayed and in far from good repair. A plain deal table, from -which the cover had been removed; two limp wicker chairs with ragged -cushions; an empty birdcage; a fanciful wicker kennel for a lapdog; -these were nearly all that were left of the furniture. Olivia inspected -everything with eager but silent interest, and then turned suddenly to -Sarah Wall, who had again followed them as far as the door, preferring -even the eerie passage of the bedroom to solitude outside. - -“Who lived in these rooms last?” she asked. - -But the candle nearly fell from Mrs. Wall’s hand as, for all answer, -she withdrew into the desolation of the deserted bedroom rather than -face the eager questioner again. - -Olivia was not to be put off so easily. She followed precipitately, -and, changing the form of her attack, said-- - -“How long is it since these rooms were shut up, Mrs. Wall?” - -The guide’s eyes shifted about, refusing to meet those of the young -girl. - -“Twea year’; same as rest o’ t’ house,” she answered, in a grumbling -tone. - -“Only two years! It wasn’t shut up long before the family went away, -then?” said Olivia, incredulously. - -“Not as Ah knaws on,” answered Sarah Wall. - -Miss Denison hated an untruth with the impetuous loathing of an honest -nature. She would have liked to shake this wretched old woman, who -would not be candid on a subject which could not be of the slightest -importance to her. Perhaps her companion got an inkling of this -inclination, for she turned and beat a hasty retreat along the narrow -passage which led from the bedroom to the body of the house. Olivia did -not at once follow her. With a curious reluctance, whether reverence -for a dead past whose relics she was disturbing, or fear of some shock -which its revelations might bring her, she scarcely knew, the girl -picked up one of the dust-begrimed novels, and looked at the title -page. But there was nothing written on it. She opened three or four -more of the novels with the same result. By this time it was growing so -dark that she had to hasten her movements for fear that when at last a -clue was found she might be unable to distinguish the letters. Having -in vain examined every book upon the table, she continued to explore -until she found, on a small hanging bookshelf in an obscure corner -of the room, a little pile of devotional works--Bible, hymn book, -Bogatsky’s “Golden Treasury,” a tiny “Daily Portion,” and a prayer -book. This last was on the top of all. As Olivia opened it, there fell -to the floor tiny dried scraps of flowers and fern. Turning to the -flyleaf, and carrying the book in haste to the window, she found these -words, written in a round, school-boy hand-- - -“Ellen Mitchell, from her affectionate brother Ned.” And a date of -eighteen years back. - -Olivia replaced the prayer book on the shelf, and left the old room -without further delay, followed by Lucy, who had remained close at -hand, but discreetly silent, during these investigations. - -When they reached the outer end of the passage, Olivia glanced with -some curiosity at the old door she had so roughly broken down, and as -she did so, some letters written in pencil high on the upper panel -caught her eye. With difficulty she made out a date in July ten years -before. - -“I wonder,” she thought, “whether that is the date on which the rooms -were locked up. If so, it was eight years before the last people left -the house, I know. And their name was Mitchell. Who can I ask to tell -me the story?” - -And, having forgotten cold, fatigue, and hunger in the interest of -her discoveries, Olivia Denison made her way slowly down to the -ground floor again, where she caught Mrs. Wall in the act of slipping -out of the front door. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -The estimable Sarah Wall was, as she herself would have said, “not in -the best of tempers” at being intercepted in her proposed flight. - -“Ah thowt ye’d got all ye wanted,” she grumbled, as Olivia Denison -followed her out on to the doorstep and asked her where she was going. -“Ah wur goin’ whoam to get a coop o’ tea, for Ah’m fair clemmed.” - -“You thought we’d got all we wanted!” said Olivia, ironically. “Why, -we’ve got nothing at all--not even a chair to sit on. I think, if you -have tea going at your cottage, you might ask us to come and have some.” - -“Hey, that ye might, Sally,” said a gruff voice, which Olivia had now -learnt to recognize as that of a friend. - -Turning, she saw Mat Oldshaw, his blushes, if he were still blushing, -invisible in the darkness, standing at the foot of the steps, mounting -guard over the luggage, which he had piled together. - -“Oh,” cried the girl, with a sudden change to melting gratitude, “you -haven’t been waiting out here in the cold all this time for us, have -you?” - -“Weel, miss,” said Mat, laughing uneasily, and shifting from one heavy -foot to the other, “t’ door was shut, an’ Ah couldn’t get in.” - -And, to put an end to conversation, which was an art in which he felt -he did not shine, the young fellow seized the two smallest trunks and -carried them straight into the big farm living room, whistling a lively -tune as he did so. Olivia stood back quite silently while he fetched in -the rest of the luggage in the same way, and then stood looking at it -dubiously by the light of Mrs. Wall’s candle. - -“It bean’t naw good onfastenin’ t’ cords,” he said at last, “for they -won’t stay in here. An’ Ah dunno reightly what to be doin’ for ye if -yer goods bean’t coom.” - -He went back again to the front door and looked out. Not that he could -see anything of the road, for the huge barn opposite, completely -blocked the view from this point. But he was a good deal affected by -the predicament in which this beautiful lady and her attendant found -themselves, and he was shy of meeting the lady’s eyes, being without -means of comforting her. Suddenly a figure darted out from the gloom -under the barn walls, a strong hand was laid upon the lad’s arm, and, -willy-nilly, he was dragged down the steps and heartily cuffed before -he had recovered from his first surprise. - -“Eh, feyther, what art doin’ now?” he asked, as soon as he had -recovered breath, having speedily recognized the touch of his parent’s -loving hand. - -“Eh, thou feaul, thoo teastrill; Ah’ve got tha! Ah know’d wheer thoo’d -got to. This cooms o’ followin’ fowk wha can’t keep off t’ lasses. Coom -whoam; coom tha whoam, and if ivver Ah catch tha again a-slitherin’ -about yon house, Ah’ll turn ye oot o’ ma house, and oot o’ ma farm, as -if ye wur nobbut a ploughboy, thet Ah will!” - -Mat wriggled and writhed till he got loose from his father’s grasp, and -slinking back a step or two, he called out, not loudly or defiantly, -but with the same rough kindliness which he had shown from the first -towards the friendly girls-- - -“Now mind, Sally, thou maun mash t’ best coop o’ tea thoo can for t’ -leddies.” - -John Oldshaw turned round at these words, and addressed the old woman -in a thick and angry voice. - -“Sarah Wall, get back to tha whoam an’ tha own business. An’ if thoo -canna keep tha owd fingers oot o’ other fowks’ affairs, tha needna coom -oop oor way o’ Soondays for t’ broaken meat. So now thoo knaws.” - -And, with a jerk of the head to his son to intimate that Mat could go -on in front and he would follow, the farmer stamped slowly and heavily -away down the yard. - -His coarse unkindness affected the three women differently. Little -Lucy began to whimper and to sob out indignant maledictions upon “the -ol-ol-old brute;” Mrs. Wall, after dropping half a dozen frightened -curtseys, manifested a great eagerness to go; Olivia drew herself up -and became very stern and grave. - -“You need not mind what that man says, Mrs. Wall,” she said, in a firm -quiet voice. “You may be very sure that any kindness you do us will be -amply repaid. And as for the broken meat he talks about, if you will -really lose that by letting us rest a little while in your cottage and -giving us a cup of tea, I can promise you a good dinner every Sunday -while my father lives here.” - -But Mrs. Wall was too far timorous and cautious a person to risk the -substantial reality of broken meat on Sundays from the great man of the -village for the flimsy vision of a good dinner from a total stranger. -She thrust her flickering tallow candle into Lucy’s hands, and began to -tie her wispy bonnet strings with a resolute air. - -“I’ll leave t’ candle,” she said, as if making a great and generous -concession; “an’ that’s a’ I can do for ye. For I’ve nowt in my place -I could set afore a leddy; an’ as for tea, the bit fire I left will be -out by this time.” - -“But I can light your fire again for you, and boil your kettle in two -twos,” burst in Lucy. “And we’ve brought some tea with us.” - -Her young mistress put a light hand on her arm. - -“Never mind, Lucy,” she said, quietly. “If Mrs. Wall doesn’t care for -us to go to her cottage we will not trouble her.” - -As she spoke her eyes brightened, for at the end of the long barn -she descried in the dusk the figure of the gentleman who had come to -their aid that afternoon and then left them with such unaccountable -suddenness. Lucy saw him too, and being more demonstrative than her -mistress, she gave vent to her delight in words. - -“No, Mrs. Wall, ma’am; you needn’t go for to put yourself out, for -there’s better folks than you coming along, that are a deal more -obliging than ever you’d be, and that have some Christian kindness -in them, which is more than can be said for you. Ugh, you grumpy old -woman, you!” - -“Hush, Lucy,” said her mistress in gentle rebuke; “the gentleman -will hear you. And I don’t suppose he is coming here at all,” she -added, reluctantly, as the figure they had both so quickly recognized -disappeared again in the gloom. - -“What gentleman? What gentleman?” asked the old woman, shrilly. - -“How should we know, when we’re strangers here?” retorted Lucy, who, -now, that her tongue was once loosened, was delighted to have what she -afterwards called “a go-in” at their disobliging guide. “But he was a -real gentleman; not like your pig-faced friend in the corduroy trousers -that you’re so mighty civil to; and he wears knickerbockers and gaiters -and a cap over his eyes, if that is anything you can tell him by.” - -Apparently it was, for Sarah gave a step back in horror, and ejaculated -“Mercy on us!” two or three times, as if too much shocked for further -speech. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Olivia, rather sharply, remembering the -stranger’s warning that she would hear no good of him from Sarah -Wall, and curious to learn the reason. “If you know who the gentleman -is, tell me his name. And what do you know against him?” she added, -indiscreetly. - -Mrs. Wall, though not brilliantly intelligent, had the splendid gift -of reticence where she thought that things might “go round.” She only -shook her head, therefore, and muttered something about getting herself -into trouble and desiring to be allowed to go home. - -“Well, just tell me first who he is, then, and you shall go at once,” -said Olivia, persuasively. - -The old woman, writhing nervously under the clasp of Miss Denison’s -hand, evidently cast about in her mind for a means of getting free -while committing herself as little as possible. The reluctant words -which at last came out were not very well chosen, however. - -“I’ll tell ye this, then,” she croaked, in a broken whisper, -peering round with her sunken eyes as if to be sure the treasonable -communication she was making was not overheard by the person concerned. -“Yon gentleman, as ye call him, is not fit company for young ladies. -And others have found it oot to their cost--so fowk say,” she added, -hastily. Then, as Olivia released her arm and she tottered away over -the hard ground, she looked back to add, in a querulous and anxious -tone, “But don’t ye tak’ it frae me, mind. I nobbut told ye what I’ve -heerd say.” - -Olivia turned back towards the open door of the dreary house, feeling -beyond measure miserable and disconsolate. The dimly seen figure of -her friend of the afternoon had disappeared; the disobliging old woman -who was at least a fellow-creature, was rapidly hobbling out of sight; -while the words which had just, with so much difficulty, been forced -out of her, seemed in the hag’s mouth to have acquired the chilling -significance of a curse. Lucy felt this too, for coming closer to her -mistress she half whispered-- - -“Oh, Miss Olivia, if there was really such things as witches, I should -believe that old crone was one.” - -“Nonsense! Come inside, and let us see what’s to be done.” - -“Oh, you’re not going in again--all by ourselves! Oh, miss, just think -of that upstairs room!” wailed the poor girl. - -“Now, look here, Lucy, you mustn’t be ridiculous. We’re in a dreadful -plight, and we’ve got to make the best of it. If you give way to silly -fancies instead of doing your best to help me, I shall have to take you -to that inn at the corner and leave you there while I come back and -shift for myself as best I can.” - -Lucy, who loved her young mistress, grew sober and good immediately. - -“You know I’ll do what I can, Miss Olivia,” she said, suppressing a sob -of alarm as a dull sound, apparently from the barn opposite, reached -their ears. - -Olivia listened. The sound was repeated. - -“It sounds like some person chopping wood,” she said, after a moment’s -pause. “I daresay, now the place is uninhabited, the villagers take -what liberties they like with it, and use the barns and sheds to store -their own wood and hay and things in. Now, come in, and let us undo -some of the trunks before the candle goes out.” - -With most reluctant feet, but without another word of remonstrance, -Lucy followed her young mistress. Olivia, with resolute steps and a -mouth set with an expression which said to the phantoms of the old -house, “Come on if you dare!” re-entered the hall, and kneeling down -before a trunk which had been placed there, attacked the cord round -it with inexpert but strong fingers. They had got it open, and were -congratulating themselves that in this, the first trunk unpacked, were -candles, tea, and a little spirit lamp, when, suddenly, there fell upon -their ears a noise which even to the brave spirited Olivia was, in a -lonely, empty house, undeniably alarming. It came from the long living -room where most of their luggage lay, and was as of some heavy body -falling with a crash on to the floor. - -Olivia sprang to her feet. - -“I opened one of the windows,” she said, “and forgot to shut it. Some -one has got in! No, don’t scream!” - -She clapped her hand on Lucy’s mouth and reduced the threatened shriek -to a moan; then, the noise having by this time ceased, she turned, -heedless of the maid’s whispered supplications, to the door of the long -room. The lock was stiff with rust and the handle difficult to turn; -so that, perhaps not much against her will, she left the intruder, -if intruder it was, time to escape. But there was no fresh sound, -and the young girl’s brave heart fluttered a little with the fear -that perhaps, on opening the door, she would come face to face with a -defiant marauder. At last the door opened. It was dark by this time; -through the opened shutters of the four windows came only just enough -light to show that the trunks, piled up on the bare floor, had at least -not been removed. The air blew in, very keen and cold, through the one -open window, which was at the other end of the room, nearest to the -fireplace. - -“Is anybody there?” asked Olivia, scarcely without a tremor. - -Her voice echoed without reply in the desolate department. - -She held up the candle and advanced slowly, examining every gloomy -corner. No one was there; no trace of any one having been there until, -as she reached the other end, her glance fell on some dark object lying -close under the open window. At this sight Lucy could not suppress the -long-stifled scream, and it was not until her mistress pouncing down -upon the mysterious thing, revealed the fact that it was only a couple -of logs and a bundle of sticks, neatly tied together with a piece of -string, that she found enough relief from terror to burst into tears. - -“Who’s the benevolent burglar, I wonder,” cried Olivia, her spirits -rising instantly at the discovery of the little anonymous act of -kindness. - -She ran to the window and looked out. There was no one to be seen; but -on the window-ledge lay a box of cigar lights. - -“The mysterious stranger again!” she said to herself. Then turning to -the maid, said, “Now, Lucy, make a fire as fast as you can. There are -some newspapers with the rugs. Here are sticks and logs and matches. We -shall feel different creatures when we are once warm.” - -She shut down the window and boiled some water with her little spirit -lamp; while Lucy, with cunning hands, made in the huge rusty grate a -fire which was soon roaring up the chimney, and pouring its bright warm -light on floor and wall and ceiling. The spirits both of mistress and -maid began to rise a little as they drew up one of the smaller trunks -to the fire, and made a frugal meal of biscuits and milkless tea. - -“It is a horrid place, though, Miss Olivia,” said Lucy, who had been -chilled to the heart by Sarah Wall’s utterances, and did not feel -wholly sure that she herself had not been bewitched by that uncanny -person. - -“Oh, I suppose it might have been worse. They might have thrown bricks -at us,” said her mistress; “and remember that two people have already -been very kind to us.” - -“Perhaps the young farmer-man only took to us just out of aggravation -because his father didn’t,” suggested Lucy, who was a well-brought-up -girl, and affected to take cynical views of young men. “And as for the -gentleman, why, the old woman as good as said decent folk had better -have nothing to do with him.” - -“But you surely wouldn’t take that miserable old woman’s word for it?” - -“No, but I’d take his own face, miss. I watched him when the old farmer -was going on so; and, my gracious! I never see such a black look on any -one’s face before. He seemed to grow all dark and purple-looking, and -his eyes were quite red-like. It was just like as if he’d have knocked -the other man down, miss, that it was.” - -“Well, I don’t think I should have thought any the worse of him if he -had.” - -“Oh, miss, it’s an evil face. And I’m never deceived about faces. I -said, first time I saw her, that nursery-maid Mrs. Denison sent away -without a character was no good. And then that under-gardener----” - -“You mustn’t let your prejudices run away with you. Judge people by -their actions; not their looks. Now, I saw something quite different in -that gentleman’s face, and we can’t both be right. It seemed to me that -he looked like a man who had had a very hard life and a great deal of -trouble; as if he had done nothing but struggle, struggle with--I don’t -know exactly with what; poverty, perhaps, or perhaps with a violent -temper, or----” - -She stopped, and stared into the fire, having ceased to remember that -she was carrying on a conversation. Her wandering thoughts, however, -soon took a practical turn again. “The cabman!” she cried, starting up -tragically; “I never paid him.” - -She was instinctively turning towards the door, haunted by an alarming -sum in addition of innumerable hours at sixpence every quarter of an -hour, when Lucy’s voice, in tones of great shrewdness, stopped her. - -“Oh, Miss Olivia,” she said, shaking her head knowingly; “he’s gone -away long ago. If this was a place where cabmen would wait for their -fares for two hours without so much as knocking at the door, we might -think ourselves in heaven, which the other people shows us we’re not.” - -“Well, but who paid his fare, then?” - -Lucy began to look not only mysterious, but rather alarmed. - -“Oh, Miss Olivia, perhaps it’s a plot to get us into his power!” - -They had both come to the same conclusion as to the person who paid -the fare, but at this point their reflections branched off into widely -different channels. - -“You’re a little goose, Lucy, and you’ve been filling your head with -penny novels, I can see,” said she. - -But the obligation to a stranger, which she could scarcely doubt she -was under, troubled her. - -“It is very, very awkward to be thrown out like this in a strange -place with nobody to go to for help or advice,” she began; when -suddenly a light came into her face, and she sprang up and ran to -fetch her travelling bag. “I’d forgotten all about it!” she cried, as -she drew out a closed letter directed in an old-fashioned, pointed, -feminine hand to “Mrs. Brander, the Vicarage, Rishton.” “The wife of -one of the curates at Streatham knows the wife of the vicar here, and -gave me a letter of introduction to her. I will go and call upon her -at once. If she is the least nice she will help us, and tell us how to -treat with these savages.” - -Olivia was fastening her mantle, which she had not taken off, and -putting on her gloves. Lucy’s round face had grown very long. - -“And must I stay here, miss, all by myself?” she asked, dolefully. - -Olivia looked at her dubiously. - -“I would rather you stayed here, certainly, because, you see, the -furniture might come while we were away,” she said at last. “On the -other hand, if you are going to frighten yourself into a fit at the -scraping of every mouse----” - -Lucy drew herself up. She was not really a coward, and this speech put -her upon her mettle. - -“I’ll stay, Miss Olivia,” she said, resolutely; adding, in a milder -voice, “You won’t be very long, will you?” - -“Indeed I won’t,” answered her mistress, promptly. “I don’t suppose it -takes more than five minutes to go from one end of the village to the -other. We saw the church from the cab windows; it’s on the top of the -hill. I shall make for that; the Vicarage is sure not to be far off.” - -Without more delay Olivia left the house, taking the way to the right -by which they had approached the house, in the hope of meeting some one -belonging to the inn who would direct her. She was fortunate enough -to come upon a diminutive villager, who, after lengthy interrogation -and apparent ignorance as to where “the Vicarage” was, acknowledged to -knowing “where the parson lived.” - -“Will you take me to the house if I give you twopence?” - -“Hey,” replied the small boy, promptly. - -He did not start, however, until he had taken an exhaustive survey of -her, either for identification in case she should try to elude him at -the other end of the journey, or to satisfy himself whether she was a -person likely to possess twopence. - -“Theer’s two ways,” he said, at last. “Short way over t’ brook, an’ -oop t’ steps and through t’ churchyard; long way by t’ road an’ oop t’ -hill.” - -“Go the short way, then.” - -“Mr. Midgley, t’ carpenter, fell an’ broak his leg goin’ oop theer this -afternoon. An’ t’ churchyard geate’s cloased by now.” - -“Well, then, we’ll go the other way, of course.” - -The boy trudged along up the road, which was a continuation of that by -which they had come to the farm, and made no attempt at conversation -except in answer to Olivia’s questions. She made out, after much -persevering pumping, that the vicar, Mr. Brander, was much liked, and -that his wife was only a little less popular. After this there was a -pause, which was broken by the boy, as they passed between a plain -stone building, standing back from the road on the right, and a group -of hay and straw stacks, sheds, and farm buildings on the left. - -“That’s Mester Oldshaw’s farm,” said the boy. - -“Ugh!” ejaculated Olivia below her breath, hurrying on with angrily -averted eyes. - -The whole place, seen by the weak light of the rising moon, seemed to -her to display the repulsive hideousness of its master. - -After this the road wound to the left up the hill, and they passed a -few scattered cottages, one of which was the primitive village post -office. - -“That be t’ parson’s house,” said the boy, as they came in sight of an -irregularly built stone house standing high, on the left-hand side of -the road, in a well-wooded garden. - -They had to go round this garden, and turn sharply to the left into a -private road at the top of the hill. This brought them face to face -with the gates of the little churchyard, while on the left was the -front door of the Vicarage, a pretty building in the Tudor style, -which, seen even in the faint moonlight, had a pleasant, welcoming -air of comfort, peace, and plenty. Olivia gave the boy his twopence, -and rang the bell with a hopeful heart. Everything seemed to promise -well for the success of her errand. A neat maid soon came to the door, -but to Olivia’s inquiry whether Mrs. Brander were at home came the -dispiriting answer that she was away. Miss Denison reflected a moment. - -“Is Mr. Brander at home?” she then asked. - -“Yes, ma’am, Mr. Vernon Brander is in. Will you see him?” - -“Yes, if I can.” - -She followed the servant across the wide, well-formed hall, to a door -at which the maid knocked. - -“Come in,” said a voice, which seemed familiar to Olivia. - -“A lady wishes to see you, sir,” said the servant. - -“Show her in at once,” said the man’s voice. - -Olivia drew back instead of advancing, as the servant made way for her -to enter. - -“It is Mr. Brander, the clergyman, I wish to see,” said Olivia, -hurriedly, in a low voice. - -“Oh, yes, ma’am, it’s all right. Mr. Brander is a clergyman,” answered -the maid, reassuringly. - -Before another word could pass, Mr. Brander himself, hearing a -discussion, came to the door. Olivia looked at him in some confusion. -It was her unknown friend of the afternoon! - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -Olivia’s momentary embarrassment was at once removed by the kindness of -Mr. Brander’s greeting. - -“Yes, Mr. Brander is a clergyman. I hope you have no prejudice against -the cloth,” he said, holding out his hand with a welcoming smile. “It’s -not a proper clerical garment, I confess,” he went on, as Olivia’s -glance fell instinctively upon the old shooting coat he now wore; “but -I flatter myself the collar saves it.” - -And he pointed to his orthodox round collar. - -“I am not sure of that,” said the young girl, smiling in answer. “For -instance, if I had known this afternoon that you were a clergyman, -I should have felt much more at ease about accepting your very kind -services.” - -“Should you? Well, then, you are at ease about it now. Come in, and -tell me if there is anything more I can do for you.” - -Olivia followed him into the most charmingly luxurious study she -had ever seen. Everything in it was comfortable and handsome, in the -best modern taste. The doors, mantelpiece, and panelling were of -carved light oak, the furniture of the same, upholstered in dark-green -morocco. There were _portieres_ and curtains of dark tapestry, -harmonizing with the carpet. The books, which filled four large and -handsome bookcases, looked to the connoisseur too dainty to be touched -by common fingers. Evidences of a woman’s presiding eye and hand -were there too, Olivia fancied, in a certain graceful draping of the -curtains, which seemed to her to betray neither the upholsterer nor the -housemaid; in a tall bouquet of dried bulrushes and corn which stood in -one corner; and in a small conservatory, full of dark palms and ferns, -into which one of the windows opened. Everything was well chosen, -everything harmonized with everything else, except the shabbily dressed -figure in the centre, with his lean, dark, worn face, and hungry black -eyes, and the tattered volume he held in his hand. Mr. Brander read the -thought that flashed through his guest’s mind, and asked-- - -“Now, what is your first impression of this room?” - -“It is very, very pretty,” said Olivia. - -“Well, and what else?” - -“Some one else had more to do with the arrangement of it than you.” - -Olivia had never before felt so perfectly at ease with a stranger--so -able to speak her passing thoughts out frankly and freely. - -“Right; quite right. And now let me hear what sort of a guess you can -make as to the person who had the arrangement of it.” - -“It was a lady. Perhaps a lady who has had some art-school training; -but one who can think for herself a little too. Not an every-day sort -of lady, and yet not eccentric. One whom you would like to know, but -whom you might be a little afraid of.” - -By the interest and pleasure with which Mr. Brander followed her as -she proceeded slowly and cautiously with her conjectures, Olivia -felt sure that she was describing his wife, and also that she was -getting near the truth. But then a look of pain came into his dark -face, which set her wondering whether they had had a severe quarrel, -whether there was some serious estrangement between them, or whether -the trouble from which he was evidently suffering was caused merely by -the absence of the woman of his heart. This singular clergyman, with -his unconventional dress and manners, his worn face, and his great -kindness, was so different from any of the stiff curates and unctuous -vicars she had ever met, that he and his surroundings awoke in her the -liveliest interest, even apart from the mysterious warning of Sarah -Wall, and the surly insolence shown towards him by Farmer Oldshaw. -After a short pause, he said-- - -“Right in every particular. Now we will see if you can find the lady.” - -On the mantelpiece was a collection of photographs, most of them of -more or less beautiful women, all handsomely framed. Mr. Brander -invited Olivia to come up and inspect them. With another slight feeling -of surprise, which she would have found it hard to account for, she -stepped on to the soft fur hearthrug and made a careful review of the -whole gallery. But here she was quite at a loss. - -“I must lose my character for divination,” she said at last, shaking -her head as she stepped back. “I don’t see any face that I could point -out with any certainty.” - -“Try.” - -She chose one. Mr. Brander shook his head. - -“Wrong,” he said. “You have disappointed me. What made you choose that -one? Give me the nearest approach you can to a reason.” - -“It looks a good, kind, sensible face.” - -“It belongs to a good, kind, sensible woman--a Miss Williams--a -striking contrast to the rest of her family,” he added as a comment to -himself. “But she is not the lady who chose the fittings of this room. -What do you say to this one?” - -It was Olivia’s turn to be disappointed, and her face showed her -surprise. The photograph was that of a woman who was very handsome, -and there your reflections concerning her portrait ended. Mr. Brander -laughed. - -“Say what you think of it quite frankly. I shan’t be offended,” he said. - -“It is a beautiful face,” she answered. - -“Well, what else?” - -“Nothing else,” said Olivia in desperation. “Mrs. Brander may have -every great quality that ever adorned a woman; but her face, like -nearly all very beautiful ones, I think, is just beautiful and nothing -else.” - -“Don’t you see any feeling, imagination, passion?” - -“No--o, indeed I can’t.” - -“Well, that’s all right, because she hasn’t any.” - -Olivia listened rather awkwardly, for Mr. Brander had unconsciously let -a little feeling, a little bitterness sound in the tones of his own -voice. - -“Do you see great common sense, shrewdness, and a splendid faculty for -perceiving where the greatest advantage lies to her and hers?” - -His tone was still a little bitter, but it was good-humored and playful -also. - -“Oh no!” said Olivia. - -“Well, then, you should see those qualities, for they are all there.” - -“And may I know who this is?” asked Miss Denison, to turn the -conversation from a point where she had no more to say. - -She was looking at the companion frame to that which contained the -lady’s portrait. It held the picture of a strikingly handsome man, -not far off middle age, plump, good-humored, and prosperous-looking, -dressed in correct clerical costume, with a beautiful child seated on -his knee. - -“That is my brother.” - -“Your brother!” - -All the rules of courtesy could not avail to hide her surprise then. -A greater contrast could not be imagined than that between this worn, -haggard, ascetic-looking, shabby man, with his unconventional dress -and manner, and the neat, smiling, comfortable-looking gentleman, who -seemed to beam from his morocco frame on a world where tithe wars were -not. Then a light flashed upon Olivia, and she gave Mr. Brander a smile -of triumphant shrewdness. - -“Now I understand it all,” she said, eagerly. “This room is your -brother’s, and this lady is not your wife, but his.” - -Mr. Brander laughed rather sadly. - -“You think they all ‘match’ with him better than they would with me.” - -Olivia grew very red, and in some confusion tried to explain away this -too obvious conclusion. But Mr. Brander stopped her. - -“You are quite, quite right,” he said, kindly. “You would be blind if -you couldn’t see it. My sister-in-law saw it, twelve years ago, when -she was wise enough to reject me and to take my brother.” - -“There, now you see why Mrs. Meridith Brander is destitute of feeling, -imagination, and passion, and resplendent only in the less lovable -qualities,” he went on mocking at himself good-humoredly. “If she had -only chosen me, I should have a very different tale to tell, you may be -sure.” - -Olivia was silent. The strange contrast between the two brothers filled -her with pity for the one who had been kind to her, and with a sort of -unreasonable antagonism towards the unknown one to whom fortune had -been so much more generous. - -“It seems very hard on you,” she said, glancing at him rather shyly. - -But even as she spoke a violent change came over his face which -chilled and repelled her, and brought back to her mind with sudden and -startling vividness the vague warning of the old woman. A flush of -fierce and vindictive anger, a short, sharp struggle with himself, and -then Mr. Brander was subdued and kind and courteous as ever. But this -peep at the nature underneath had made an impression upon Olivia which -she could not readily forget; it destroyed the ease she had felt with -him, and woke a distrust which his instant return to his old kindly -manner failed to remove. - -“It is very good of you to think so,” he said, with a courteous smile. -“At one time I admit it seemed hard to me too. But I’ve been forced to -confess long ago that I could not have occupied the position he fills -either with credit to myself or satisfaction to anybody else. While -as for poor Evelyn, if she had had the misfortune to take me with my -bad temper and my inevitable hatred of order, instead of being still -handsome, amiable, and young, she would be a haggard old woman.” - -Remembering, as she did, the bitterness which he had previously shown -in speaking of his sister-in-law, and the fierce animosity which had -blazed out of his black eyes a moment ago in recalling the contrast -between his brother and himself, Olivia could not help feeling that -there was a little hypocrisy in this ultra-modest speech, and she made -some civil answer in a tone which showed constraint in comparison with -her previous warm-hearted and simple frankness. Mr. Brander looked -scrutinizingly at her face, and reading the change in its expression, -hastened to open another and less dangerous subject. - -“And here I have been gossiping about my own idle affairs all this -time, without once asking you what you came to see me about, and what I -can do for you.” - -“I brought a letter of introduction to Mrs. Brander,” said Olivia -producing it. “The wife of one of the curates at Streatham, where I -live, or at least where I have been living,” she added, correcting -herself, “knew Mrs. Brander some years ago. And she thought, as I was -coming here all by myself, it would be pleasanter for me to know some -one.” - -“My sister-in-law would have helped you in a hundred ways,” said Mr. -Brander, regretfully. “She is a very energetic woman, and loves to have -some active work to do for anybody, if there is a little occasion to -show fight over it. And there is in your case; for that unmannerly old -ruffian, John Oldshaw, who made himself so offensive just now at the -inn, wanted to have the farm your father has taken, and will annoy you -all in every way he can for spite, if I’m not mistaken.” - -“If he does, I shall get papa to complain to Lord Stannington,” said -Miss Denison, with a resolute expression about her mouth. - -“Well, we must hope there won’t be any need to do so. Perhaps your -father is a better farmer than John Oldshaw, and will be able to make -him sing small.” - -“Oh, I’m afraid not,” said she, shaking her head dolefully; “papa has -never been a farmer before. He’s been a banker, but he never did much -banking, I think; and the other partners bought him out of the bank a -little while ago, and he did nothing at all for a little while. But we -are not rich enough to live like that, so he thought he should like to -try farming, especially as my step-mother had been ordered to live in -the country.” - -Mr. Brander looked grave. He could not help thinking that things looked -very black for his pretty visitor. A weak and idle father, an invalid -step-mother, such were the fancy portraits he instantly drew of the -pair, setting up as amateurs in a business which even experience, -industry, and capacity can scarcely nowadays make remunerative! What -would become of the bright girl in these circumstances? - -“How came they to send you down here all by yourself?” he asked, after -a pause. - -“My step-mother--you know I told you I had a step-mother,” she -interpolated, with mischievous meaning--“has delicate health; that is -to say, her health is too delicate for her ever to do anything she -doesn’t wish to do, and she did not wish to come down to an empty -house, to have all the worry and trouble of filling it. So I offered to -do it. Home has been rather tiresome lately, and I thought it would be -fun, and besides that I really wanted to be useful, and to make things -as comfortable as I could for poor papa. But I did think she would see -that the furniture was sent in time.” - -“Yes, that’s an awkward business, certainly. We must consider what is -best to be done. And while I’m thinking it over, you’ll have a glass of -wine and a biscuit, won’t you?” said he, as he touched the bell. - -Olivia did not refuse. She thought her best chance of a happy issue -out of her difficulties lay in trusting to the clergyman, whose -persistent kindness was fast effacing the unpleasant impression of a -few minutes before. She even asked him ingenuously whether he thought -she ought to stay any longer away from the bare house where she had -left poor little Lucy alone with the mice. Mr. Brander quieted her -conscience as, in obedience to his order, the maid servant brought in -wine and cake, with which he proceeded to serve the hungry girl. - -“I shall let you go in two minutes now,” he said. “And we won’t let -Lucy starve either.” - -The servant was still waiting. - -“What is it, Hester?” - -“Young Mr. Williams has called, sir. He wishes to speak to you for a -minute. I believe he has a message.” - -Mr. Brander’s face clouded. - -“Where is he? I’ll go out and speak to him,” he said, shortly. - -But the words were scarcely out of his mouth when a voice, speaking in -coarse and familiar tones, was heard outside the door, heralding the -approach of the new comer. - -“It’s all right; it’s only me. Suppose I can come in, eh?” - -And, without waiting for permission, a young man elbowed his way past -the servant, and entered the room. - -The word which applied best to Mr. Frederick Williams, including his -face, voice, dress, and manner, was “cub.” He was short and sandy; he -had an expression of mingled dulness and cunning, in which dulness -predominated; his dress, his vocabulary, and a certain roll in his -walk smacked of the stable; and the only conspicuous quality he showed -to balance these disadvantages was a certain coarse good humor which -never failed him. He was even destitute of that very common grace in -young men of his type--an unsurmountable shyness in the presence of -women of refinement. On catching sight of Olivia, seated by the fire, -eating cake with unmistakable enjoyment, his eyes opened wide with -astonishment and boorish admiration, which gave place the next moment -to an expression of intense shyness as, with a loud cough, he affected -to retreat to the door. - -“Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Brander; I didn’t mean to interrupt such a -pleasant _tete-a-tete_, I’m sure.” - -But he had no intention of going, and Mr. Brander asked him rather -curtly what he came for. - -“Oh, my business is of no consequence; it will do any time,” answered -Mr. Williams, still with his light eyes fixed upon Olivia. - -“Very likely. But what is it?” asked Mr. Brander, still more shortly. - -“Oh, my father wants to see you about something. It’s about the church, -I believe; your church, St. Cuthbert’s. He wants to do something -for it, I fancy; says the condition it’s in is a disgrace to the -neighborhood.” - -Again Olivia saw on Mr. Brander’s face a glimpse of fierce anger, -with which, however, she this time heartily sympathized. Feeling very -uncomfortable, she rose and held out her hand to the clergyman. His -face cleared as he took it. - -“Now, don’t worry yourself too much about the wretched furniture,” -he said, with his old kindliness. “As you go down the hill, mind you -stop where the roads cross. There’s a wishing-cap hangs on the hedge -just there. If you see it, put it on; if you don’t, make the motion -of putting it on, and at the same time say these words just under -your breath, ‘I wish that within an hour I may be installed very -comfortably!’” - -“Thank you,” said Olivia, laughing and returning the pressure of his -hand warmly; “if the wishing-cap could bring that to pass, I should -begin to look with respect on a broomstick.” - -Mr. Williams’ face had assumed during these two last speeches an -expression of mingled bewilderment and contempt. As the lady moved -towards the door, he followed without having once taken his eyes off -her. - -“Will you be able to find your way?” asked Mr. Brander, as he opened -the study door. - -“I’ll go with you; I’ll escort you. Which way are you going?” asked Mr. -Williams, eagerly. “To the Hall, eh? I go past it; don’t I, Brander?” - -“I believe so,” said the clergyman, shortly. - -“So you see, you’re not putting me to any inconvenience at all,” went -on the young man. - -“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” said Miss Denison, with a little laugh -and a pretty turn of the head. “In my part of the world it is never an -inconvenience to see a lady home.” - -In the meantime they had all crossed the hall and arrived at the front -door, where Mr. Brander, with a reluctant frown at his male visitor, -again shook hands warmly with Olivia, and told her not to lose heart. -He watched the ill-assorted pair as they went down the lane until they -turned into the high road. Until they reached this point they proceeded -in silence, but as soon as they began to descend the hill, the young -man found voice after his snub. - -“You’re deuced sharp on a fellow,” he said then in a conciliatory tone. -“It wasn’t my fault that I turned up when the parson was making sheeps’ -eyes at you.” - -“If I am to put up with your society until I reach the Hall gates, I -really must ask you to abstain from making offensive remarks,” said -Olivia, icily. - -“Offensive! Oh, all right. But I warn you that parson chap is a deal -more likely to be offensive than I am. By Jove!” he continued, after a -freezing pause; “if you weren’t such a pretty girl I’m hanged if I’d go -a step further with you, after your rudeness.” - -“In your own choice language, ‘I’m hanged if you shall,’” answered Miss -Denison, with spirit. - -Before the astonished young man could recover his speech, the girl -had flown down the hill like an arrow with the wind. He had admired -her before; for this display of spirit he felt that he adored her. At -this point the road made a circuitous bend which could be cut off by -one familiar with the place by crossing the fields. Fred Williams was -through a gap in the hedge in a moment, and on regaining the road he -was a few yards ahead of the still flying lady. Darting out upon her as -she passed, he seized her by the arm; and as the attack was unexpected, -she staggered for a second. - -“You’re a splendid runner, but you can’t beat me,” said the young -gentleman, with what was meant to be an alluring mixture of admiration -and manly condescension. - -But it had quite a wrong effect upon the lady. Pausing one moment to -recover her breath and her balance, she extricated herself from his -insolent clutch with a sudden athletic movement which flung him reeling -into the hedge, where he lodged amid a great crackling of branches. - -“I shall not require your escort further, thank you,” said Miss Denison -then imperturbably to the spluttering swain. - -And she walked on again with a perfect and defiant security. She had -not misjudged her effect, for Mr. Williams did not attempt to molest -her again. Just as she reached the farm gates, however, he hurried -after her, and without coming to close quarters, said, maliciously-- - -“Very well, madam. Don’t be afraid that I shall interfere with you -again. But before you take up with Parson Brander, I’d just ask him, if -I were you, what has become of Nellie Mitchell.” - -But Miss Denison walked through the gates without a word. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -To be able to inflict a severe physical defeat upon an obtrusive -admirer may be a highly convenient accomplishment, but the necessity -for its exercise cannot but be a humiliating experience. Olivia -Denison felt the hot tears rise to her eyes as she walked up through -the farmyard to the Hall. If only one of her own stalwart brothers, -Edward or Ernest, were here to give this insolent cad the thrashing -he deserved! But Edward was in India with his regiment, and Ernest -was tied to a desk in a solicitor’s office in London. She must depend -upon her own arm and own head for her protection now; fortunately, -neither was of the weakest, as she herself felt with some satisfaction. -In fact, she scarcely knew yet what measure of strength, both mental -and physical, was hers; for she had led hitherto an easy, sheltered -life, idle in the sense that all her energy had been spent in amusing -herself, happy but for certain uncongenial elements at home. - -Now there was to be a difference. Without being expected to know how -it came to pass, Olivia knew that papa had grown poorer, that he had -become frightfully irritable about bills of late, and that various -violent and spasmodic efforts at retrenchment, and papa’s reiterated -declarations that he must “do something,” had culminated in the sale -of the beautiful house at Streatham, and in the taking of Rishton Hall -Farm. There was something not quite painful in the feeling that she -would have to “do something” too, and in the knowledge that she might -now be able to turn her quickness of eye and hand to useful account in -the service of the father whom she adored. What would his sensitive -nature do among these Oldshaws, and these Williamses, and these Walls, -with the most unpleasant and disturbing rumors afloat about the very -clergyman in charge? This was the reflection which troubled Olivia’s -mind as she approached the Hall for the second time, and going up the -worn steps, let herself in without any need to knock at the door. - -“Lucy!” she called, as she opened the door of the big room on the right. - -There was no answer. The room was deserted, and the fire had burnt low. -Olivia shivered as she went in. The run down the hill had put her in a -glow; the entrance into this mouldy old chamber chilled her. She put -more wood on the fire, and sat down to await the return of Lucy, who, -she did not doubt, had found the loneliness of the place too much for -her nerves, and had gone out to look for her mistress. In a few minutes -Olivia began to long even for the patter of a mouse’s feet, for the -song of a cricket, for any sign of life in the desolate old house, if -it were only the sight of the loathly black beetle. The spirit of the -unknown Nellie Mitchell seemed to haunt her. That girl, who had lived -in the house, gone about her daily work in this room, whose mementoes -still remained undisturbed and undecayed in these deserted old walls, -who was she? What had become of her? “Ask Mr. Brander”: so the odious -Fred Williams has said with intensely malicious significance. Should -she dare to do this, and perhaps satisfy once for all those doubts -of her new friend which not only the conflicting opinions of the -villagers, but certain morose and repellent changes of expression on -his own face, had instilled into her? She could not decide. Between -her doubts, her loneliness, and her sense of the difficulties of her -desolate situation, the poor girl was growing so unhappy that when at -last she heard the sound of footsteps upon the ground outside, she -sprang up with a cry, and ran to the door, ready to force whoever it -might be to share her vigil. - -On the doorstep she found Sarah Wall, whom conscience or a glimmering -notion that it might be as well to be “in wi’ t’ new fowk,” had brought -back to make inquiries. - -“Hasna’ yer goods coom?” she asked, rather apologetically. - -“No; they won’t come to-night now,” answered Miss Denison with a sigh. - -“There’s summat--a cart or a waggon or summat--at t’ gate now.” - -The hope was too much. Olivia gave a little cry. But when, a little -later, there absolutely did drive up through the farmyard, and draw up -at the door, a small open cart closely packed with bedroom furniture, -she could scarcely keep from bursting into tears. For the first few -minutes she was too overjoyed to perceive anything very singular in -this arrival. In the front of the cart, beside the driver, sat two -neat and buxom country girls, who sprang down to the ground with much -suppressed excitement and half-hysterical laughter, and without any -explanation of their presence, proceeded, with the help of the driver, -to unpack the cart, and to carry the contents indoors and upstairs. -Olivia stood back bewildered. One had a lantern and the other a broom; -neither would advance a step towards the old house or up the wide -staircase without the comfort and support of the other’s near presence. -But up they did go at last, stifling little screams at every other -step, and returning the jibes of the driver with prompt retorts. This -young man looked like a stable boy, or perhaps a groom in undress. As -he came downstairs again, after having taken up a folding bedstead, -Olivia asked him where he came from. - -“From t’ Vicarage, miss,” he answered, with a stableman’s salute. “Mr. -Vernon sent us down and told us to put t’ thing’s in and coom back as -quick as we could. T’ lasses was to clean oot a room oop-stairs for ye.” - -Sarah Wall was emitting a series of witchlike grunts in the background. - -“Mr. Vernon!” cried Olivia; “Mr. Vernon Brander! Oh, how very kind of -him! How very kind!” - -“He’ll be down hisself just now, miss, I think,” continued the lad; “he -said he’d coom wi’ t’ second lot.” - -Here Mrs. Wall broke in with a preliminary croaking cough-- - -“Nea, nea! He wunna coom a-nigh this house. He coomed here too often in -t’ owd time. Nea, nea! He wunna coom inside noo.” - -“Howd tha tunge, Sal,” said the lad, quickly. “Thoo’d get thaself int’ -trouble wi’ t’ vicar if he heerd tha prattlin’ so o’ ’s brither.” - -Whereupon the old woman fell to incoherent mumbling, and the lad having -discharged his load, saluted the young lady again, and drove away. With -a pleasant sense upon her that help, ready and efficient, was indeed -come at last, Olivia went indoors again, and, directed by the sounds -of active sweeping, and at least as active chattering, found her way -to the best bedroom in this part of the house, which the exertions of -the two maids were quickly rendering habitable. They had brought with -them even a large scuttleful of coals, and a supply of candles. In -half an hour the room was swept, a fire lighted, carpet laid down, and -two little beds and a suite of bedroom furniture disposed to the best -advantage. - -“Mr. Vernon said we was only to fit up one bedroom, ma’am, as you’d be -sure to want your maid to sleep in the same room with you in this big -empty house, miss,” said the elder and more responsible of the servants. - -“Yes, that is quite true,” answered Miss Denison promptly. - -“And as soon as we had done this room we was to sweep out the big one -downstairs.” - -“Oh,” said Miss Denison, “you need not do that. One room is plenty for -us to go on with, and I don’t wish you to have the trouble of doing any -more.” - -“Oh, it’s no trouble, ma’am. And those were Mr. Vernon’s orders. And -when the master and missus is away, we have orders to do just as Mr. -Vernon says, exactly as if he was master. You see, master thinks such a -deal of Mr. Vernon.” - -Here was another instance of the strange enthusiasm for Mr. Vernon -Brander which he seemed to excite equally with the most violent -antagonism. - -“I wouldn’t ha’ come here by myself though; not if Mr. Vernon had -ordered me ever so; no, and not if master and Mrs. Brander hadn’t -ordered me too, that I wouldn’t!” broke in the younger maid with -decision. - -Miss Denison caught sight of a severe frown and a bit of expressive -pantomime signifying that she was to hold her tongue, from her older -and more discreet companion. - -“How is that?” asked the young lady. “Do you think this house is -haunted?” - -“Of course not, ma’m,” broke in the elder. “Susan you ought to be -ashamed of yourself, telling such silly stuff. Of course, ma’am, when a -house lies empty some time there’s all sorts of tales gets about, and -I daresay if you hadn’t come and taken it, in another year there’d ha’ -been a whole lot of ghost stories and such-like about it.” - -Miss Denison saw that there was nothing to be learnt here, so she asked -no more questions, but waited eagerly for the arrival of Mr. Brander. -At last, from the position she had taken up on the steps outside the -front door, she heard the clergyman’s voice and the sound of wheels -and hoofs at the same time; a few seconds later the cart, again piled -with furniture, stopped at the door, and Mr. Brander, springing down -from his place beside the driver, held out a helping hand to the third -person in the cart, who proved to be no other than Lucy. Instead of -jumping out with her usual activity, however, the little maid hung back -in the most nervous manner, and finally had almost to be lifted out of -the vehicle, uttering words of protest in a hoarse whisper. - -“Lucy! Why, what’s the matter with you?” asked her young mistress, -kindly, perceiving by the light of the lantern the clergyman carried -that the bright red color had left the girl’s round cheeks, and that -her eyes were distended with some absorbing horror. - -“Nothing, Miss Olivia--nothing,” stammered she, faintly. “I--I went out -to look for you. I thought you might have lost your way--and--and----” - -“As Eben and I were driving down the hill we met her, and, finding that -she was looking for you, Miss Denison, I made her get up and come on -with the luggage.” - -He did not look at Lucy, neither did she look at him, and in the -course of the work of unloading and furnishing in which they now both -proceeded to take an active part, Olivia could not help noticing the -ashy paleness that came over the maid’s face, and the way in which she -shrank into herself if accident brought her in close contact with the -gentleman. The installation now went on merrily. To Olivia’s great -relief Mr. Brander, contrary to Sarah Wall’s prediction showed not -the least reluctance to enter the old house, but went backwards and -forwards between the cart and the big room until there was nothing left -to bring in. - -“We haven’t brought nearly enough furniture to fill this big room, you -know,” he explained, as he trundled in a roll of carpet. “The cart -would only hold just sufficient to make you a little oasis at the -fireplace end; but it’s better than the bare boards, and to-morrow -we’ll hope you’ll have your own thing’s about you.” - -“Oh, Mr. Brander, I can’t thank you,” said Olivia, overwhelmed. “You -have built a palace for us in the desert; but what will the vicar say? -He will come back and find that you have ransacked his beautiful house -on behalf of two utter strangers! I shall never dare to look Mrs. -Brander in the face after taking part in such a sacrilege.” - -“My brother would say nothing if I were to turn all the drawing-room -furniture out into the churchyard,” answered he, promptly. “You mustn’t -judge his temper by my black looks. He and I are as different as heaven -and--earth. All the ladies fall in love with him.” - -“Then I shall not,” said Miss Denison, decidedly. “I like my loves all -to myself.” - -Mr. Brander considered her attentively, with a quizzical look. - -“I should think you would,” he said, smiling. “I am afraid you will -be badly off down here--if indeed you could be badly off for admirers -anywhere. The nearest approach to an eligible swain in these parts is -the gentleman who escorted you home.” - -Olivia, who was nailing up a curtain while Mr. Brander kept steady the -erection of a box and a chair on which she stood, put down her hammer -to indulge in a hearty burst of laughter. - -“Oh, I’m afraid it’s all over with the pretty little romance you have -been building up for me,” she said, looking down with her bright eyes -still twinkling with amusement. “I pushed him into a hedge.” - -“At the first blush that does not look promising certainly,” said Mr. -Brander with perfect gravity, “considering the rank of the parties. For -if he had been the clod-hopper nature intended him for, and you the -dairymaid he would have liked you to be, such a demonstration as that -would have been the certain prelude to a wedding.” - -“It wasn’t a very lady-like thing to do, I’m afraid,” said Olivia, -blushing a very becoming crimson. “But really he was not the sort -of person to be dealt with by means of modest little screams and -flutterings. And--well, the truth is, I really was so furiously angry -that I would have thrown him over the hedge if I’d been strong enough.” - -“I wish you belonged to my parish,” said Mr. Brander, reflectively. -“It is a great pity such nerve and muscle should be thrown away. Now, -there’s an old villain who always nods through the first part of my -sermon, and snores as soon as I grow a little eloquent--and--and I -daren’t throw him into a hedge myself; my motives might be questioned. -But if I could only get a fair and amiable parishioner to do it for me, -no one could say a word.” - -“You want to make me ashamed of myself,” said Olivia, giving a vicious -blow to the nail she was driving in. “But you shan’t succeed. My father -and my two brothers think that everything I do is right.” - -“Ah! Then it’s high time somebody turned up to prove to you that -everything you do is wrong.” - -“Thank you. My step-mother does that.” - -“Then what do papa and the brothers say to her?” - -“If the world’s turning around depended on dear old papa’s saying a -harsh word to anybody, the world would stand still. As for my brothers, -especially Ted, when he is at home breakfast is a skirmish with my -step-mother, luncheon is a brisk engagement, and dinner a hard-fought -battle. They are always ordering each other out of the room, and it’s -quite a rare thing for them both to sit out a meal at the same table.” - -“The fault is not quite all on one side, I suppose.” - -“Oh, no, of course not. When poor Ted is away life is not very -comfortable, but at least it is not volcanic.” - -“Curious that the common or garden step-mother, wherever found, should -always present the same characteristics. She has children of her own, I -suppose?” - -“Yes, two.” - -“You don’t love them--I perceive by your tone.” - -“Wait till you see them, and then say whether anybody could.” - -“I think my professional ministrations are wanted here. Where is your -Christian charity?” - -Olivia turned round to look down upon him with the most earnest gravity. - -“I shall take the liberty of asking you the same question when Regie -gets caressed for his vivacity in cutting a slit in your umbrella, and -when you see Beatrice consoled with an orange for some impertinence for -which she ought to have her ears boxed.” - -“And it’s all the fault of the step-mother?” - -“Yes, all.” - -“Poor lady; I am beginning to feel the deepest interest in her. No -doubt she was a perfectly amiable and harmless person before this -unhappy metamorphosis.” - -“Yes; she was our governess--a most excellent woman and very strict -with us.” - -“I must see what can be done for her. I have a sermon that will just -suit her, I think; one that hasn’t done duty for a long time.” - -“It will be of no use. When she was our governess she never missed -church; now she’s our step-mother she never goes.” - -The curtains were by this time hung; the two maids from the vicarage, -after helping Lucy to give the last touches to the arrangement of -the furniture, had run upstairs to see that all was in order in the -bedroom, and perhaps also to have a little gossip with this new friend. -Mr. Brander looked about eagerly in search of more work. - -“There’s nothing more to do, I am afraid,” he said, rather wistfully. - -Olivia smiled. “Afraid!” she echoed. “Why I should think you would be -very glad to shake off the dust and the damp of this old place, and to -get back to that beautiful, cosy room where I found you this evening.” - -As she spoke, an uncomfortable remembrance of the mystery which hung -about the house and its rumored connection with him came into her mind. -Mr. Brander looked straight into her face, and said-- - -“Under some circumstances I might be. For I knew this place very well -before it was left to dust and damp. But now I am glad to think that it -is going to have life and youth and brightness in it again--very glad; -and I don’t want to hurry away at all.” - -He spoke so gravely, and expressed his reluctance to go so naively, -that Olivia was silent, not quite knowing in what tone to answer him. -Then it suddenly struck him that he might have offended her, and -without looking into her face again he hastened to say-- - -“You must excuse my boorishness if I don’t express myself in the -orthodox way. I live like a hermit, and have done for the last”--he -paused, and then added slowly, as if counting up the time--“ten years. -I have forgotten how to make pretty phrases. What I meant was this: I -haven’t had half an hour’s pleasant talk with a lady, as I have with -you this evening, for all that time--ten years! And it will very likely -be ten years before I have another. And so I have enjoyed myself, and I -am sorry it’s over, though I daresay you are rather tired of the rustic -parson and his solecisms.” - -An awkward constraint had fallen upon him; he had grown shy and -unhappy. Olivia felt sorry for him, and she answered in tones of sweet -feminine gentleness which seemed to pour balm upon some hidden wound. - -“I believe part of what you say. For if you had been used to ladies’ -society you must have known that talking to you has given me at least -as much pleasure as talking to me can have given you. And if you are -not going to have another talk with me for another ten years, as you -threaten, it will be your fault, and not mine.” - -There was a pretty graciousness in her manner, the result of the homage -her beauty had always obtained for her. Mr. Brander gave her a shy -glance of adoring gratitude which momentarily lit up his dark face. - -“Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “I shall remember your pretty -words and your kind looks, believe me; but when we next meet, it will -not be the same, and it will be no fault of yours.” - -Olivia was on the point of breaking out into a passionate assurance -that no hearsay talk altered her opinion of her friends; but a certain -gloom which settled on his face and gave him almost a forbidding aspect -checked her, and she remembered, while a deep blush crept into her -handsome cheeks, that it is unconventionally premature to call the -acquaintance of half a day a friend. So she remained modestly silent -while he held out his hand and told her, recovering his usual manner, -that he should write a full description of her to his sister-in-law, -and that Miss Denison might expect to be chartered as a district -visitor before she had time or inclination to say “Jack Robinson.” - -Mr. Brander then called the two maids and started them on their walk -home; brought in a luncheon basket which he had left in the hall, -and handed it to Lucy, telling her to open it when her mistress felt -inclined for supper; and, before Olivia could thank him for this fresh -proof of his kindness, he was already out of the house. - -The door had scarcely closed upon him when Lucy, with an exclamation of -horror and disgust, flung down the luncheon basket, and, running to the -nearest window, threw it wide open. - -“What are you doing, Lucy?” asked her mistress in astonishment, -crossing quickly to the girl to see whether she was ill. - -“Airing the place, miss, after that bad, wicked man,” answered the -little maid, vehemently. - -“You ungrateful girl, after all Mr. Brander has done for us. How can -you say such things?” - -“I say what I know, miss, and what is known all over the place, miss, -to every one but you,” answered Lucy, her face crimson with excitement. -“He’s a murderer, miss; he murdered the poor girl who used to live in -those rooms upstairs.” - -Olivia was standing at the window, with her hand on the latch to close -it. Just as Lucy hissed out those words in a voice shrill and broken -with horror, Mr. Brander passed. The light from the room fell full upon -his face. He had heard the girl’s words. A look, not of indignation, -but of shame, of agony, convulsed his pale features, but he did not -turn his head. Olivia shivered. She wanted to call out to him, to ask -him to deny this infamous slander; but her mouth was dry and the words -would not come. For he must have heard, she knew, and yet there was no -denial in his face. - -With a trembling hand she closed the window. - -“There, it’s quite upset you; I knew it would, Miss Olivia,” said Lucy, -rather triumphantly. “Aren’t you shocked?” - -But the tears were gathering in Olivia’s eyes. - -“I’m shocked, yes, of course,” said she, sadly. “And I’m -dreadfully--dreadfully sorry.” - -Lucy was scandalized. This was not the way in which she had been taught -to look upon a criminal. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -In spite of all her philosophy, of all her fortitude, Olivia Denison -could not deny, even to herself, that the one terrible word “murderer,” -applied to the man who had proved himself such a kind friend, gave a -shock such as no newly formed friendship could stand unshaken. If he -had only denied the charge by so much as a look! But, on the contrary, -his downcast head and hurrying step when Lucy’s indiscreet remark fell -on his ears seemed like a tacit admission of the justice of it. The -little maid’s characteristic comments on the matter jarred upon her -greatly. - -“You might have knocked me down with a feather, Miss Olivia, when they -first told me it was him as made away with the young woman whose rooms -we were rummaging in to-day! ‘Lor,’ I says, ‘never! A nice-spoken -gentleman like that!’ Indeed, Miss----” - -“Who was it told you, Lucy?” interrupted her mistress, quietly. - -“It was when I was going up the road, ma’am, looking for you. For I -got that frightened at last, sitting here all myself, and nobody to -speak to, and such cracklings and noises as you never heard along the -walls! So I went out a little way, thinking perhaps you had missed the -road and lost yourself. And I came across two women and a man standing -at the gate of a farmyard. And I spoke to them and they guessed where -I came from; for it seems it was the farm belonging to that rude man, -though I didn’t know it at the time. And they asked me in, saying as -they wouldn’t keep me not a minute. And I was so glad not to be alone -that I went just inside the kitchen door with them--just for a minute. -But then they told me such things that I felt I couldn’t come back to -this house all by myself after hearing of them. They said how that -clergyman, for all his nice-seeming ways, used to be a wild sort of -young man, and how he once courted her that’s now the vicar’s lady, but -she wouldn’t have nothing to say to him. And so when she married his -brother he got wilder and wilder, and he took to courting the farmer’s -daughter that lived here on the sly like, and not fair and open. She -was a masterful sort of girl, and her brother and his wife, that she -lived with, let her have her own way too much, and have ideas above -her station. And people think she believed he’d marry her, for her own -people and every one was beginning to talk; and then one night--it -was the 7th of July, Miss, ten years and a half ago--she went out to -meet him, down by his own church, as people knew she’d done before, -and she never came back. And nobody’s never seen nothing of her from -that day to this; only there were screams heard that night down by St. -Cuthbert’s--that’s his church, ma’am.” - -Lucy ended in a mysterious whisper, and both she and her mistress -remained silent for a little while. Then Miss Denison spoke in a warm -and decided tone-- - -“There must have been investigations made. If there had been anything -like just ground for supposing that Mr. Brander had made away with the -girl, he would at least have been hunted out of the parish, even if -there had not been proof enough to have him arrested.” - -“He was arrested, Miss Olivia. But his mother was Lord Stannington’s -sister, so he had friends at court; and as for his brother, he moved -heaven and earth to have him got off. And so those as knew most didn’t -dare to come forward, and nothing wasn’t found; and as everybody knew -the poor girl hadn’t had the best of characters, and had always been a -bit gay, like, they said there wasn’t evidence enough, and Mr. Brander -was never brought up.” - -“But he remained in his parish! That would have been too much of a -scandal if the suspicion had been strong. I think you have only been -listening to a lot of tattle, Lucy;” said Miss Denison, trying to -disguise the deep interest she could not help feeling in this gossip. - -“Well, Miss Olivia, I only tell you what was told me,” said the girl, -rather offended at the slur cast upon her information. - -And she crossed over to the fireplace and began to break the lumps of -coal into a blaze, to intimate that, in deference to her mistress’s -wish, she had done with idle gossip. But, as she slyly guessed, the -subject was far too interesting to be shelved like that. - -Miss Denison took it up again abruptly, no longer attempting to hide -the warmth of her feeling in the matter. - -“How was it he stayed, then?” she asked. - -“It was his brother’s doing, that, ma’am, I believe,” said Lucy, -delighted to have her tongue loosed again. “He backed him up, and -advised him to face it out, so everybody says. And his being so strong -for his brother, and him thought so highly of himself, made people -afraid to interfere, like. And so Mr. Vernon stayed. He had only a poor -parish, full of colliers and such-like; and the poor folks liked him, -because, for all his wild ways, he was good-humored and pleasant. So -nobody objected much, and he quieted down all of a sudden, and grew -quite changed, and worked very hard, so that now they think the world -of him in his own parish, and wouldn’t change even to have Mr. Meredith -himself for their clergyman. Only the story sticks to him, especially -close round here, where the girl lived; and, no matter what he does, -some of them can’t forget he’s a murderer.” - -Olivia shuddered. It was quite true; such an incident in a man’s life -was not one that you could forget. She let the subject drop without -further comment, but it haunted her for the rest of the evening as she -sat brooding over the fire. Lucy, who was of an industrious frame of -mind, got out her darning and mended away busily. But she had a healthy -appetite, and she had had nothing more satisfying than biscuits and a -sandwich throughout the day. Gradually her longing glances fell more -and more frequently on the despised supper basket which Mr. Brander had -given her. At last she could hold out no longer. - -“Are you hungry, Miss Olivia?” she asked, with plaintive meaning. - -“Not very,” answered Miss Denison, waking with a start out of a -troubled reverie. “But I daresay you are, Lucy. I forgot that I had -wine and cake at--Mr. Brander’s.” - -Lucy made two hesitating steps in the direction of the basket, and -stopped. - -“Do you think--we’d better not--touch it, Miss Olivia?” she asked, -doubtfully. - -Miss Denison got up, with a grave and troubled face. - -“Don’t you think it’s a little too late to try to avoid an obligation, -Lucy, when every one of the comforts round us--fire, chairs, table, the -very beds we are going to sleep on, we owe to Mr. Brander?” - -Lucy snatched at this view of the matter readily, and trotted off with -eager steps to inspect the contents of the basket. These proved most -satisfactory. - -“Bread, Miss Olivia; butter, cake, oh! And a cold fowl! And a silver -tea-pot!” she announced gleefully as she made one discovery after -another, and skipped with her prizes to the table. - -Olivia, healthy girl as she was, could not eat much that evening. Her -responsibilities in the new home were beginning to look very heavy; and -the strange story she had just learnt oppressed her. Lucy, on the other -hand, found that a good supper led her to take a more cheerful view of -current affairs. - -“Oh, Miss Olivia!” she exclaimed, when the meal was ended and they were -preparing to retire for the night, “how much nicer this is, with ghosts -and murderers and all, than it’ll be when Mrs. Denison comes and the -children! Like this, with just you, it’s jolly, and I could work for -you all day. And I suppose when you’ve committed a murder it makes you -feel that you must be nicer, like, to make up for it, for certainly -Mr. Brander is a nice-spoken gentleman and a kind one, and no two ways -about it.” - -“Now, Lucy,” said her mistress, gravely, “you must put that story right -out of your head, as I am going to do. We’ll hope there’s no truth in -it all; but even if every word were true, we have no right to bring it -up against a man whose life sets an example to the whole parish, and -who has shown us kindness that we ought never to forget. I hope you -will have the good sense and good feeling not to tattle about it to -cook and to Esther when they come.” - -“No, ma’am,” said Lucy, demurely. - -Miss Denison felt, however, that she was trying to put on human -nature burdens too great for it to bear, and she wasted no more words -in pressing the point. Tired as she was when she lay down that night -on the little bed so strangely provided, for some hours she could not -sleep; excited fancies concerning the girl who had disappeared and the -man to whom her disappearance was attributed filled her head with a waking -nightmare. Gratitude remained uppermost, however. - -“He shall see that whatever I have heard makes not the least -difference,” was her last clear thought before sleeping. - -But Olivia’s kind intentions were more difficult to carry out than -she imagined. Next day she saw nothing of Mr. Brander, although -she received another proof of his thoughtfulness. A vanful of the -much-expected furniture arrived in the course of the morning; and -scarcely was it emptied before the two maids from the Vicarage appeared -again upon the scene; “by Mr. Vernon’s order,” to give what assistance -they could towards getting the house ready for occupation. Then began -for Olivia three of the happiest days she had ever passed. There was -work--real, useful, genuine work--for head and hand and muscular arm in -the arrangement of every room to the best advantage. The maids from the -Vicarage and her own trusty Lucy seconded her with a right goodwill, -being all ready to worship this handsome, bright-voiced, sparkling-eyed -girl, to whom the lifting of the heaviest weights seemed to be child’s -play, and who worked harder than any of them. On the second day the -very last consignment of the household goods duly arrived, and Olivia -was able to send back the Vicarage furniture with a grateful little -note of thanks. In the evening, when she was resting in an armchair, -tired out with her labors, and enjoying a glow of satisfaction in their -success, there was a rap of knuckles on the knockerless outer door, and -Olivia started up, with her heart beating violently. The persistent -self-effacement on the part of Mr. Brander made the girl nervously -anxious to show him that her gratitude was proof against any evil -rumors; and the hope that it was he brought a deep flush to her face as -Lucy, now installed in her own kitchen, and busy still with polishing -of pots and pans, went to open the door. But she only brought in a -note, which Olivia took with some disappointment. It was an answer from -Mr. Brander to her own, but was so very formal that Olivia felt her -cheeks tingle with shame at the impulsive warmth of her letter. - -The clergyman’s note was as follows:-- - - “DEAR MADAM”--(And she had put “Dear Mr. Brander.” Olivia could have - torn her pretty hair.)--“I beg to assure you there is nothing in - what I have done to put you under any sense of obligation. In doing - what little I could to make you as comfortable as the unfortunate - circumstances of your arrival would permit, I only acted in my - capacity of representative to my brother, who is hospitality itself to - all strangers. - - “I am, dear madam, yours faithfully, - - “VERNON BRANDER.” - -Olivia read the note twice, while Lucy stood still at the door. - -“The young farmer’s son brought it, ma’am, and he’s waiting,” said she. - -Olivia went to the door, and held out her hand to Mat Oldshaw, who -took it very sheepishly in his own great paw, and, having given it a -convulsive squeeze, dropped it hastily, as if overwhelmed with horror -at his presumption in touching it at all. - -“Come in,” said she, smiling, and leading the way into the big farm -living room; she had decided that this was to be the dining-room of the -establishment, and had furnished it accordingly. - -Mat followed her shyly, and remained near the door until, by easy -stages, she had coaxed him into a chair at the further end. He was -beautifully washed and combed, and clad in his best clothes, and -beautifully awkward and bashful withal. - -“It’s very kind of you to bring me this,” she said; “and I’m very glad -to have an opportunity of thanking you for the help you gave us the -other day. You ran away so fast that I had no chance of speaking to -you.” - -“’Twere nowt, that,” said Mat, in a voice husky from bashfulness. “Ah’d -ha’ coom and given ye better help than that yesterday when Ah saw t’ -goods coom, but Ah didn’t like.” - -“Would you? Well, we should have found plenty for you to do. But your -father wouldn’t have liked it, of course.” - -“Feyther! Ah bean’t afreeaid o’ feyther!” cried Mat, in a burst of -energetic defiance. “Neea, it wasna’ for him that Ah didn’t coom. But -Ah thowt maybe ye’d ha’ been so angry with him for’s rudeness that ye -wouldn’t care to ha’ seen me ageean.” - -“Oh, I knew you had nothing to do with that.” - -“That’s true enoof; and Ah coom to-neeght to say”--and Mat looked down -on the floor and grew scarlet to the tips of his ears--“that ye mustn’t -be surprised if things doan’t work straight here at first. Feyther’s a -nasty coostomer when he’s crossed, and there’s no denying he’s wild at -a stranger takkin’ this pleeace. An’ if he can do ye and yer feyther an -ill turn he’s not t’ man to stick at it. An’ if yer feyther don’t knaw -mooch aboot farmin’, ye may tell him not to tak’ any advice from moine. -But if ye should be in a difficulty aboot matters o’ t’ farm, ye can -just send for me on t’ quiet, and Ah’ll help ye all Ah can. Ah beean’t -ower bright maybe, as ye can see for yerself, Miss, but Ah understand -t’ farm, and what Ah can do for ye Ah will.” - -Mat had strung himself up to this speech by a great effort, and he -reeled it off without any sort of pause, as if it had been an article -of faith that he had got by rote. Then he got up and gave a hopeless -look towards the door, as if that was his goal, and he was utterly -without an idea how to reach it. - -Olivia rose too, and turned towards the fire. Her impulsive nature was -so deeply moved by this rough but genuine friendliness that she had no -words ready to express her feelings. - -There was a pause, during which she heard the shuffling of Mat’s feet -upon floor as he prepared himself, with many throes, for another -rhetorical effort. As she at last turned towards him and again held out -her hand, he found his courage, and began-- - -“An’ wan moor thing Ah’d loike to say, Miss: doan’t you be afreeaid o’ -parson Brander, for all they may say. Of coorse, ye’ve heard t’ story; -t’ ill aboot a mon always cooms oot first. Maybe t’ story’s true; Ah -knaw nowt about that. But Ah do knaw that there’s ne’er a heart loike -his in t’ coontry side. An’ he’s done all t’ harm he’ll ever do to -anybody. An’--an’ he give me this note for ye, Miss, and Ah’ve given -it, and noo Ah’m going. Good-night, Miss.” - -With which abrupt farewell he made a countryman’s obeisance to her, and -sheered off with great promptitude. - -“Good-night. I shan’t forget what you’ve said,” Olivia called after -him, smiling. - -She sat down again to muse by the fire, holding the open letter still -in her hand; and after a few minutes, being utterly tired out with the -day’s work, she fell asleep. When she woke up she could not resist -an exclamation of horror, for she saw confronting her, in the dim -firelight, an ugly, grinning face, the owner of which broke into a peal -of hoarse laughter in enjoyment of the shock his presence caused her. -Starting to her feet, Olivia woke up to the full consciousness that the -ill-favored intruder was no other than her persecutor of two nights -before. While she was gathering up her forces for a withering speech, -Mr. Williams gave her a smile and a nod of friendly greeting. - -“You didn’t expect to see me, did you?” he began, in a perfectly -amicable tone. - -“I certainly did not. Nor can I say that I wished for that--honor,” -answered Olivia, with what ought to have been withering sarcasm. - -But Mr. Williams grinned on, entirely unmoved. - -“No; you thought you’d shut me up--choked me off for good, didn’t you? -Why, I’ve got brambles and splinters in every finger still. But I liked -you for it. Oh, I do like a girl of spirit! Why, there isn’t a girl -about the place I haven’t tried to annoy, and not one of them has had -the pluck to round on me as you did. But, then, look at your muscle, -you know,” he added, admiringly. - -“I’m exceeding grateful for your admiration, and I will try to deserve -it,” answered Olivia, briefly. - -She walked rapidly to the door, which she threw wide open with a -gesture of invitation to him to go out. Mr. Williams instantly got -behind an armchair. - -“No, no, I know you can throw me out if you want to, but just let me -stay and explain. Look what a shrimp I am compared with you. You can’t -mind me,” pleaded he. - -The sight of the little sandy man clinging to the back of the armchair, -and “dodging” any movement of hers which he imagined to be threatening, -caused Olivia’s just indignation to merge into a strong inclination to -laugh. She remained standing by the door, drawn up to her full height, -and said, very drily-- - -“I suppose it is of no use to talk to you about the feelings of a -gentleman. But perhaps you can understand this: I consider you an -odious person, and I wish you to go.” - -“That’s just the impression I wish to stay and remove,” said Mr. -Williams, blandly. - -“You won’t remove it by staying,” said Miss Denison. - -“As for the feelings of a gentleman,” pursued he, ignoring her -interpolation, “of course you are quite right. I haven’t got them; -I don’t know what they’re like, and I don’t want to. I’m a hopeless -little cad, if you like, though nobody but you and the parson would -dare to call me so, because I’m coming in to a hundred and eighty -thousand pounds. Doesn’t it make your mouth water--£180,000? It does -make a difference, don’t it, say what you like, in the way you look at -a fellow?” - -“It does,” said Miss Denison. “It makes one shudder to think of so much -money being in the hands of a person who is not competent to make a -right use of half a crown.” - -“Why, I never thought of it in that light,” said the gentleman, leaning -over the back of the armchair, and caressing his chin musingly. “But, -look here, I may marry, and she will think she knows how to make a -right use of it, I’ll warrant.” - -This speech he accompanied by a look which was meant to be full of arch -meaning. Miss Denison took no notice either of speech or look. - -“Now, are you going--of your own accord?” she asked firmly, and rather -menacingly. - -“I don’t know how you ever expect to get married if you cut a fellow so -short when he’s getting near the brink of a proposal.” - -“Now, are you going?” - -“Yes, yes,” said he, hastily, as she made one step towards him; “I’m -going. Though I don’t see why I should be the only man turned out, when -I’ll bet I’m the only one with matrimonial intentions.” - -“You don’t consider that you are the only one with the audacity to spy -upon me and to enter this house like a burglar.” - -“Now how did you guess that? Why, you must have been only shamming -sleep then, when I hung on to the window-sill outside, and saw you -looking so invitingly like Cinderella that I was obliged to come in to -get a nearer view.” - -Miss Denison was breathless with indignation. He continued-- - -“As for spying, I’m not the only one. I’ve caught the parson prowling -about here these two evenings. And, look here, of course I saw from the -first you liked him better than me, and now you have heard the story -about him, no doubt you think him more interesting than ever. But I -don’t intend to be snubbed for a murderer. And so I tell you this, Miss -Denison: if you are any more civil to him than you are to me, I’ll just -spread abroad something I know and that nobody else knows, and that -is: how he disposed of the body of the first poor girl who was unlucky -enough to have anything to do with him. And perhaps that will stop you -from being the second.” - -With these words Mr. Williams came out from his place of refuge behind -the armchair, and keeping at a respectful distance from the fair but -stalwart arm which he had already learnt to fear, sidled out of the -room with a swaggering bow. He looked back, however, when he was safely -outside the door. - -“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “I shall make you another offer some day; -perhaps half a dozen. They’ll come to be your one amusement in this -hole.” - -With this delightful promise, Mr. Frederick Williams opened the front -door and let himself out, leaving his involuntary hostess unable to -distinguish which feeling was strongest in her breast--amusement or -disgust at an impudence which she might well consider unparalleled. - -And that vague, insolent threat of his, what did it mean? Could he -really know anything about the mystery concerning the girl Ellen -Mitchell? - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -There was no denying that the arrival of these two spirited young -women had caused a great flutter among the bachelors of Rishton and -its neighborhood. For it is to be noted that if, on the one hand, the -remarkable beauty of the mistress attracted the attentions of the -_elite_ of the male population, the rosy cheeks and saucy independence -of the maid began very soon to make havoc in humbler masculine hearts, -so that by the time Sunday came round, and with it the great weekly -gathering time, the whole village was in a mild ferment of excitement -over the prospect of a close inspection of the strangers--and in their -best clothes. - -The little church stood on the very summit of the hill on the slope -of which one side of the village lay. Its foundations and part of its -walls were very ancient; but after having been allowed to fall into -neglect and decay, it had been carefully restored, under its present -vicar, into a faultlessly trim and yet picturesque little building, the -fanciful gray stone tower of which could be seen from the Matherham -high road, rising like a coronet above the trees which grew thickly -on the crest of the hill. The churchyard was kept like a garden. One -of its gates led to the Vicarage, one end of which overlooked it; -a second led through fields by a long and circuitous route down to -the village; the third and principal entrance opened on to a little -green, well shaded by trees, on which, close under the churchyard -wall, the old village stocks, green with damp and a trifle infirm from -age and neglect, stolidly survived its time of active service. A long -two-storeyed cottage, green with untrimmed ivy and yew trees, which -were suffered to overshadow the small willows, stood at right angles -with the Vicarage, facing the green. Leaning over the wall of the front -garden was a weather-beaten board, bearing the information that the -cottage was “To let.” - -When Olivia, attended by the faithful Lucy, arrived at the church on -Sunday morning, she was at once accosted by the clerk, a small and -sanctimonious-looking old man, who smelt of spirits, and inducted into -a seat, close under the pulpit, which was, he informed her in a low -whisper, “the ’all pew.” It was too far forward for Olivia to be able -to see many of her fellow-worshippers, but one party, occupying the -opposite pew to her, could not fail to catch her eye. It consisted of -two very showily dressed young women, who entered with much rustling -and whispering, and were a long time settling themselves; of a much -younger brother and sister, whom they hustled into a very small corner -of the pew; and of Mat Oldshaw, who occupied the outside seat, and who -appeared to be bashfully conscious the whole time of Miss Denison’s -presence, though he never once dared to look in her direction. - -Olivia was one of the first of the congregation to arrive, and in the -interval before the service commenced, she could not help regarding -with some interest such of her new neighbors as came within her range -of vision. The Oldshaw family, with the exception of Mat, she knew -she should not like, but in a large pew in front of them sat a lady -whose appearance attracted her greatly. She was not very young or very -pretty; she was dressed with great simplicity in a dark costume and -a long seal-skin jacket; and the word by which a stranger would have -described her was “lady-like.” It was impossible to help contrasting -her with the two fidgety women behind; and Olivia was growing more and -more sure that she should like to know her when, to her surprise, she -suddenly heard a loud, hoarse whisper, “Here, gee up, Soosan,” and -looking round, she saw the quiet-looking lady move up the pew at the -behest of the odious Frederick Williams. - -As Olivia turned her head, she met this young man’s admiring eyes -turned upon her with their usual vacant stare. He was attired this -morning like the “swell” of the comic scenes of a pantomime, the -salient points of his costume being an overcoat lined with otter, a -pink-striped shirt, light gaiters, and brick-colored gloves. Olivia -fancied also that he had had his hair curled. He bestowed upon Miss -Denison a nod, a smile, and a wink, and appeared quite unabashed by -the fact that she vouchsafed him no sign of recognition in return. -He ensconced himself in the outer corner of the pew, and watched her -persistently until a heavy and measured tread up the aisle, followed by -short, pattering steps, announced two new comers, and he had to make -way for an elderly couple whom Olivia rightly guessed to be his parents. - -Not that they bore any but the faintest family likeness to Olivia’s -dashing admirer. The gentleman was an erect and handsome man of -sixty or more, pompous and dignified; his wife was short, stout, -good-humored-looking, and well dressed. Just as she noticed these facts -the church bells ceased ringing, and a small choir of surpliced boys -came out of the vestry, followed by Mr. Vernon Brander. - -“Isn’t he a dear?” Miss Denison heard one of the fidgety ladies whisper -to the other, enthusiastically. - -Mr. Brander conducted the service with no assistance but that of the -choir and the clerk, who was evidently a privileged person; for he put -everybody out who was within a dozen feet of his nasal voice. Olivia -was impressed by the sermon, but she was hardly sure whether the -impression was altogether favorable. For the preacher did not speak “as -one having authority,” but rather as the servant than the teacher of -his hearers; as one who was bound to keep them in mind of truths which -they knew already, rather than as one who held up their duty before -them with all the weight of a respected and honored pastor. - -When the service was over, Olivia lingered a little in the churchyard, -looking at the gravestones, not unwilling to give the much-discussed -Mr. Brander an opportunity of proving that no rumors could affect -her behavior to one who had been kind to her; but he would not -avail himself of it. On coming out of the church, which he did with -extraordinary little delay, Mr. Brander seemed purposely to avoid -glancing towards the spot where she was standing, but at once, with -quick steps, made for the gate at which the lady, whose appearance had -attracted Olivia, was waiting. Her party, including the ill-mannered -Frederick, had gone, as they had come, without her. - -Olivia, who, like all young girls, could see a great deal without -looking, knew that the clergyman and the lady were talking about her, -and she would not pass out at the gate while they stood there. So she -continued her inspection of the tombstones, with a heart beating rather -faster than usual, for the very few minutes that the _tete-a-tete_ -lasted. Now, surely, she might have a chance of speaking to him; in -common civility he would come, if only, as his note expressed it “as -his brother’s representative,” to ask how she was getting on with her -furnishing, and whether her friends were coming soon to relieve her of -her responsibilities. He passed quite near to her on his way to the -Vicarage gate. She raised her head with a smile and a heightened color, -ready to give him her prettiest greeting; but he looked away with a -persistency which she could no longer doubt was intentional, and it was -with a blush of the deepest mortification that Olivia, whose burning -eyes no longer saw inscriptions, or tombstones, or anything but a -particularly tactless and unobservant clergyman, whose conduct in not -allowing her to lessen her obligation to him by an expression of her -gratitude was, Olivia felt, highly reprehensible. She was so hurt, so -indignant, that when the pleasant-looking lady, who stood by the gate -and watched her approach, made a movement forward as if to address the -young stranger, Olivia turned her head stiffly away. She would give no -opening to the friend of the man who had so deeply offended her. - -But anger in Olivia’s breast was a feeling which could not last. Before -she was half-way down the hill she was sorry for her hasty action and -ashamed of her disappointment. With the exaggerated feeling of an -impulsive young girl, she blamed herself as ungracious and ungrateful, -and decided that the avoidance of a man as kindly and chivalrous as -Mr. Brander had proved himself to be could only proceed from the most -honorable motives. - -The observant Lucy, perhaps, detected a lightening of the cloud on her -young mistress’ face, for, at this point of the latter’s reflections, -she broke the silence she had discreetly kept since leaving the -churchyard. - -“It’s a lot to do to take the service here in the morning, and at St. -Cuthbert’s in the afternoon, and a young men’s class four miles away at -night, isn’t it, ma’am?” she asked, glibly. - -Lucy had already collected as much local information as if she had -been settled in Rishton three months, and could have enlightened -Miss Denison on a good many points of local gossip if she had been -encouraged to do so. - -“Why, who does all that, Lucy?” - -“Mr. Brander, ma’am. He holds a meeting of colliers belonging to some -pit at night, and he says ‘he goes to them because they wouldn’t all -come to him.’” - -Olivia looked at her in astonishment. Here was the little maid quoting -with perfect confidence the clergyman’s own words. - -“But how did you pick up all this information?” - -“Oh, one hears things, ma’am,” said Lucy, who was an inveterate -gossip, but who did not care to own that butcher, grocer, old woman at -the village shop, nay, even the small boy who brought the afternoon -ha’porth of milk from Mrs. Briggs’, who kept a cow at the other end -of the village, all were laid under contribution to keep her well -informed. “And they do say, Miss Olivia, that the difference between -St. Cuthbert’s Church and this is something which must be seen to be -believed,” she added. - -Miss Denison said nothing to this. She herself was longing to see St. -Cuthbert’s, and would have found out the place and gone to service -there that very afternoon if a feeling of shyness had not restrained -her. Church once a day had always been enough for her at Streatham; -therefore it could only be curiosity which was urging her to break -through her custom now, she said to herself. So she stayed at home that -afternoon and wrote reluctantly enough to her father to tell him that -everything was ready for the arrival of the rest of the family. If only -Mrs. Denison would take it into her head that the air of Yorkshire was -too keen for her sensitive frame, and would allow papa to come without -her, what a happy life they two might lead together, thought Olivia. -She loved her easy-going father passionately, and as passionately -resented the subjection in which he was kept by his second wife; but -her utopian dream was not to be fulfilled. On the Wednesday following -she received a long letter from her step-mother, announcing that they -would all arrive next day, and giving rambling but minute directions as -to the preparation for their coming. - -Olivia put down the letter with a sigh, called Lucy, and in a doleful -voice informed her that the reign of peace and freedom was nearly over. -The little maid’s face fell. - -“Lor, Miss Olivia, how she will fuss and worrit, to make up for not -having been able to get at us for a week!” was her first comment. - -“Well, we must try to give her no cause,” said Olivia, trying to keep -grave. - -“She’d find cause to grumble, Miss, if she was in heaven, and we was -all angels a flying about of her errands. I’ll warrant before she’s -been in the house ten minutes she’ll take a fancy to the scullery for -her bedroom, and say that we ought to have made this room the coal -cellar,” said Lucy with ill-humor that was not all affected. - -There was enough truth in the girl’s comic sketch for Olivia to give -a sigh at the prospect, though she stifled it instantly, and started -briskly on a tour of the house to see whether she had left any loophole -for complaints on the part of her step-mother. She could find none. She -had prepared the largest and best room for her father and Mrs. Denison; -the next best for the two children; the third in order of merit she -had fitted up as a spare room, leaving only two little rooms scarcely -larger than cupboards, the one for herself, and the other for her -brother Ernest, on his rare visits. The two rooms in the wing she left -unappropriated and untouched, not from any superstitious scruples, for -she would have liked the larger one for herself; but she knew if she -were to take possession of it, her step-mother would certainly never -cease “nagging” at her for helping herself to so spacious a room. - -Thursday morning came, and Olivia rose with a doleful sense that the -fun and the freedom of the week were nearly over. Her energies had -found delightful vent in the unaccustomed work and responsibility; -she began to feel that even if she had been still in the old home at -Streatham, a contented return to lawn tennis and crewel work would have -been impossible. Would Mrs. Denison, who was lazy as well as fretful, -and who would now have to do without a housekeeper, be inclined to -trust her with the reins of management? As Olivia had always until -now been known to have the utmost horror of any household duties, she -was not without a hope that, if she kept secret the change in her own -feelings, Mrs. Denison might herself make some such proposal, being -amiably anxious to make those around her feel as acutely as she did -herself the alteration in the family fortunes. - -They were to arrive about six o’clock. Olivia, who was only anxious -to see her father, would not go to meet them. She would get old papa -all to himself in the evening, and have a long talk, and tell him all -her adventures. He was not himself while within range of the querulous -voice and cold eyes of his second wife. Olivia thought she would have -a very early dinner and a long walk to brace herself for her fall from -autocracy. So at two o’clock she was on the Sheffield Road, walking -fast against a keen wind, under a leaden sky that promised snow -within a few hours. She did not care for that. Protected by a hooded -waterproof and a thick pair of boots, the healthy girl was quite ready -to do battle with rain, snow, or wind; and the object of her walk was -quite interesting enough for her to think little of the cold. - -Olivia was going to St. Cuthbert’s. She knew where the church was. -She had seen its dilapidated, patched-up tower, a very marvel of -make-shift architecture, far away on the plain below her as she walked -to Matherham by the longest and prettiest road. After walking for -about a mile and a half along this road, which was on high ground and -afforded a wide view of hill and plain, she had only to turn to the -left and descend the hill by a steep and narrow lane, and walk on until -she came to it. A feeling of shyness brought the bright blood to the -girl’s cheeks as she turned into the lane. She hoped she should not -meet Mr. Brander. The whisper of one of the Misses Oldshaw in church on -Sunday had made known that it was the fashion among a section of the -village ladies to worship him; and Miss Denison, having always held -“curate adorers” in stern and lofty contempt, was most anxious not to -be confounded with that class. It was just the time, however, when she -thought an active clergyman would be going his rounds in the parish. - -She had indeed met no one the whole way except a lame tramp, who was -approaching her along the Sheffield Road as she turned into the lane. -The whole country-side seemed to be asleep except for the occasional -distant shriek of a railway engine as it disappeared between the hills -a mile away. - -At last Olivia drew near to the church and the Vicarage, standing -together, with no other buildings near, on a slightly rising ground -in the centre of the plain. The Vicarage came first. It was a large, -plain, hideous house, like a great stone box, sheltered by no ivy -and no trees, with an uncared-for square of garden in front of it, -and a plain stone wall all round. Only three of the windows in the -front part of the house were curtained; the rest were blank and bare, -as if the place had been uninhabited. Close to the garden wall came -the churchyard, a mildewed wilderness in which broken and displaced -headstones had been suffered to take what positions they pleased, and -lay flat, or stood sideways, or leaned against each other without -hindrance. The church itself was the most extraordinary pile Olivia -had ever seen. It was built of stone, and very, very old and ruinous. -But no care, no taste, no skill had been for years employed in its -restoration. As harm came to it from wear or weather, it had simply -been repaired in the cheapest and speediest way with whatever substance -came first to hand. Thus, the glass of one window, having been -irretrievably damaged, had been replaced by bricks, which filled up the -blank spaces between the scarcely injured tracery. In the early years -of the century, a storm had brought down the central tower, which in -its fall, had crushed through the roof of the south aisle, breaking -through the outer wall and making one-third of the whole church an -almost shapeless ruin. As that storm had left it, so through sixty -years it had remained, with only this difference, that the shattered -tower had been brought up to the height of a few feet above the roof -with irregular layers of wood and brick and stone, and surmounted by -a pointed roof of slate; while the spaces between the arches on the -southern side of the nave had been bricked up to form an outer wall to -the church, leaving the ruined aisle outside, exposed to every chance -of wind and weather. At the south-east corner, a portion of the roof, -no longer either very solid or very safe, still kept in its place. At -the south-west angle a rough hole in the ground and a dozen rude and -broken steps had formerly led into a small crypt with a vaulted roof, -which extended about half-way under the southern aisle; but the opening -having, not without reason, been declared dangerous, had been filled -up, ten years ago, with bricks and stones and earth, over which the -grass and weeds had now grown. - -The gate of the churchyard was locked; but Olivia was not going to be -deterred by such an obstacle from the closer inspection her curiosity -craved. Choosing a place where the high stone wall had irregularities -on its rough surface large enough to afford a footing, she climbed to -the top, and let herself down with a jump among the gravestones on the -other side. The three doors of the church were also locked; this she -had expected. She made the tour of the building very slowly, trying to -decipher the dates on the weather-beaten headstones. Before she had -gone half-way round, the snow, which had been threatening all day, -began to fall in large flakes, so that, by the time she again reached -the ruined aisle, Olivia was glad to take shelter under the remaining -bit of the old roof. This formed a very complete place of refuge; for a -sort of inner buttress had been formed with some of the loose stones, -which supported the remaining portions of wall and roof, and made the -enclosed corner safe from wind or rain. She was debating whether it -would not be wiser to make the best of her way home at once, in spite -of the snow, before the short day began to draw in, when she heard the -key turn in the lock of the gate, and, peeping between the stones, saw -the Reverend Vernon Brander enter, and, leaving the gate open behind -him, disappear round the west end of the church. From his grave, stern, -absorbed expression, Olivia guessed that he was unaware of the presence -of another human being. In a few minutes she heard the rattle of the -key in the lock of the north-west door of the church, and then Mr. -Brander’s tread, on the stone floor inside. - -Olivia did not wish to see him. She decided to wait a few minutes, in -case he should only have gone in to fetch something; she could hear -him walking about, opening the ventilators of some of the windows, and -closing those of others; then for a few minutes she heard no further -sound. She would escape now, while he was engaged inside. Just as she -was drawing the hood over her hat, preparing for a smart walk back -through the snow, she caught sight of another figure at the gate, whom -she recognized as the lame tramp she had seen near the entrance of -the lane. He was a man whose age it was impossible to determine, with -coarse features, and an expression not devoid of intelligence. He had a -wooden leg and walked moreover with the aid of a stick. - -Olivia was so much struck by the expression of vivid interest and -curiosity with which he scanned every object round him, from the -shambling tower above to the gravestones at his feet, that, instead -of coming out from her shelter, she remained watching him, convinced -that the place had some special interest for him. That interest her -mind connected, with a lightning flash of vivid perception, with the -story of Nellie Mitchell’s disappearance. The man came towards the -ruined aisle, treading more slowly and cautiously with every step, and -gradually turning his attention entirely to the ground on which he -trod. He did not come so far as the roofed corner, but suddenly turned -his steps back in the direction of the blocked-up entrance to the -crypt. Against the roughly piled stones he struck his stick sharply, -with an abrupt exclamation in a loud and grating voice. - -Just at the moment he uttered this, Mr. Brander appeared round the -western corner. His pale face turned to a livid color and his lips -twitched convulsively at sight of the man, whom he appeared instantly -to recognize. The tramp, on his side, took matters much more lightly. -Saluting the clergymen with a touch of his cap, he said, in a voice -which became hoarse in his endeavor to make it mysterious-- - -“Eh, Maister Brander, but it’s a long time since we’ve met. Eleven year -come next seventh of July.” - -Olivia held her breath; the seventh of July was the date of Nellie -Mitchell’s disappearance. She would have given the world to run away, -to escape hearing what she knew must be a confession; but there was no -way out except by passing the two men. Brave as she was Olivia dared -not face them. She shrank back in her corner and vainly tried not to -hear. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -There was a long pause after the tramp had addressed Mr. Brander. In -spite of herself, Olivia found herself at last holding her breath with -impatience to hear the clergyman’s answer. She would not look at him, -although through the gaps in the rough stonework she might easily have -done so; but her hands, with which she had at first tried to stop her -ears, fell down at her sides. When at last he spoke, Mr. Brander’s -voice was low and husky, affected by some strong feeling. - -“Yes, Abel, it’s a long time--a very long time.” - -The blood rushed to Olivia’s face, and her cold hands stole together; -there was something in the vicar’s voice which told so clearly of years -of keen suffering that a great throb of pity wrung the girl’s heart; -and she hoped, as eagerly as if the matter had affected her personally, -that this tramp would keep his secret. - -“Ay,” said Abel, in whose tones, to do him justice, there was no -malignity. “Ah’ve kept ma word, parson. Ah promised ye that neeght as -Ah’d go on straight wi’out resting hereabouts. An’ on Ah went, and Ah -nivver said nowt, and Ah’ve nivver been nigh t’ pleace from that day to -this. Now that’s straight dealin’, parson, arn’t it?” - -“Yes, Abel; I always knew you for a straight man.” - -Mr. Brander spoke gravely and appreciatively, but there was no undue -humility in his tone, as of a man demanding mercy. Abel resumed. - -“Ay, parson, so I be. Ah’m not mooch of a Christian, as tha knaws, an’ -if so be a mon treats ma ill, Ah loike to be even wi’ him. But if so -be a mon treats ma fair, Ah treat him fair beck. An’ tha’s treated ma -more nor fair, parson, mony’s the time. An’ so, when tha says, ‘Shut -tha mooth an’ mak’ nae guesses,’ Ah shuts ma mooth, an’ Ah doan’t guess -nowt.” - -“What brings you here now, then?” asked Mr. Brander, abruptly, with -perceptible anxiety in his tone. - -“Weel, parson, tha knaws Ah wur born and bred hereaboots. An’ though Ah -been fond o’ trampin’ it i’ ma time, Ah’m not so spry-like as Ah wur, -an’ Ah’d like to settle in t’ pleace where Ah wur bred.” - -“You’ve saved some money, then?” asked Mr. Brander as sharply as before. - -“Not so mooch, not so mooch, mester, but Ah doan’t count to end ma days -in an eight-roomed villa, like t’ gentlefowk.” - -There was a pause, and then the vicar spoke in a constrained tone, in -which the effort to repress some strong feeling was more manifest than -ever. - -“And if I ask you not to settle here, Abel, but to pitch your tent for -the remainder of your days somewhere else, what would you do? Come, I -don’t want to throw in your face what I’ve done for you, but what would -you do?” - -Olivia heard the man clearing his throat undecidedly, and kicking with -his wooden leg against the gravestones. - -“You doan’t trust ma, parson, an’ it’s a bit hard, after howdin’ ma -tongue nigh eleven year. Eh, but if Ah’d wanted to ha’ spoke, wadn’t Ah -ha’ spoke afore now?” - -“If you had wanted to speak about the business, I should never have -wasted my breath asking you not to,” said Mr. Brander with decision. -“I trust you, Abel, as much as one man may trust another. But judging -you as I should judge myself, I say it would be impossible for you to -live in this neighborhood, where that night’s occurrences are still -continually being raked up and discussed, without its leaking out that -you were here on that night, and that you met me. That, as you know, I -wish to keep secret.” - -“But, parson,” began the man slowly, in a troubled tone---- - -Mr. Brander interrupted him. - -“Now we’ve nothing further to discuss, Abel. I want the whole story -forgotten.” - -“But it’s not a whole story, Mester Brander, an’ that’s why it nivver -will be forgotten. It’s a mystery to all but--to ivverybody; an’ until -t’ fowk knaw what become o’ Nellie Mitchell, a mystery it’ll be, an’ -they’ll talk aboot it. Why, parson, dost knaw t’ tales as goes round?” - -“What do tales matter as long as they are only idle ones?” said Mr. -Brander, hastily. “Now, Abel Squires, which is it to be? Is the parson -to have his way, or has he been wasting his breath?” - -“He maun ha’ his way, Ah reckon: but Ah tell thee, parson, it’s all no -use. It’ll be none o’ ma doin’, but--murder will oot, tha knaws.” - -He dropped his voice to a low, portentous whisper for the last words. - -“Murder!” echoed Mr. Blander, also in a low voice. “What are you -talking about? Didn’t I tell you it was not murder?” - -“Ay, that tha did,” said Abel, rather drily. - -“And did you see anything?” - -“Weel, not that neeght, but next day----” - -“Ah!” ejaculated Mr. Brander, sharply. “Then you didn’t keep your word; -you didn’t go straight on!” - -The man’s answer came deliberately. - -“Ah went straight on that neeght, mester, as Ah towd tha Ah would. But -Ah coom back next mornin’. It wur only human natur’; an’ Ah took a look -round. Ay! parson, Ah hid summat as would ha towd a tale.” - -“What was that?” asked Mr. Brander, slowly, and, as it seemed, with -difficulty. - -“There wur marks on those steps down to t’ crypt as is now blocked oop. -An’ down at t’ bottom. An’ Ah tramped ’em oot. An’ there war marks in -other pleace as Ah made away. An’ it wur all for ye, parson, for Ah -thowt of what ye’d done for ma when Ah wur ill and nobody to care for -ma, an’ Ah did what Ah could.” - -“You’re a good fellow, Abel,” said Mr. Brander, huskily, after a few -moments’ pause. “And you’ve been a good friend to me.” - -“Ah, Mester Brander, but Ah’d ha’ liked to ha’ served ye a better way,” -said the man, who seemed affected in his turn. - -The vicar silenced him with a peremptory “Sh-sh.” Then he said-- - -“You won’t be able to get far to-night on foot. It will be snowing -heavily in an hour from now. You must get home by train to-night.” - -Olivia guessed that he must have put money into the man’s hand, for -Abel Squires answered reluctantly-- - -“Ah doan’t tak’ it for howding ma tongue, parson. But if ye want ma to -go further, it’s but fair ye should pay for it. Here’s good-day to you, -sir, and may you nivver----” - -The voices were growing fainter. Olivia peeped between the stones for -the first time, and saw that the oddly assorted couple were making -their way among the ruined gravestones to the gate, where the vicar -shook hands with the tramp, who went back up the lane towards the -Sheffield road as fast as his wooden leg would let him. Mr. Brander -stood at the gate until long after Abel had disappeared from sight at a -bend of the lane. His back was towards Olivia, and all that she could -see was that he remained extraordinarily still. The snow, which from -a few feathery flakes had gradually thickened into a blinding storm, -grew at last so dense that no mental abstraction could shut it out. -The vicar suddenly threw back his head, and apparently taking in the -fact that he was getting wet through, gave himself a violent shake to -get rid of the white covering which already enveloped him, turned and -walked rapidly back to the church. - -As soon as Olivia heard the rattle of the lock, she sprang out of her -shelter, struggling with her umbrella as she went, hurried over the -uneven ground within the ruined aisle, where a few minutes before Mr. -Brander and the tramp had been standing, and steering rapidly and -neatly between the broken and scattered tombstones, reached the gate -in very few seconds. As she flitted quickly through, however, a gust -of wind blew the skirt of her waterproof against the bars of the gate, -which swung to behind her with a loud creaking noise. She ran on, and -in a minute was out of sight to any one at the church door, hidden by -the churchyard wall. But Mr. Brander, hearing the noise, and being -naturally rather startled by the idea that some one had been about -during his very private conversation with Squires, was too quick for -her. He was out of the church and on the track of the intruder before -she had got many steps up the lane. She was just past the bend when he -suddenly came up with her. One umbrellaed and waterproofed woman in a -snowstorm is so like another that he had not the slightest idea who his -quarry was until he had passed her and turned to look back. As he did -so he caught sight of her face, and instantly stopped. - -Olivia stopped too, and holding back her umbrella, met his glance -with a frank, straight gaze. He raised his hat, seemed about to speak -to her, but hesitated. She smiled and held out her hand. He saw at -once that this was not the ordinary greeting of an acquaintance she -was tendering him. The muscles about her mouth were quivering, and -her eyes, as they met his for a moment before dropping modestly, were -luminous with generous feeling, maidenly shame struggling with womanly -sympathy. Mr. Brander took her hand with some constraint. As he touched -it, however, something in the firm clasp of the girl’s fingers gave him -confidence. - -“Miss Denison,” he said, gravely, while his keen black eyes seemed to -read the thoughts in her brain before they were uttered, “you have been -in the churchyard. Where were you?” - -The blood, which was already crimson in Olivia’s cheeks, mounted to her -forehead, until her whole face was aglow. Her eyes fell, and it was in -a low, almost faltering, voice that she answered. - -“I was in the ruined part of the church--where the roof is left.” - -Mr. Brander was startled by this confession. He did not at once speak, -being evidently occupied in trying to recall the very words of the -conversation she must have overheard. But he soon gave up that attempt, -and asked, impatiently-- - -“Then you heard--what?” - -Olivia’s breath come almost in sobs, as she answered at once, with bent -head, and almost in a whisper-- - -“I heard nearly all you said--you and the man. I am very, very sorry -and ashamed, and I ask your pardon. But I did not dare to come out -while you were there. I hoped to get away without your seeing me.” - -“But what did I say? What did he say? What did you understand by it -all?” asked he, so eagerly that he almost seemed to be bullying her. - -“Oh, I don’t know. Pray don’t ask me. I don’t want to remember. I would -rather forget it all. I never meant that a word about it should pass my -lips, and it will not after this,” said she, hurriedly without looking -up. - -Mr. Brander said nothing to this at first, and Olivia, raising her head -to steal a look at his face, judged by his expression that he was in -the throes of some terrible mental struggle, the outcome of which would -be some passionate outburst. But he recovered command of himself, and -when he at last spoke to her, it was in a very quiet voice. - -“I am keeping you standing in the snow, Miss Denison; I must not do -that. But we must come to a word of understanding now; it will put us -on a right footing for the future.” - -“You need not say another word to me, Mr. Brander,” interrupted Olivia, -vehemently. “The understanding between us is clear enough; you are a -most warm-hearted gentleman, and have shown me more delicate kindness -than I ever received in my life; I am, and shall be as long as you let -me, your grateful friend. What understanding do you want more than -that?” - -Her clear young voice rang out with enthusiastic warmth, which threw -the clergyman off his balance. He began to tremble like a leaf, and -again his thin, mobile face showed signs of the emotion within him. But -he still kept it under restraint, and spoke in a perfectly steady voice. - -“Thank you; I expected generosity from you. But--do you quite -understand the position I am in, I wonder? Did you understand that -man--that tramp--is keeping a secret for me?” - -“Yes,” answered Olivia, steadily. - -“And you are aware of its nature?” - -The girl drew a deep breath, but she answered bravely, though in a low -voice, “Yes.” - -“And after that, and after hearing everything that you have heard, that -you must have heard, about this miserable story, you still are ready to -call yourself--my friend?” - -He kept his voice at the same quiet pitch, but on the last two words it -broke a little. There was a pause of only a few seconds. - -Then Olivia answered in a veritable whisper, but with the same sweet -and dignified seriousness, “Yes, Mr. Brander.” - -She might reasonably have expected some acknowledgement of the -gracious, womanly daring of this speech; but instead of giving any sign -of gratitude, Mr. Brander, to her astonishment, turned upon her quite -sharply. - -“Well, that’s quixotic, illogical, pretty perhaps from a -boarding-school young lady’s point of view, but not worthy of a woman -of sense.” - -Olivia was surprised, but she was true woman enough to have her answer. - -“I think I can justify it,” she said, holding her head back rather -obstinately. - -“Very well. Justify yourself for being ready to make friends with a man -believed to have committed a very atrocious and cowardly murder.” - -Olivia looked at him full and earnestly. - -“I don’t believe----” she began, doubtfully. - -“You don’t believe what?” - -“That you--ever--did it.” - -“Because I have the assurance to take the bull by the horns, waylay -you, and insist upon coming to an explanation?” - -“No--o, not because of that.” - -“Why then?” - -Olivia continued to gaze at him as solemnly as if she had been a judge -passing sentence. - -“It is very difficult to say quite why,” she began, deliberately. “They -say women hardly ever can say why they believe a thing.” - -“Is that all your answer?” - -“No,” she replied rather sharply, beginning to be a little annoyed -at the irony in his tone. “They have never proved it, for one thing -although they tried. And--how can a man have changed so in ten years?” - -“The first is a reason; the other is not. But you have just seen with -your own eyes the only witness to my actions on that night, and heard -with your own ears that he has not been in the neighborhood since.” - -Olivia assented. - -“Then you say, ‘How can a man have changed so much in ten years?’ -But I tell you I have changed so much in that time that, except for -externals, I might pass for a different man. Now what becomes of your -reasons for thinking me innocent?” - -“I will believe you did it if you tell me so, of course,” said Olivia -quietly. - -“And what then?” - -“What then? I shall be sorry again, and puzzled.” - -“And you will withdraw all those pretty professions of friendship?” - -Olivia debated with herself for a few moments only. Then she answered, -vehemently, in a strong voice-- - -“No. You were my friend--a very good friend too--before I heard -anything against you. You were good to us, as I hear you are good to -everybody. When you met that man in the churchyard just now, you spoke -like a brave man, and not like a coward. I hear from every one about -the noble, self-denying life you lead. If you didn’t do it you are -almost a martyr; if--if you did, you are expiating what you did in -a manner which justifies our respect. Now if you call these women’s -reasons, I don’t care; they are good enough for me, Mr. Brander.” - -“And for me, too, Miss Denison. I----” - -He tried to keep his voice under proper command. But educated to -self-control by long years as he was, he gave way under the unexpected -rush of warm and generous feeling. A choking in his throat checked his -utterance; his keen eyes grew moist and dim. He saw, as in a mist, a -hand held out to him, and seizing it, he wrung it in a pressure which -made Olivia wince. - -“Look here,” he said at last, in a voice still husky, while he -continued to hold her fingers in a strong nervous clasp; “I have -nothing to say to you; no confession, no explanation, nothing. But you -are a grand girl--a grand girl.” - -He released her hand suddenly, as if with an effort, and then at once -struggled into his usual manner. - -“You’re half frozen with standing in the cold (a very just penalty for -eavesdropping, by the way), and you’ll be half buried before you get -back. I must see you home.” - -“Oh, no, indeed, I’m not going to drag you all that way on a day like -this.” - -“But I choose to be dragged. You rash young woman, accustomed to the -peaceful security of Streatham; you must learn that it is not safe for -a young lady to tramp about this part of the world alone so late in the -day.” - -“But it’s not late.” - -“It will be dark before you get home. Go on up the hill, and I will -fetch my mackintosh and overtake you.” - -He went into his bare-looking house while Olivia tramped on obediently. -She had not noticed, until then, how thickly the snowflakes were -falling, nor how the gloom of the leaden sky was deepening. Now, too, -she became aware, for the first time, that her jaws were stiff, and her -hands and feet bitterly cold; for the interview with Mr. Brander had -been too exciting to allow her to notice these things. He overtook her -in a very few minutes, and walked by her side, conversing on different -topics, until that scene by the churchyard scarcely seemed a reality. -They passed only one person, a rough-looking collier of unsteady gait, -whom Mr. Brander made use of to point a moral. - -“Now, is that the sort of person you would care to meet if you were -alone?” he asked. - -“I shouldn’t have been afraid of him,” answered Olivia. - -“No; if he had been sober he would have been vastly afraid of you, -and of most girls I should say. So he is when he’s drunk. But your -courage doesn’t want stimulating; it wants repressing. For I tell you -my collier boys are good lads in the main, but there are black sheep -among them as among other folk, and you mustn’t risk falling in with -one towards nightfall on a lonely road. Do you hear?” - -He spoke with playful peremptoriness, but Olivia understood that he -was giving a serious warning, which she promised to heed. He went on -talking about the colliers, who formed the bulk of the inhabitants -of his scattered parish, with affectionate interest which awakened -a sympathetic curiosity in her, until they reached the inn at the -entrance of Rishton village. Mr. Brander had grown so warm over what -Olivia afterwards discovered to be his favorite subject that, quite -unconsciously, his steps, and consequently hers, had grown slower and -slower, while his voice grew more and more eager until a passer-by -would have taken them for a pair of lovers reluctant to separate. They -had come to a complete standstill in the farmyard by the corner of the -house, when they heard the opening of the front door, a man’s footstep, -and then a woman’s strong shrill voice---- - -“It’s no use looking for her, Charles. She won’t be in yet. Olivia -never did care a straw for your comfort or for mine.” - -Olivia turned to Mr. Brander, and held out her hand with a doleful -shake of the head. - -“There,” she said, “isn’t that more eloquent than the longest -description? There’ll be an end to everything now she’s come!” - -Fortunately it had grown by this time so dark that under her umbrella -the hot blushes which mounted to Olivia’s cheeks as soon as this -speech had escaped her lips could not be seen. Giving Mr. Brander her -hand very hastily, and not leaving him time for something, he half -hesitated, but wanted to say, she turned, and with a hasty “Good-bye; -thank you very much for coming,” ran round towards the front of the -house. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -When Olivia had come as near as she could to the porch without being -seen from thence, she stopped, in the hope that Mrs. Denison, who -was still grumbling at her step-daughter’s non-appearance, would go -indoors, and give her a chance of enveloping her father in a warm hug, -and of snatching a stolen interview with him unknown to the ruling -powers. - -In a few moments, to the girl’s great delight, Mrs. Denison said, -impatiently, “Well, I can’t stand here in the snow, just because your -daughter chooses to insult me by absenting herself when I am expected.” - -“My dear, my dear,” expostulated papa’s mild tones, “Olivia is the -best creature in the world. She wouldn’t think of insulting you or -anybody. But how could she guess that we should come by an earlier -train than the one we said?” - -“Well, I’m not going to catch cold even for the best creature in the -world, and I should advise you not to either. Are you coming in?” - -“Not directly, I think, my dear. I want a little air after that stuffy -railway carriage. And really, you know, those children do quarrel -so----” - -“If you want to go hunting for Olivia, say so; but don’t put it down to -the poor children,” said Mrs. Denison. - -And she went indoors, shutting the door with a nearer approach to a -“slam” than etiquette prescribes for a lady. - -No sooner was she safely inside than Olivia crept along under the lea -of the house wall, and springing up the worn steps at a bound, flung -down her umbrella, and threw her arms round her father’s neck like a -hungry young bear. - -“Good gracious, my dear, you’re quite wet and as cold as ice. You must -come inside and warm yourself.” - -“Oh, no, dear old papa--poor old papa; it’s warmer here outside. With -Beatrix and Regie fighting, and mamma at freezing point, the place must -be----” - -“Now you’ve been listening; that isn’t right.” - -“Yes, I have--all the afternoon--taking in all the private -conversations I could get near enough to overhear. I find it grows upon -one. But I can always tell what temper Mrs. Denison is in without any -listening.” - -“Now, Olivia, I won’t hear that. Your step-mother is the best of -women----” - -“Yes, papa, I know,” said Olivia, nodding gravely. - -Indeed she had heard that sentiment many scores of times, and she -supposed that by constant repetition her good-natured father hoped to -persuade himself that it was true. - -“And Regie and Beatrix are the best of children, aren’t they, old -papa?” she asked, gravely. - -He was quite distressed at not being able to reply truthfully in the -affirmative. - -“Well,” he said, “I’m sure they would be. Only somehow, I don’t know -how it is, they seem to get a little too much indulged, I think.” - -“Perhaps they do. I think they want a little more of your iron rule, -papa,” said Olivia, who was hanging on to his arm, lovingly patting his -cheek and turning up his coat collar and lavishing upon him all the -caressing little attentions he loved from his adored daughter’s hands. - -He began to laugh; her liveliness and demonstrative affection were -dispelling the gloomy forebodings which had hung upon him all day on -the entrance to this new and untried life. - -“You don’t treat me with proper respect, Olivia. If you are going to be -impudent, I shall take you indoors and get Mrs. Denison to talk to you.” - -“What mortal man may dare, you dare; but you don’t dare that,” said his -daughter, saucily. “Don’t you want to know how I’ve got on here all by -myself?” - -“Yes, but I’m afraid you’ll catch cold?” - -“No, I shan’t. The excitement of this stolen meeting with the king of -my heart will keep me warm. Besides, we’ll go in directly. Only when we -do, you know what it will be. Nag, nag--oh, no, I forgot; that word is -tabooed. I should say orate, orate, until all the ills that flesh is -heir to have been exhausted.” - -“What were you doing out on a day like this? You hadn’t gone to meet -us, had you?” - -“No-o, I hadn’t. I’d been to look at a church.” - -“That means that you’ve fallen in love with a parson.” - -“Papa, papa, how can you say such things--of me, too?” - -“Why, my dear child, I only spoke in fun. You don’t really suppose I -thought so meanly of you as that?” - -Olivia laughed with some constraint. If her father, who already had -a prejudice against the clergy, should hear the rumors about poor -Mr. Brander, nothing, short of entreaties which she would be ashamed -to use, would induce him to allow her to exchange another word with -the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s. And, in a neighborhood where the social -attractions were so few as at Rishton, the loss of an acquaintance -capable of intelligent conversation was a serious one. She grew silent, -and beginning to feel conscious of the cold, shivered. Her father -instantly opened the door and led her into the house. He could hear -his wife’s powerful voice as she chatted with one of the servants in -the dining-room. Mrs. Denison was one of those women who confide much -in their servants, without extracting any confidence worth having -in return. She dropped into a stony silence as her husband and his -daughter entered; for there was a feud, generally covert but none the -less real, between the two ladies. - -Mrs. Denison was a woman of about thirty-five, of the middle height, -somewhat thick set, with a cold face, which was not ill looking, though -she had never been strictly handsome. She drew herself up, with a -displeased expression, in the arm chair she occupied by the fire; and -Olivia knew that her efforts to make the house comfortable had not met -with the approval of its mistress. The girl walked the whole length of -the long room with a rather rebellious feeling in her heart, which she -tried to subdue, and held out her hand with the best grace she could. - -“How do you do, mamma? I hope you had a pleasant journey,” she said, -cordially. - -Mrs. Denison gave her finger tips, and looked at her with cold eyes. - -“Quite as well as I could expect, thank you, knowing what I had to look -forward to.” - -“I hope you don’t dislike the new home already.” - -“Oh, when it begins to look at all like ‘home,’ I daresay it will be -bearable enough; but there is at least a fortnight’s hard work for me -before that can happen.” - -Olivia’s face changed, and began to look proud and mutinous. Mr. -Denison rushed into the breach. - -“Come, come, Susan, I don’t think you are quite fair to poor Olivia. -Remember, it’s hard work for a girl, arranging a big house like this. I -think she has done very well indeed.” - -“You must allow me, Edward, to know what I am talking about,” said -his wife; while Regie and Beatrix, who had been quarrelling silently -but viciously in a corner, scenting something in a possible discussion -among their elders, came to an abrupt truce and listened eagerly. “I -think I ought to understand the arrangement of a house by this time.” - -“It is a pity, Mrs. Denison, that you could not have spared Lucy and me -a week of discomfort and hard work by coming here first yourself,” said -Olivia, whose quick temper was seldom proof against her step-mother’s -attacks. “I never doubted that we should fail to please you, but you -might give us the credit of having tried.” - -“Why, what’s the matter, Susan? What have you to find fault -with?” asked Mr. Denison. His easy-going nature made him averse -from interfering in any discussion; but he had suffered so much -self-reproach for allowing his daughter to come to Rishton by herself -that he felt impelled to dare a word in her behalf. “Hasn’t she made -the place very comfortable?” - -“She has at least taken care that she herself shall be very -comfortable,” said Mrs. Denison, in her most disagreeable tone. - -“Will you please tell me how I have done that?” asked Olivia, in a very -low voice. - -She was afraid lest her self-control should leave her, and the -discussion assume the vulgar aspect of a quarrel between two angry -women. For, blame herself for it as she might, she was angry as well as -hurt. - -“By consulting nobody’s convenience but your own in your choice of a -room for yourself,” said Mrs. Denison, sharply. - -“My bedroom!” cried the girl with unfeigned surprise. “Why, what other -could I have chosen? It is the smallest in this side of the house, -except papa’s dressing-room!” - -“It is the only one that I could possibly make into a boudoir for -myself. I don’t know whether you expect me to give up all the little -comforts and refinements of a lady.” - -This speech grated on the ears of both Olivia and her father. Mr. -Denison, after ten years of his second marriage, was by no means so -absorbed by marital devotion as to ignore the descent he had made in -taking for his second wife a woman scarcely refined enough to have been -maid to his first. Being a man of affectionate temperament, fond of -home, and sensitively grateful for kindness real or supposed, it was -natural that in his keen sorrow at his first wife’s death, he should -fall a prey to the first woman, near at hand, who should find it worth -her while to capture him. This, in the natural course of things, proved -to be his daughter’s governess. - -The clever, superficially educated daughter of a small provincial -shopkeeper, the second Mrs. Denison, on her elevation to a rank -above her birth, was determined to avail herself to the full of -every privilege to which her new station entitled her. One of these -privileges she conceived to be the possession of a “boudoir,” though -what the precise significance of it was to her it was not easy to see, -as she entered it very rarely, while the whole house was not large -enough for her to “sulk” in. But in overlooking this necessity of her -station, Mrs. Denison chose to consider that Olivia had wished to put -upon her a slight of the kind she could least brook, and no pains the -girl had taken in other directions could induce her to overlook the -indignity. - -Again Mr. Denison, with unusual rashness, stepped in. - -“My dear Susan,” he expostulated, “Olivia must have a room to sleep in. -And there must be a spare room kept for Ernest. Where else could she -stow herself?” - -“There are two good rooms in the wing----” began Mrs. Denison. - -“But, my dear, they are damp and full of mouldy old things that----” - -He was interrupted in his turn by his daughter. - -“I haven’t the least objection to sleeping in the wing, papa. I left -those rooms untouched for Mrs. Denison to decide what she would have -done with them. I will take the large room with pleasure, mouldy old -things and all.” - -In truth, Olivia was pleased with this arrangement, and she took -possession of the room which had once been Ellen Mitchell’s with -alacrity which she did her best to hide from her step-mother. Nobody -had told Mrs. Denison the story about those two rooms; but their -decayed and desolate appearance had inspired her with a strong -prejudice against them, so that Olivia was allowed to keep not only the -bedroom but the outer room as well for her own use. Mr. Denison was -strongly opposed to the idea of his beautiful daughter sleeping away -from the rest of the household in what he called “a wretched old rat -run.” But as the two feminine wills were both against his, he could do -nothing but stipulate emphatically that fires were to be kept up in -both rooms throughout the winter. His wife demurred at the expense, but -on this point he was firm, and had his own way. - -In the jarring family life which the Denison household led under the -presidency of the second wife, Olivia found a great relief in being -able to shut herself up in her wing, away from all discordant elements, -even though the atmosphere of these two rooms remained to the end heavy -with the tragedy of their last occupant. That tragedy the young girl -grew more and more anxious fully to know about; so she turned over the -leaves of the old books, and read again the inscription in faded ink -in the old prayer book: “Ellen Mitchell, from her affectionate brother -Ned.” What had become of “Ned?” Did the “affectionate brother” know -that his sister had been spirited away, leaving no trace? These were -conjectures which often passed through Olivia’s mind as she sat down -for a lazy half hour by her fire at bedtime. - -This half hour was now the only idle time in Olivia’s day. Like -many other idle English girls, she had only wanted something to do -to develop the most dashing energy; and as Mrs. Denison was too -much enervated by long years of laziness to care for the trouble of -housekeeping, Olivia flung herself with ardor into these new duties, -and found in them that necessary outlet for her energies which she had -previously sought in lawn tennis. - -The whole family had been settled at Rishton Hall a week, and Mrs. -Denison had begun bitterly to complain that nobody had called upon her, -when one afternoon, while Olivia was busy in the dining-room with the -children’s clothes, and her step-mother was shut up in her boudoir with -a novel, a carriage drove up to the door, and a footman, descending -from the box, gave such a thundering knock as made the old door creak -on its hinges. Olivia could just see from where she sat that the -carriage was very large, that the footman was very tall, and that the -horses were showy animals, their heads held well back with the bearing -rein. That was enough for her. She loved horses, and the bearing rein -was an abomination in her eyes. - -“Those parvenus!” she said to herself, haughtily. - -And when Lucy came to announce that Mrs. and Miss and Mr. Frederick -Williams were in the drawing-room, she said, briefly, “Tell Mrs. -Denison, Lucy,” without looking up, or pausing in her work. - -She knew this was wrong. She knew that she ought to go and entertain -the visitors during the ten minutes which Mrs. Denison would certainly -devote to self-adornment before going down to the drawing-room. But, -besides that she felt, in her new burst of house-managing fervor, the -giving and receiving of visits to be a frivolity, Olivia was resolved -not to cultivate any intimacy with the family of the odious Frederick. -So she worked on, feeling guilty but defiant, until she heard Mrs. -Denison’s heavy and pompous tread upon the stairs. A few minutes later, -the drawing-room door opened again, and Olivia heard the whole party -come out to be shown over the house. - -“You shall see what I have made of the upstairs rooms first,” said Mrs. -Denison’s voice, “and make the acquaintance of my cherubs.” - -And to Olivia’s delight, they streamed upstairs towards the room where -the cherubs could be distinctly heard screaming with all their might. -She gave a sigh of relief at this respite, and was turning over a small -stocking on her hand to see what mending it needed, when there came a -little, timid, hesitating knock at the door. - -“Come in,” said she, feeling instantly sure the knock was that of a -complete stranger. - -The door was opened by the pleasant-looking lady whom Olivia had -noticed in church. She had a diffident blush on her face, and a -deprecating smile, which made her look pleasanter than ever. Olivia -rose, and the lady hurried forward. - -“No, don’t get up. Don’t make me feel I’ve disturbed you,” she -entreated. “I know I’ve taken a dreadful liberty, but I caught sight -of you in here as we came in, and I’m so devouringly anxious to know -you that when Mrs. Denison offered to take us all upstairs, I slipped -behind to try to get a peep at you.” - -Olivia was disarmed. Miss Williams took a chair beside her, and looked -with interest at the work in her hand. - -“I could show you such a much better way of mending that heel if you’d -let me,” she said, almost with eagerness. - -“Oh, if you’re what they call ‘clever with your needle’ I musn’t work -before you,” said the girl, smiling, “I’m only a beginner at anything -useful, and I bungle frightfully over everything at present.” - -“But you want to learn?” asked the lady quite earnestly. - -“Indeed I do. We haven’t enough servants now to do everything; and -unless I learn to give real help in the house--not mere amateurish -dabbling, you know--half the things that ought to be done will be left -undone.” - -Miss Williams’ gloves were off, and she was already busy with the -small stocking. Olivia was astonished to notice that the quick, clever -fingers bore distinct traces, both in shape and texture, of former hard -work. The elder lady glanced up, caught the girl’s eyes, and blushed. - -“Yes,” she said, smiling, and as if telling a secret, “you would be -astonished if I were to tell you of all the work these hands have done -in their time. Now that my father has got on, and married a lady, all -that has to be forgotten. But, oh! if the servants knew, when I tell -them the hall has not been properly scrubbed, how I long to be down on -my knees doing it myself!” - -She was in earnest, but there was such a twinkle of fun in her eyes -that Olivia, who liked her more and more every minute, joined her in -a burst of laughter. Then Olivia remembered that there was a bond of -union between them, and she said, in a confidential tone-- - -“You have a step-mother too, then?” - -“Yes, and no. Mrs. Williams is my father’s second wife, and I am the -child of his first. My own mother was”--she looked round her with mock -mystery--“a factory lass. And--and so was I till I was fourteen. Then -my father made a discovery, and began to grow rich and ambitious. And -my mother died--perhaps luckily for her, poor thing--and he buried her -and the old life together. But he could not bury me, you know; and if -the lady he then married had not had the sweetest disposition in the -world, it might have fared ill with me. But she is a kind creature, and -she made my civilization as little irksome to me as possible. And that -is why step-mother doesn’t seem the right name for her; and there is -all my autobiography.” - -All the time her busy fingers were making the needle fly through the -stocking with a deftness absolutely bewildering to Olivia. - -“You are luckier than I have been,” said the young girl, in a low voice. - -Miss Williams looked up again, her eyes beaming with sympathetic -intelligence. - -“Yes, I could see that. My father married up for the second time, while -yours----” - -“Married down. Yes, down in every way; that’s the worst of it; temper, -manners, everything. If she had been different, I should not have -minded growing poorer in the least, but it is tiresome to be thrown so -much on her society.” - -“Yes, there are absolutely no suitable friends about here for you.” - -“Well,” said Olivia, laughing, blushing, and hesitating. “I thought so -till ten minutes ago.” - -Miss Williams in her turn flushed with pleasure. But then she shook her -head. - -“You might put up with me perhaps, though I am much too old for you. -But my half brother! You have met him, and snubbed him, I think, -because he is always raving about your beauty and spirit. But if so, -you certainly do not want to meet him again.” - -“Indeed I don’t,” answered the girl, laughing. - -“We might perhaps find a common meeting ground at the Vicarage after -next week, when the vicar comes back. But I don’t know how you will -like Mrs. Brander,” she added, very dubiously. - -“Isn’t she nice?” asked Olivia, with great interest. - -“Oh, yes, she’s very nice, and very handsome, and--and straightforward, -and--and looked up to. She quite leads the fashions here, you know, and -starts every thing. She is not at all like the ordinary humdrum vicar’s -wife. But----” - -“Well?” - -“I don’t want to talk scandal, but you must hear all the standing -gossip, and you may as well hear it without venom. People talk about -her and her husband’s brother----” - -“Mr. Vernon Brander?” - -“Yes.” - -“He told me himself he had been in love with her before she married,” -said Olivia, warmly. - -Miss Williams gave a quick glance at her face, making the girl blush. - -“Yes, but, well, people have seen her going in and out of his house -since, and late, very late in the evening. I should not have told you -these things, only they must make a difference in the way one looks -upon people.” - -“From your manner towards Mr. Vernon Brander, I shouldn’t have thought -they made any difference,” said Olivia, who was much excited. - -“Ah, that is the privilege of being an old maid,” answered Miss -Williams, very quietly. “I can do without fear what a young girl cannot -do--make friends with a black sheep.” - -Olivia started. “Do you think he is guilty, then?” she asked in a -startled whisper. - -Miss Williams, who had risen, looked very grave. - -“Of the other charge? I don’t know. I would give my right hand to know -that it was not so. For I am so much interested in him--I may even say, -so fond of him. I know, from what he has told me, that his inner life -is one long storm, one long struggle. But, why doesn’t he clear himself -if he can? To an old friend like me three words would be enough.” - -“Then you believe----” - -“Why does he accept the position? Why does he come to me, and ask me to -do what I can to help you in your loneliness?” - -Olivia looked up. - -“That is what he did last Sunday,” continued Miss Williams. “And he -alluded to ‘his unfortunate position’ as putting a barrier between you -and any wish he might have to assist you. Why should he speak like that -if he knew himself to be innocent of either charge?” - -Olivia was silent. She did not care to let the other lady see how -deeply this matter affected her. She was, indeed, surprised at the -keenness of her own feeling. It was a great relief to her that at that -moment voices were heard at the top of the staircase, and Miss Williams -jumped up, saying that she would have to excuse herself for playing -truant. Olivia shook hands with her almost mechanically, and promised -to go to see her without knowing what she said. As soon as she was left -alone, the young girl abandoned her work, and sat staring before her in -most unusual idleness. One sentence was ringing in her ears: - -“Why didn’t he clear himself if he could?” - -And to this question it was impossible to suggest an answer. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Any one who could have seen into the workings of Olivia Denison’s heart -and mind when she was left to herself would probably have pronounced -her to be “in love” with the Reverend Vernon Brander. This was not -quite true. She did indeed feel a very strong interest in the hermit -vicar and his mysterious history; and such interest in a young girl’s -mind cannot exist quite apart from sentiment. But, then, the sentiments -awakened by the overheard interview in the churchyard and by Miss -Williams’ suggestions were so largely mingled with doubt, disgust, and -horror, that on the whole she felt she would infinitely prefer, in -spite of his kindness, never to meet him again. She felt very thankful, -however, as the days went by, that no story and no rumors about the -vicar of St. Cuthbert’s reached Mrs. Denison’s ears. That lady was too -much wrapt up in herself to trouble herself much about her neighbors; -and beyond expressing great indignation that he had not called upon -her, she expressed no great interest in the vicar’s deputy. - -Olivia was taking to the country life with much zest. Besides her -household duties, she found time to occupy herself greatly with the -live stock on the farm, and to take the poultry under her especial -care. Mat Oldshaw used to slip round, on one pretence or another, in -the early morning when she was busy with her poultry, and, leaning over -the fence, used to give her advice about the management of them, trying -to check her extravagance. - -“Ye doan’t need to give ’em all that coorn, Miss Denison, now they -aren’t laying,” he said to her one day reproachfully as she distributed -grain with a wildly lavish hand. “What profit will ye be likely to get -if ye feed ’em oop like that? Every egg ye’ll get this year ’ull cost -ye twopence, and ye’ll lose on every chicken ye sell.” - -“Well, I can’t starve them just because they’re not bringing in a -profit just now,” said the girl. “If they’ve any sense of gratitude, -they’ll grow beautifully plump and fat, and sell at fancy prices.” - -“That there’s regular lady’s farming,” said Mat, shaking his head -dubiously. “And it’s of a piece wi’ t’ way t’ master’s goin’ to work -himself. It’s very pretty, but it ain’t like practical work, and it -doan’t pay.” - -Olivia’s bright face clouded. - -“But papa’s got a farm bailiff,” said she. - -“Oh ay, and gotten a rat to eat oop his coorn,” assented Mat darkly. - -“Do you mean to insinuate,” began Olivia with a tragic face, “that Tom -Herrick----” - -“All Ah mean, Miss, is that Ah’d like to see ye mak’ a profit on -your hens; for that’s what Ah call success, and Ah’d loike ye to be -successful, that Ah should.” - -“Thank you, Mat; it’s very kind of you. And you’re quite right; of -course it’s only by making every department pay that one can make the -farm pay.” - -“Ay,” said Mat. “And if ye’ll but follow out what I say, ye’ll be -able to keep twice them lot o’ hens on what ye’re givin’ ’em. Ye’ve -got ground for fifty more, and if Ah was you Ah’d go over to Long -Sedge Bend and buy some of old Widder Lund’s; she’s got ’em to sell. -And doan’t ye go giving her no fancy price, but beat her down; that’s -business, and she’s none so poor but she can afford to let ye have ’em -cheap. The bean’t so much to look at, her hens; but they’re good ’uns -to lay, and worth a fieldful o’ them fancy soarts.” - -Olivia began to play thoughtfully with the grain left in her basket. -She was very anxious for the honor of her poultry yard, and she -began already to be fired with the ambition to make it a successful -commercial enterprise. She had a little pocket money put by; she could -lay that out as she pleased, without consulting anybody. - -“How far off is this Long Sedge Bend?” - -“A matter o’ twea mile and a half. It’s down by Sedge Bend coal-pit.” - -“And where’s that?” - -“Ye go along t’ Sheffield road till ye coom to t’ mill. Turn to yer -left, as if ye were goin’ to Sheffield, till ye coom to t’ Blue Boar. -Bear to yer left across t’ fields, and that’s Sedge Bend.” - -“Isn’t there a shorter way across the fields? That must be such a long -way round.” - -“Ay, but ye maunna go t’ short way. They’re a roough lot down at Long -Sedge, and ye maun keep to t’ road.” - -“Well, I shall go this very day and interview Mrs. Lund. I’m afraid, -though, I shall be short of accommodation if I buy many more chickens.” - -“Nea, Ah’ll rig ye oop some nests and a perch in t’ auld toolhouse -yonder. Ah can do ’t in an hour.” - -“It’s awfully good of you, but you needn’t hurry with it, for I shan’t -start till after luncheon.” - -“But start as early as ye can. It doan’t do to be late, by oneself, in -those parts.” - -“Well, I’ll be sure to start in good time, and I’ll take a big basket, -to bring some of the chickens back in.” - -“Best let mea fetch ’em for ye to-morrow; Ah can’t get away to-day. -It’s not for t’ loikes o’ you to carry baskets o’ live stock along t’ -roads.” - -“But I can’t wait--I can’t wait; I must see them to-day,” said this -headstrong young madam, who liked to carry out her plans with the -impetuosity of a whirlwind. “And as for the basket, why, there isn’t -another farmer’s daughter in Yorkshire with stronger arms than mine.” - -Mat looked at her mistrustfully, but he said nothing more on the -subject. - -“Ah’ll tak’ t’ measure of t’ toolhouse if Ah may coom in,” was all he -said. - -Olivia was running to open the gate for him; but, with a nod of -thanks, he vaulted over the high fence, and set about his work without -another word. The country lad had been fairly bewitched by the beauty -and brightness of this young lady, who seemed to him a creature of a -different mould from any of the womenkind he had hitherto met--even -from handsome Mrs. Meredith Brander. Nothing gave him so much delight -as to be able to render her a small service; and even while he was -taking the measurements of the toolhouse, he was pondering a way to -spare her what he considered the dangers of the walk she proposed to -take that afternoon. The girl herself, knowing nothing of this plan, -and thinking lightly enough of the enterprise, watched his proceedings -with great interest, and finally overwhelmed him with thanks which sent -him home happy. - -Olivia started on her walk that afternoon without a word to anybody -concerning the object of her expedition. She had a purse with some -of her savings in her pocket, and a large poultry basket on her arm. -“I shall leave this basket somewhere when I come in sight of the -cottage, and pretend I’ve only come to look at the chickens,” she said -to herself, resolved to be very astute. But the widow Lund was more -astute still, and managed to drive a very good bargain with her fair -young customer. Indeed, Olivia showed such a helpless inability to -distinguish between a young chicken and the hoariest-headed rooster -of the lot, that it would have needed superhuman virtue not to take -advantage of her. It was with a glow of unspeakable delight and pride -that, having paid for a dozen hens, she said she would take half of -them home with her, and, running out of the cottage, picked up the -basket which she had hidden behind the hedge, and brought it to pack -her live stock in. - -Poor Olivia! An unknown visitor was such a rare sight at Long Sedge -that the advent of “a grand lady wi’ a big basket” had been reported -all over the village as she drew near the outskirts; and the widow Lund -herself, with two cronies, having watched her approach, basket and all, -from the door of Mrs. Perkin’s washhouse, was able to appreciate at its -full value the poor little ruse. - -When her load was ready, Olivia quickly discovered that a basket -containing six live chickens is neither a light nor a convenient -burden, and perceived that to carry them back by the way she had come -would be a more arduous and fatiguing task than she had imagined. -When, therefore, she found there was a path across the fields which -would lead up to the high road, and shorten the way by at least half a -mile, the temptation was too strong for her, and, disregarding Mat’s -warnings, as that young man had expected her to do, she ventured -fearlessly on the short cut. Half a dozen unkempt children laughed -and yelled at her as she passed; a few rough-looking women whispered -to each other at the doors of their dirty cottages; while a man, who -was leaning against a wall smoking a short black pipe, slunk out -of her way, as if conscious that she belonged to a higher type of -civilization. Mat was right; Long Sedge Bend was a rough place. The -inhabitants looked wild and out of touch with the rest of humanity; the -long rows of small brick cottages, many of which were windowless and -deserted, looked squalid and miserable, while over everything was that -black and grimy look which the neighborhood of a coal-pit produces. - -It was Saturday afternoon, and the pits were idle. A great black wheel, -towering over a mound on the right, showed where lay the entrance to -the nearest shaft. Round the door of a beerhouse, smaller and much -more disreputable-looking than the Collier’s Arms, was a group of men -and boys, spending their half holiday in dull and noisy fashion. They -were a rough-looking lot, and Olivia passed them quickly. Her way lay -along a cinder path over the fields, and for some time she got on -very well, meeting no one, and enjoying the frosty afternoon. Just -as she ran through a turnstile and followed the sudden turn of the -path to the left, however, a man started up from the ground, called -out “Hallo, missis!” and attempted to seize one of her feet. She was -startled into uttering a low exclamation, and, rightly judging that the -man was drunk, she ran on as fast as she could, hoping to get beyond -his pursuit before he could get upon his legs. But a drunken man may -be able to run when he cannot walk; and Olivia’s assailant, who was -a stalwart young collier with a blear-eyed and most unprepossessing -face, gave chase in good earnest, and came up with her just as she came -to a barrier between two fields in the shape of a very high and very -primitive stile. Seeing she had no time to get over it in safety, the -girl put down her basket close by the hedge, turned suddenly, and faced -her pursuer. - -For the first time in her life she felt thoroughly frightened, for the -young man looked brutal and reckless; but she had plenty of courage, -and the terror she felt showed neither in her face, her attitude, nor -in her resonant voice. - -“What do you want?” - -He reeled, not having expected her sudden movement. - -“Ah want look at tha pretty feace, meh dear,” said he, only just -distinctly enough for her to understand him. - -And he gave her a tipsy leer of admiration. - -“And now will you be kind enough to pass on?” said she, in a firm tone. -“Or to let me pass on without further hindrance?” - -“Ah’m not a-hinderin’ of tha,” said the young man, who was trying to -stand steadily in proximity much too close to be pleasant. “Tha can goa -wheer tha lakkest.” - -Olivia looked at him doubtfully, but as he made for the moment no -attempt to molest her, she began to feel reassured. - -“Go back, then,” said she, “and let me go on.” - -“Nea,” said he, shaking his head with an ugly grin; “Ah’m goin’ to help -tha over t’ stile. Ah’ll carry tha whisket for tha if thr’rt civil.” - -“Thank you,” said Olivia, taking the fellow’s offers as if they were -courtesies, “but I want no help, either for myself or my basket. If you -wish to do me a service, you will go back and let me go on.” - -“Ah maun see tha over t’ stile first,” said he. “Coom, missis, don’t be -shy.” - -He swooped down upon her basket, which she snatched up so quickly that -he lost his balance and fell against the wooden fence. With a rapid -step she got round him, basket and all, and was in the act of mounting -the first step of the stile when the young ruffian, perceiving her -purpose and enraged at a blow he had received in stumbling, lurched -round with unexpected agility, and laid a rough hand on her arm. She -tried to wrench herself free, but the muscular strength she was so -proud of was as a child’s feebleness against the brute force of this -man. It had never before happened to her to feel powerless like this. -With teeth clinched hard, and eyes watching intently for a moment’s -advantage, she wrestled in utter silence with the man, who tried to -force her to mount the stile. - -“Tha’d better not give ma so mooch trouble, ma bonny madam,” said he, -roughly. “Tha’ll only have to pay for t’ other side. An’ Ah’ll tak’ a -buss now to goa on wi’.” - -He put his arm round her waist and tried to kiss her; Olivia fought -fiercely, still without uttering a word. In the midst of her desperate -struggles her assailant saw the girl’s face change--light up with hope, -with expectancy. Then, with all the force of her lungs, she suddenly -shouted, “Help!” For a moment the collier was surprised into desisting -from his attack, but before she could take advantage of this he -recovered himself, and putting one rough and dirty hand over her mouth, -growled out, sullenly-- - -“Nea, theer bean’t no help for tha till Ah done with tha.” - -Closing his strong fingers on her face, he pulled her head around with -brutal violence, and had his own repulsive face close to hers, when he -suddenly felt one strong hand laid on his shoulder and another under -his chin, and his head being forced back with a jerk, he found that he -was in the vigorous clutches of the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s. - -“Dang tha! It’s t’ feightin’ parson!” cried the rough, in a surly tone. - -“Yes, and I’m going to exercise my fists on your ugly face as soon as -ever you’re sober, you hulking vagabond!” said Mr. Brander, with a -conspicuous lack of pastoral meekness. - -The man had fallen back, and, half drunk as he was, looked ashamed of -himself. - -“Tha maun look out for thaself if tha tries that on,” he said, -sullenly. Then with more assurance he went on, “Dunna think Ah care -for tha bein’ t’ parson. It ain’t mooch of a parson tha’lt be when -all’s known. Ay,” he continued, seeing that these vague words were not -without effect, “theer’s a mon aboot as wants tha, an’ as woan’t rest -till e’s gotten tha, and may be before tha taks oop wi’ another lass -e’ll mak’ tha give an account o’ t’ one tha spirited away. Now coom on -if tha loikes.” - -And he put himself in a fighting position. - -Mr. Brander pushed him on one side so that he staggered, and picking up -Olivia’s basket, signed to her to get over the stile, while he turned -to give a few short and sharp words of farewell to the discomfited -collier. A few seconds later Olivia, who had walked quickly on in -shame, relief, and confusion, heard the vicar’s voice close behind her. - -“And now, Miss Denison, I’ve a sermon ready for you.” - -Coming up with her, he saw that the girl, who made no answer, had tears -in her eyes. - -“No, I’m not going to have any mercy on you because you choose to -cry,” said he, pitilessly. “It’s no fairer of a girl to use her tears -against a man than it is of a man to use his fists against a woman. If -you don’t instantly leave off, I shall feel at liberty to hit you. You -know you deserve it.” - -“How?” asked she, tremulously. - -“How! Why, by disregarding the emphatic warnings, not of one friend, -but of two, and by dragging out a poor parson on Saturday, his sermon -day, to protect you from the consequences of your folly.” - -“Dragging you out!” - -“Yes. This morning comes Mat Oldshaw post-haste to me just before -luncheon to say that you were going off on a wild-goose--no, on a -tame-hen--chase to Long Sedge Bend, and that he was certain you would -come back over the very fields which he had just assured you were -unsafe for a lady.” - -“But, Mr. Brander,” put in Olivia, in real distress, “I’ve always been -used to take care of myself; I have never been annoyed before. It’s -an infamous thing that a girl shouldn’t be able to do what her powers -enable her to do just as well as a man!” - -“Infamous, perhaps, but indisputable. It is of no use to kick against -custom.” - -“But what is going to be the use of me, if I, a great strong creature -who can do lots of work, and shall soon understand farming better than -papa, can’t cross the road without a footman at my heels to keep off -tipsy coal miners? Oh, dear, I wish I weren’t a wretched girl!” - -“You couldn’t be anything else, with that illogical mind, and that -extravagant way of looking at things.” - -“Illogical!” cried she, now really offended. “Why, papa says I have the -most reasonable head he ever knew!” - -“For a woman.” - -Olivia was at first too much offended to answer. - -“I’m papa’s right hand,” she said, at last, coldly. “I’m just like a -son to him.” - -“I think not, Miss Denison,” said the vicar, shaking his head. - -“My father would tell you so himself, Mr. Brander.” - -“And I should not believe him, Miss Denison.” - -Olivia began to see that the vicar was enjoying her indignation, so she -bit her lips and remained silent. - -“Just think now, what happens when you find him a little depressed and -irritable. Does he dismiss you with a snub as he would one of your -brothers? Does he not rather submit to a little gentle coaxing, allow -himself to be ‘brought round’ and receive a kiss as a reward?” - -“Yes, that is true, certainly,” said she, smiling. “But that has -nothing to do with the real value of the help I give him.” - -“Oh, but it has. It has, on the contrary, everything to do with it. -Instead of complaining that you are a ‘wretched girl’ you must learn -to understand that. What the intrinsic value of your services may be -I don’t know; but if you had the abilities of a Senior Wrangler they -would count for nothing compared with your sympathy and love for him, -and your pretty feminine way of showing it. And so, you see, as your -tender womanhood is of more consequence to us--I mean to him--than all -the fine masculine qualities of your intellect, you must consent to -accept the protection we decree that your womanhood needs.” - -“Papa doesn’t decree it. He says girls ought to learn to take care of -themselves.” - -“Will he say so after to-day’s adventure, do you think?” - -“I shan’t tell him anything about it.” - -“Then I shall, unless you give me your word, like a sensible girl, -never to cross these fields alone again.” - -“Need you ask that, Mr. Brander?” said the girl, reddening. - -“Well, forgive me. I don’t know you well enough to be sure how deep the -headstrong vein runs.” - -“I am miserably sorry and ashamed to have brought you so far this -afternoon.” - -“Are you? Oh, I have done more irksome things than that in my time, -I assure you,” said he drily. “Besides, I’ve only come from St. -Cuthbert’s. I’m back again in my own parsonage to-day, you know, for my -brother and sister-in-law are expected this afternoon.” - -“Are they?” said she. “I am so anxious to see them, especially Mrs. -Brander.” - -“Make haste on to the high road then, and we may meet them. The pony -cart has gone to meet them, and they generally come this way round from -Matherham.” - -They were within a short distance of the road when Mr. Brander descried -a little way off his sister-in-law’s light wood cart and plump cob -pony. Quickening their pace, Olivia excited and curious, her companion -decidedly nervous, they climbed the last steps of the hill, and reached -the high road a few moments before the cart came up. They stopped to -recover their breath, exchanging a merry word or two as they waited. -As they drove up, Olivia, who had splendid eyesight, could see what -a handsome pair the vicar of Rishton and his wife were. He was fair, -serene, portly, good-humored; she, dark, erect, and blooming. They were -conversing amicably as they came along, and did not notice the two -people waiting by the roadside until they were close upon them, and -Vernon Brander accosted them. Olivia wondered at the nervous tremor in -his voice as he did so. - -But she was still more surprised at the effect of the meeting upon -the lady and gentleman in the cart. The serenity of the portly vicar -clouded at sight of his brother; an indescribable change came over -his face, a look which was not exactly disapproval, or doubt, or -suspicion, or mistrust, though it partook of all those qualities, as -he glanced from Mr. Vernon Brander to the beautiful girl at his side. -The expression of the lady spoke more plainly still. Her eyes moved -quickly from the man to the woman and back again, while her lips -tightened and her forehead puckered with evident consternation. Both -lady and gentleman, whatever the cause of their annoyance might be, -were self-possessed enough to give Miss Denison a kind and courteous -greeting, when Mr. Vernon Brander, with evident nervousness, introduced -her. Learning that Olivia had been buying poultry, Mrs. Brander -inspected the purchase with great interest, but pronounced two of the -birds to be very old roosters indeed. She then told her brother-in-law -that they were going straight home to an early dinner, and told him to -make haste to the Vicarage, as they should expect him to join them. - -Then they drove off, leaving Olivia with the uncomfortable impression -that they disapproved of her acquaintance with Mr. Vernon Brander in -the strongest possible manner. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -Not for some minutes after the little carriage containing the Reverend -Meredith Brander and his wife had driven on did either of the young -people they had left break silence. Olivia watched the disappearing -vehicle with much interest, and Vernon Brander, though with less -openness, watched Olivia. - -At last she turned sharply, and met his eyes fixed upon her with a -half-fierce, half-mournful intentness, which struck her with painful -surprise. He at once turned away his head, and asked abruptly-- - -“Well, what do you think of them? Mind, it is of no use for you to say -you ‘haven’t had time to judge,’ or anything of that sort, for I have -already caught the reflection of very decided opinion in your face.” - -“I don’t deny that I have formed decided opinions, though I don’t -pledge myself they are correct.” - -“Well?” - -“I think I shall like your brother, but I know I shan’t like his wife.” - -“Very straightforwardly put. An instinct merely, or something more?” - -“Something more, I think. You know, I have seen their portraits; well, -I have thought about them a great deal, and now I have compared my -impressions of the photographs with my impressions of the originals, -and the result is a decided opinion.” - -“You know I told you that you would like my brother--that all ladies -do,” said Vernon, with a perceptible shade of jealousy. - -“Well, you were right; I admit it. He seems the incarnation of good -humor--to shed a sort of sunshine of cheeriness around him.” - -“Yes, yes, he does,” admitted Vernon, rather bitterly, Olivia thought. - -She continued: “It was plain that, for some reason or other, neither -he nor Mrs. Brander was glad to see me. It almost seemed as if they -took an instinctive dislike to me. But even that could not sour your -brother; it scarcely made him less genial. On the other hand, it made -all the difference in the world to Mrs. Brander’s manner. She looked -at me just as if I were an enemy, who had done her, or was going to do -her, some severe injury.” - -Glancing at her companion, Olivia saw that something she had said -affected him very strongly. She was silent therefore, afraid that she -had already said too much. - -“It may be,” said Mr. Brander, after a pause, “that she feels a kind -of most innocent jealousy of you. She has, all through her married -life, been used to look upon me as one of those unattached tame cats -who are only too glad to catch mice for any responsible matron who is -kind to them. My sister-in-law annexed me in that capacity long ago; -sends me to market, sets me to mind the children, to nail up the fallen -picture, or even to lecture the gardener. I don’t suppose she has seen -me speak to another lady--a young lady--for ten years.” - -“I should have thought, by her look, she would be equal to lecturing -the gardener herself,” said Olivia, drily. - -Mr. Brander laughed. “Well, she is not quite resourceless when it comes -to an affair of the tongue,” he admitted. “But you must not think she -is a shrew, for all that. Then, she has been our beauty, too, and has -been used to set the fashions for the ladies. While now----” He stopped -and smiled as he looked at the blooming, prettily dressed girl beside -him. - -Olivia, however, found this no smiling matter, but replied, with deep -scorn-- - -“Surely, Mrs. Brander can’t be so small-minded as that. I can assure -her I have no wish to entrench upon her privileges; and, with only -eighteen pounds a year for dress and pocket money, I am not likely to -set fashions that there will be a rush to follow.” - -“You might set a fashion in faces,” suggested he. - -“Oh,” said she, laughing, “if Mrs. Brander envies me the admiration of -Mr. Frederick Williams--or, indeed, of any of the _jeunesse doree_ of -this neighborhood--I can assure her that she will only have to wait a -very little while before my unqualified disdain will bring them all -again to her matronly feet.” - -“Myself among the number.” - -“Oh, Mr. Brander, I didn’t count you.” - -“But in mercy you must. I am rather grey behind the ears, and rather -lean about the jaws; but let me still think myself as eligible a -bachelor as the place boasts.” - -He spoke playfully, but something, either in his tone or in the -knowledge she had of his life, touched her, and made her voice very -kind, as she answered-- - -“I did not mean that I thought you too old. I meant that I could not -think of classing you with a creature like Frederick Williams.” - -“He would take that as a compliment.” - -“I don’t think he would if he saw me look at him and then at you while -I said so.” - -Mr. Brander pulled up his clerical collar, and affected to give his hat -a jaunty cock. - -“It’s so long since I’ve been ‘buttered up,’ and it’s so nice,” said he. - -“Why, you have a great following among the ladies of the village.” - -“I am afraid I look upon them--though without so much reason--much as -you do upon their counterparts of the opposite sex.” - -“And Mrs. Brander, doesn’t she, in return for your services at -marketing and nailing pictures, ‘butter you up’ too?” - -The gaiety, which had sat so pleasantly on the usually grave man, -suddenly evaporated. He answered, very quietly-- - -“She calls me a good fellow, and--yes, I think she means it.” - -They had slackened their steps a little as they drew near the bottom -of the hill where The Chequers hid the entrance to Rishton Hall Farm. -They had stopped altogether at the bottom to exchange these last few -sentences before saying farewell. As his last words were succeeded by a -moment’s pause, Mr. Brander glanced up the hill he had to climb to the -Vicarage, and became aware of his brother’s portly figure descending -the slope with measured steps toward them. His cheeks grew pale; the -last gleam of vivacity died out of his face. - -The change caused Olivia to look in the same direction, and to -note that there was something judicial in the handsome vicar’s -gait--something mildly apprehensive in the expression of his face. She -felt an impulse of indignation against both husband and wife for their -inexplicably rigorous attitude towards Vernon Brander and herself. -At sight of his brother, Vernon, who seemed at once to grow cold and -formal, raised his hat, and would have left her with a few words of -farewell. But she held out her hand, and, as he took it with a flushing -face, she retained his with a warm clasp, while she said-- - -“I am going to get papa to waylay you, Mr. Brander, as you come back -from the Vicarage. You have never been inside the house since the day -you played fairy godmother to me and poor Lucy. I want you to see the -old house now we have made it again a home.” - -“I shall be delighted, Miss Denison,” faltered poor Vernon, with one -ear for her kindly words and the other for his brother’s deliberately -approaching footsteps. “You are very kind to me,” he added, in a hasty -undertone. Then in his usual voice, “Good-night,” said he, as she -released his hand, and, with a bow to the vicar, turned to the farmyard -gate. - -With a few steps on either side--dignified in the one, hurried and -nervous in the other--the brothers met. The elder passed his arm -affectionately within that of the younger, and turned to walk up the -hill with him. - -“Evelyn began to be afraid you had forgotten us and our dinner in -pleasanter society than ours,” said Meredith, in his genial voice. - -If Vernon, as his nervous manner suggested, was afraid of his brother, -the fault lay in his own conscience, and not in any coldness or -harshness on the part of the Vicar of Rishton. - -“No,” said Vernon, hastily; “I had not forgotten. Of course not. Miss -Denison was annoyed by a rough as she was crossing the fields; I came -up just in time--by the merest accident--and I could do no less than -see her home.” - -“Of course not. Not a very great penance either. What an extremely -pleasant-looking girl!” - -It was characteristic of the vicar’s warm, expansive nature that he -found enjoyment in all goodly things; and he never attempted to hide -the pleasure the sight of a beautiful woman gave him, although, as in -the present instance, he remembered his cloth in the expression of it. - -“She is very handsome,” said Vernon, whose candor went a step further -than his brother’s. - -“And amiable?” - -“By that one means sympathetic to oneself, I suppose. Yes, I find her -amiable,” said the younger man, with a sort of dogged defiance in his -tone. - -“Then you are pretty intimate already?” - -The vicar spoke without the least harshness, but the answer came in an -almost sullen tone, as if Vernon’s own conscience were reproaching him. - -“Not very. This is the fourth time I have met her.” - -“But, dear me, with these sweet-faced girls, one gets over the ground -so fast!” suggested the elder more genially than ever. - -“That depends. There’s not much about me to fascinate a beautiful -woman.” - -“Oh, I didn’t mean that: I certainly did not mean that. But we had -looked upon you--you had taught us to look upon you--as a confirmed -bachelor; almost a misogynist.” - -“No, not that,” interrupted the younger, abruptly. “I have always -admired women; in my way, at least, as much as you have in -yours--unluckily for me,” he added in a bitter, mocking tone. - -“And now your admiration is to take shape in a definite preference for -one?” said the vicar, rather diffidently. - -Vernon was restless and uneasy; he snapped twigs off the hedge as he -walked along, and seemed unable to look his brother in the face. - -“What does my preference matter?” he asked, at last, almost fiercely. -“What did it matter before, except to bring upon me the shame and -shadow of my whole life?” - -His brother looked shocked and alarmed at this outburst. He put his -arm, which Vernon had thrown off, again most persuasively through that -of the younger man. - -“Come, come,” he said, very earnestly, very affectionately; “you must -not talk like that. You lead a life--voluntarily, mind, else there -would be no grandeur, no dignity, in it--so full of austerity and -self-sacrifice that you are winning yourself almost the reputation of a -saint. You have shown an example of courage and endurance such as few -men would have the steadfastness to follow--not I, for one, I admit. -You are loved by your parishioners. And it is scarcely too much to say -that by your own family--Evelyn, myself, and the little ones--you are -adored.” - -The Vicar of Rishton watched his brother’s face closely as he -pronounced these words in full tones of deep feeling. They took effect -at once. The thin, sensitive face relaxed, and a faint smile hovered on -Vernon’s lips as he answered-- - -“You are all very good to me, and I love you for it; but you don’t -need to be told that now. As for all that about my being a saint and a -martyr, it is nonsense, and only a kind way of putting the fact that -ten years ago----” - -“Now why trouble yourself about what happened ten years ago?” -interrupted the vicar in grave but most gentle tones. “The evil wrought -then has been bitterly repented of, and atoned for in a manner so noble -that I can scarcely speak of it without tears.” - -“Noble? Nonsense! There was nothing in what I have done but the -outcome of a most commonplace human feeling. I don’t wish to deceive -you about that, or get more credit than is due to me.” - -“Well, I will say no more on the point. It is not for me to contradict -you. For, whatever may have been our relative positions ten years ago, -your life since then has made you a better man than I, and I bow to you -as to my superior.” - -It was very gracefully said, with a warmth and sincerity of tone which -made it no empty compliment from the handsome, much-revered vicar to -the hermit-parson of ruinous St. Cuthbert’s. The latter received it -with a restive, deprecatory, impatient wave of the hand; but yet a -keen observer, who had looked from the one face to the other at that -moment, would almost have been inclined to say that the elder, whether -or not he quite meant what he said, had spoken the truth, and that the -worn features and keen grey eyes of the younger man revealed higher -capacities for good than the bland, benevolent, and good-humored -countenance of his brother. Ten years ago, before the tragic event -which had been the turning point of Vernon’s life, the reverse of this -would have been true. Passionate, reckless, and hot tempered, he would -have looked, beside his open-faced brother, like the evil angel beside -the good. But a decade of unruffled prosperity on the one hand, and -the same period of austere self-sacrifice on the other, had told their -tale; and the man over whom there hung the shadow of a fearful crime -now threatened, by long humility and devotion, to oust from the first -place in the esteem of the rough mining population the irreproachable -and kindly Vicar of Rishton himself. - -Meredith had spoken the last words in a decisive tone, as if he -considered the discussion at an end. But from the expression of -his brother’s face, it was clear that he had yet something to -say--something of more import than anything that had yet passed between -them. - -“You have tried me long enough to trust my discretion a little, -Meredith; but I don’t know how you will take what I am going to tell -you.” He hurried on in an agitated voice, without looking his brother -in the face. “I have never been a misogynist; perhaps I shall not -always be a bachelor. Mind, I only say perhaps.” - -There was a long pause. They tramped up the hill side by side without -exchanging so much as a look, until the pretty gables of the Vicarage -were in sight, peeping out behind the massive evergreens and the yet -bare lilac branches of the vicar’s garden. Then Meredith spoke, in the -most subdued and gentlest of voices-- - -“You are the best, indeed, the only possible judge of your own conduct, -Vernon; but I fear that, to a nature like yours, the thought of having -caused suffering to a woman you love will some day be very bitter.” - -His voice seemed to fade away on the last words, as it did at the -pathetic points of his sermons. His eloquence again took effect on the -sensitive Vernon. - -“My wife--if, indeed, I ever had a wife--should never know the truth,” -said he, in a low and husky voice. - -“Oh, but she will!” said Meredith, with energy. “Do not deceive -yourself on that point; you cannot deceive me. No one can prevent your -marrying; I, for one, shall never utter another word against such a -step; but, if you do take it, your ten years’ silence, as far as the -feelings of others are concerned, will have been in vain.” - -There was another pause--a short one, this time. Then Vernon spoke, in -a harsh and broken voice-- - -“Be satisfied. No woman shall ever suffer through me--again. I will -bear it to the end--alone.” - -“Spoken bravely--spoken like yourself,” began the vicar of Rishton, in -his usual firm and cheerful tones. He was about to say more, when his -speech was checked by the sight of a man’s face peering over the wall -of a small, neglected garden, which adjoined the vicar’s own premises -on a lower level of the hill. - -The face was that of a stranger, but of a stranger who apparently -took a deep interest in his surroundings. Meredith Brander examined -his features with frank and rather puzzled interest, while Vernon -scanned the face with an intentness which almost savored of dread. The -stranger, on his side, gave them a nod of free-and-easy greeting, which -they returned by a more conventional salute, as they proceeded up the -hill. - -“Who is that man?” asked Meredith, as if trying to recall some memory -connected with the features he had just seen. - -“I don’t know,” answered the brother, in a troubled voice. His brother -looked inquiringly. - -“Have you seen him before? I can’t quite make up my mind whether he is -a stranger to me or not.” - -“He is a stranger,” said Vernon; “probably the man who has taken the -cottage. I heard this morning that it was let at last.” - -“You don’t know his name then?” - -“Mat Oldshaw, who told me, did not mention his name.” - -No more was said on the subject of the stranger by either of the -brothers, both of whom remained apparently in deep thought for the few -remaining steps of their walk. - -The gravity of both faces lightened when, on reaching the Vicarage, the -sounds of childish voices broke upon their ears. Mrs. Meredith Brander -prided herself on nothing so much as on being a “sensible woman;” -and, as there is no sign of want of sense in a woman so marked as the -spoiling of children, the event went a little way in the opposite -direction, and kept her little daughter of ten and small son of six in -somewhat rigorous subjection. Not only did she honor the old-fashioned -saying that “children should be seen and not heard,” but she even went -so far as to think that the less seen of them the better. Her husband, -who was an affectionate and even demonstrative father, would have had -them much more about the house; but he yielded in all domestic matters -implicitly to his wife’s ruling, and, as she had decreed that the -proper place for children was the nursery, in the nursery they for the -most part remained. Therefore, the children had come back in a cab with -the luggage, instead of with papa and mamma, in the pony carriage, and -they were on their way up the stairs towards their own domain when -their father and uncle came in and caught them. - -Vernon Brander’s haggard face lighted up with an expression of deep -tenderness as the little girl turned on hearing the gentlemen’s -footsteps, and, with a shrill cry of childish delight, ran down a few -steps, and flung her little arms tempestuously round his neck. - -“Uncle Vernie! Uncle Vernie!” she cooed breathlessly into his ear. “Oh, -I have such a lot to tell you, and I’ve such a heap of shells for you, -and some seaweed for you to dry; and, oh! I have so wanted to see you, -and have you with us there by the sea. It would have been lovely if -only you’d been there!” - -“Come, come, you carneying, blarneying, little sixpenn’orth of -halfpence,” said Uncle Vernon, seating himself on the stairs and -putting his arm affectionately around her little waist, “don’t pretend -it wasn’t lovely without me, or that you’re glad the holiday’s over so -that you can see your old uncle again.” - -“But I am though, whether you believe it or not,” said the child, -gravely, looking into the wrinkles of the clergyman’s face with -affectionate solicitude. “The sea was beautiful, and it was nice to -have no lessons, and to see the pretty people, and to have new walks -instead of the old ones we’re so tired of. But there was no one to tell -what one thought, no one to look at me like you look, Uncle Vernie--no -one to hug like this.” - -And, suiting the action to the word, she crushed up his head and face -in a stifling embrace. - -At that moment the drawing-room door opened, and Mrs. Brander, -handsome, erect, and neat as a statue, came upon the scene. - -“Kate, you are forgetting yourself, my dear,” she said, in a tone of -gentle but decided reproof. “Your uncle does not mind a kiss, but a -bear’s hug is neither lady-like nor welcome.” - -The child withdrew her arms at once, and relapsed into the unnatural -demeanor of a sensitive child snubbed. Vernon grew red, and passed -his hand over the little girl’s fair head with more than paternal -tenderness. - -“Don’t be hard upon the child, Evelyn,” he said in a low voice. “You -who have children of your own don’t know what pleasure that ‘bear’s -hug’ can give to a childless man.” - -Meredith Brander, who had been playing with his little boy, looked -uneasily towards his brother at this speech. - -“What a fuss you make about that child!” said Mrs. Brander, lightly, as -if anxious to turn the conversation. - -And, coming to the staircase, she picked up the little girl’s hat, -which had fallen off in the course of her excited greetings, and -telling her to run upstairs and get her face washed, Mrs. Brander -invited her brother-in-law, with a welcoming gesture, to come with her -into the drawing-room. - -Vernon followed her with scarcely disguised reluctance, which the lady -did not fail to perceive. - -“What is the matter with you, Vernon?” she asked, as she seated herself -by an open work-basket, and immediately began operations upon an -embroidered pinafore. “There is a change in you since we went away; you -have either grown less sociable, or else you have found some society -more congenial than ours. Sit down; that pacing to and fro fidgets me.” - -Vernon stopped in front of her, but did not seat himself. - -“Do you know,” he began, abruptly, “that I have gone through a lengthy -catechism of this sort at the hands of your husband? I have given the -fullest answers to all his questions, and he can pass on to you any -information you may require.” - -In spite of the peremptoriness of his words, his tone was almost -pleading; and in his face, as he looked down upon her, there was an -expression of chivalrous kindliness which took all harshness out of his -speech. - -Mrs. Brander, glancing up at him, drew a breath of relief. - -“I was almost beginning to fear, Vernon, that you had formed, or were -on the point of forming, new ties which would make you forget the old -ones.” - -Mrs. Brander’s voice was not capable of expressing much deep emotion; -but she lowered it, as she said these words, to the softest pitch it -could reach. - -“Forget!” he echoed. “That is a process my mind is incapable of. I -think you know that, Evelyn.” - -She gave him a straightforwardly, affectionate look out of her handsome -eyes. - -“Perhaps I do, Vernon,” she said, gently. “Perhaps I think your mind -incapable of any process by which you could bring suffering upon -another person.” - -Vernon looked down into her beautiful face critically. There was -genuine anxiety in her expression, but it did not touch him as much -as a similar expression on those comely features had been wont to do. -For the last few weeks he had been haunted by another woman’s face, -one which betrayed most ingenuously every thought of the owner’s mind, -every impulse of a warm young heart. Mrs. Brander was intelligent -enough to have an idea of the truth; and when she saw that her soft -speech left him comparatively cold, she did not waste another on him, -but rose from her seat with a sigh, and bent over her table in such -a way that he could not see her face. The sensitive Vernon instantly -began to imagine tears in her eyes, drawn forth by his own hardness. -He was seeking words to comfort her when the door opened, and Meredith -came in. His genial presence seemed on the instant to relieve the -embarrassment of the other two. - -“It seems to me, my dear,” he began to his wife, “that Kitty is not -looking any the better for her stay at Bournemouth. I went upstairs -with the children just now, and I was quite struck with the paleness of -the child’s cheeks.” - -As the vicar uttered these words, a change came rapidly over his -brother’s face. He glanced from father to mother with an expression of -the deepest anxiety, which Mrs. Brander, while answering her husband in -calm and measured tones, did not fail to note. - -“I think you worry yourself unnecessarily about the child. She’s -tired now after her journey; she will probably look all right again -to-morrow.” - -The vicar allowed himself to be pacified by his wife’s assurances, -and, leading his brother away to the fireplace, they occupied -themselves, until the announcement of dinner, in discussing the -trifling events which had happened in the parish during the vicar’s -absence. Mrs. Brander listened with an especially attentive ear while -her brother-in-law gave a somewhat detailed account of the arrival of -the new occupants of Rishton Hall Farm, including, as it necessarily -did, the story of his own assistance at their installation. - -Mrs. Brander did not attempt to deceive herself as to the strong -measure of interest which the beautiful young farmer’s daughter had -excited in Vernon. Neither did she disguise from herself the anxiety -and annoyance which this discovery caused her. Instead, however, of -indulging in any feelings of feminine jealousy, she set herself to try -to devise a way of ousting this rival. A ray of light broke suddenly -over her handsome face. - -“When I spoke of my own suffering, he was certainly not so much -touched as he used to be,” she reflected. “On the other hand, anything -connected with Kitty seems to move him more than ever. I must play -Kitty against this Miss Denison.” - -And, without any of the pangs of a jealous woman, Mrs. Brander, with -a glance at her innocent brother-in-law, made a calm resolution as to -the part she should play in what she perceived to be an incipient love -affair. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -Vernon Brander left his brother’s house that evening in a frenzy of -doubt and uncertainty, such as his passionate, self-torturing nature -was liable to. He had so long been bound in a dutiful and chivalrous -vassalage to his sister-in-law, seeing her faults without being -repelled by them, and in all things doing her reverent homage as to his -early ideal, that it came upon him with a shock to discover suddenly, -as he had done this evening, that she had fallen from that high place -in her imagination. He tried in vain to hide from himself the fact that -this change in his feelings was due to the appearance on the scene of -a rival who was carrying away all before her. Mrs. Brander had, on -previous occasions, scoffed at his adoration of children; she had often -shown clearly how little she cared for his feelings; but never before -to-night had she seemed to him cold, and hard, and selfish; never -before had it occurred to him to think how lacking she was in feminine -softness and charm. - -Following on this discovery came the inevitable consciousness who it -was that had brought about this knowledge. If he had not looked lately -into a softer pair of eyes, if he had not felt the touch of a warmer -hand, if, in short, he had never met Olivia Denison, he would have -gone on comfortably in his platonic worship of the only woman of his -acquaintance who had any of those elements of beauty and grace which -were necessary to his somewhat fastidious standard. But the advent -of the beautiful, warm-hearted, impulsive young girl had changed all -that; and Vernon, as he remembered the promises he had made to his -brother and his brother’s wife, and recognized clearly enough that -by the circumstances of his life he was bound to remain in bachelor -loneliness, felt that the burden of a bygone sin was heavier upon him -than he could bear. - -He was going gloomily down the hill, and had nearly reached the -foot of it, when a rather rough voice, with an inflection which was -un-English and strange, addressed him quite close to his ear. - -“Could you oblige me with a light?” - -Vernon, who had his pipe between his lips, stopped, and offered the -stranger his matchbox. The night was dark, but he was able to recognize -in this abrupt-mannered person the man he and Meredith had seen that -evening leaning on the garden wall of the cottage adjoining the -Vicarage. There had been something suspicious about the stranger’s -manner then; there was something more now. He took the proffered -matchbox, struck a light, and, instead of applying it to the cigar he -had ready in his mouth, held it close enough to Vernon’s face to get a -good view of every feature. - -The clergyman, returning his gaze, grew deadly pale. He did not flinch, -however, but settling his face with the hard determination of a man -accustomed to bear pain, submitted to the scrutiny in dogged silence. - -“Thank you,” said the stranger slowly, as he threw away the match, -which had burnt down, and struck another, with which he proceeded to -light his cigar. “You are the first person about here who has shown -what in other parts we should call common civility. A rough lot, these -Yorkshiremen!” - -“And they don’t always improve much in manners by going abroad,” said -Vernon, quietly. - -The other remained silent for a moment, peering at him in the darkness. -Then he spoke again, more courteously than before. - -“You take me for a Yorkshireman, then?” - -“Yes; I can hear the Yorkshire burr through some accent you have picked -up since.” - -“Well, you’re a smart chap for a parson,” said the other, approvingly. -“You’ll excuse my frankness; but I’m a plain man, and I dare say my -manners are none the more polished for fifteen years spent among -cattle-drovers. They’re not the sort of company to make one fit for -Buckingham Palace.” - -“I suppose not,” said Vernon. “And you have said good-bye to them, and -come back to settle down in your native county?” - -“For a little while--a year, or maybe two,” answered the stranger -with great deliberateness. “I haven’t come over here to sit still and -twiddle my thumbs for the rest of my life.” - -“Why, there’s plenty of work to be done here in the old country.” - -“Yes, it’s work brings me over here, and hard work too, by what I -hear,” said the other, looking penetratingly at the clergyman through -shrewd, half-shut eyes. - -He gave the impression of being able to see in the dark as well as -any owl, and Vernon felt that he himself was still being subjected -to the same keen inspection which had been begun by the light of the -match. He, on his side, could see enough of the stranger’s appearance -to feel curiously interested in him. This abrupt and somewhat uncouth -person was a man whose age was difficult to guess. That he was still -in the vigor and prime of life was evident, but it was not so certain -whether the rugged furrows in his face, and a certain deliberateness of -speech and action, were signs of approaching middle age, or the result -of heavy responsibilities and hard work begun early in life. The lower -part of his face was covered and much concealed by a short beard of a -fashion long grown obsolete in England; he was dressed with that sort -of solid respectability which disregards expense and also the fashion -of the moment, while a huge gold watch chain, to which was attached a -bunch of heavy and handsome seals, gave the final touch to a get-up -which was nothing if not confidence-inspiring. The man looked both -shrewd and honest, particularly the former; Vernon felt every moment -more and more eagerly interested as to the reason of his presence in -the village. - -“You know that we parsons are privileged impertinents?” began Vernon, -after a short pause. - -“Yes,” answered the stranger promptly. - -“Perhaps you know too that I have been until to-day ‘deputy shepherd’ -here at Rishton?” - -“I know that too,” admitted the other. - -“Then perhaps you will let me ask if you are the new tenant of Church -Cottage?” - -“Well, there’s nothing gained or lost by admitting that I am; and -further, I don’t mind telling you that I’d as soon the cottage were a -little further off the church. One can’t expect to live in the odor of -sanctity for nothing, and with a parson living next door, and religious -consolation therefore always turned on, I shall feel, so to speak, -always under the tap.” - -“You needn’t be afraid of that with my brother,” said Vernon, smiling. -“I suppose there never was a man with less professional cant about him. -He’ll talk to a neighbor about his fruit trees, his pigs, his poultry, -and everything that is his, but never a word of religion, unless the -subject is introduced by somebody else.” - -“I see; won’t give professional advice for nothing? Well, I respect -him for it; there’s no good in making your wares too cheap. Guess your -brother and me’ll get along.” - -What could the work be which brought this keen-eyed, prosperous-looking -colonist--for a colonist it was not difficult to guess that he must -be--to a sleepy little hole like Rishton, where the commerce was -restricted to the weekly buying and selling in Matherham market, and -to the still humbler traffic in the small wares of half a dozen puny -village shops? Vernon was shy of asking him point-blank the nature of -his work; indeed, something in the stranger’s manner intimated pretty -plainly that he would not have given the required information. And no -hints sufficed to draw him out. The vicar of St. Cuthbert’s made one -such attempt, which failed most signally. - -“You will find also,” said he, “that my brother is a practical man, and -any help that he can give you in the work you speak of he will offer -most willingly, I know.” - -But to this speech the first reply of the colonist was a sardonic laugh. - -“I daresay he will,” said he, drily, when his hard merriment had -suddenly ceased. “For the matter of that, a man with a serious object -before him, who has his head screwed on the right way, can get help of -some sort from everybody he comes nigh to. And so, Mr. Brander, I make -no doubt I shall get assistance in my work, not only from your brother, -but from yourself.” - -And with these words, uttered in a tone of some significance, -he turned on his heel with an abrupt nod, and made his way with -characteristically heavy and deliberate steps towards the gate of the -cottage. - -Vernon Brander watched the solidly-built figure disappearing in the -dusk, and then proceeded on his way down the hill in some agitation -of spirit. The shadow of the old crime was creeping up again; the -tragedy which ten years had not lived down was reappearing with a new -and ghastly vividness in the presence of that matter-of-fact stranger. -Who he might be Vernon could scarcely guess; what the nature of his -work was in a quiet village flashed upon him with an intuition which -left no room for doubt. The feelings produced by this thought were not -all gloomy; a certain hungry look, which betokened perhaps that even -open shame would be welcome after ten years of silent ignominy, burned -in the clergyman’s dark eyes as he lifted his head and gazed into the -blue-black night sky above him with a piercing intentness which seemed -to be trying to fathom the mysteries of the future. - -On reaching the bottom of the hill, he was startled out of his reverie -by a bright girl’s voice and a gentle touch on his arm. He stopped -short and lowered his head dreamily, almost inclined to think, in the -high state of excitement to which he had been worked, that the sweet -voice, the kindly touch, were a prophecy of happiness rather than -the commonplace incident of an every-day greeting. The next moment, -however, he came fully to himself, and found that he was in the -presence, not only of Olivia Denison, but of her father. - -“Mr. Brander, come down from the clouds if you please, and leave your -next Sunday’s sermon to take care of itself for a little while. I want -to introduce you to my father.” - -Mr. Denison, a tall, strikingly handsome man of about fifty years of -age, with a gentle, kindly face entirely destitute of any trace of his -daughter’s energy and impulsive frankness, held out his hand with a -very willing smile. - -“I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Brander, and to be able -to thank you for your great kindness to my little daughter here.” - -He patted Olivia’s shoulder affectionately, but it seemed to the -clergyman, as he looked from the one face to the other, that the -action was scarcely typical of the mutual relations between gentle, -vacillating father and quick-witted, active daughter. - -“Miss Denison is so much more valiant and self-helpful than most young -ladies that she spurs one up to do more for her than one would for -others,” said Vernon. - -“Yet this afternoon you would not allow that I could help papa,” put in -Olivia, reproachfully. - -“Didn’t I rather suggest that the help you really gave was of a -different kind from what you imagined?” - -“She gives me help of all kinds,” said her father affectionately. - -“She’s my clerk and my comforter; and I think if the farm-hands struck -work, she’d take to the plough as naturally as she’s taken to the -poultry.” - -“Well, I’d certainly try my hand at it,” said the girl laughing. “I -suppose the chief qualifications are a steady hand and a correct eye, -and both those I’ve acquired at billiards.” - -“My dear Olivia, you mustn’t own to playing billiards before a -clergyman!” - -“And why not, Mr. Denison?” asked Vernon. “I love a good game of -billiards myself; and the strongest reasons that keep me out of old -Williams’s billiard-room up at the Manor Hall are old Williams’ -inability to play a decent game, and his son’s inability to make a -decent remark.” - -Olivia gave an exclamation of disgust at this passing allusion to her -importunate admirer: Mr. Denison seemed relieved by the clergyman’s -admission. - -“I’ve not come much in contact with gentlemen of your calling,” said -he; “and I have rather a feeling that I must be on my best behavior -before them.” - -“A very proper feeling, and one that I wish you could communicate -to some of the gentlemen engaged in mining occupations among my -parishioners. It’s a much healthier symptom than throwing bricks.” - -“Do they throw bricks at you?” asked Olivia, indignantly. - -“Not so many as they used to do,” said Vernon, with a twinkle in his -eye, which was, however, not discernible in the increasing darkness. “I -found a way to cure them of that.” - -“What was that?” - -“I threw them back.” - -Mr. Denison did not attempt to disguise the fact that his respect for -and appreciation of the Church were rising rapidly. It was with a -cordiality very different from the formal gratitude he had shown at the -outset that he presently begged the clergyman to do himself and his -wife the pleasure of lunching with them on the following or an early -day. - -“I am very anxious to introduce you to my wife,” said he. “She used -to try hard to get me to receive what I irreverently called her ‘pet -parsons;’ but I had heard them preach, and that was enough for me. Now -you see I can bring forward a candidate of my own.” - -“That’s unfortunate, because I can’t come to-morrow; and next day is -Sunday. And perhaps, if you hear me preach, you may want to retract -your invitation.” - -“Well, we must chance that,” said Mr. Denison, smiling. “But I can -trust a par--no, I mean a clergyman, who knows something about the -tables of slate as well as the tables of stone. Remember, we are only -poor farmer folk now; the glory of Streatham has departed. But we -shall make you heartily welcome; and you must forgive the absence of -champagne. Now, what day will you come?” - -“May I say this day week?” said Vernon, after considering a moment. -“For the next few days I have work to do a long way off which will -make any sort of meal an impossibility. I shall live upon bread and -coaldust; and you must not be surprised if I turn up with a complexion -of Othello, and with a little of his savagery, after a week’s -intercourse with the blackest and roughest race in Yorkshire.” - -The following Friday was, therefore, fixed upon as the day on which -the Rev. Vernon Brander was to make formal acquaintance with Rishton -Hall Farm and its new masters. And, with a mutual liking which opened a -pleasant prospect of future acquaintance, the two gentlemen bade each -other good-night, and separated. - -But, if they had only known it, there was a very strong woman’s will -working against any such happy consummation. Mrs. Meredith Brander, -for reasons of her own, had conceived the intention of doing what she -could to form an impassable bridge between her brother-in-law and the -household at Rishton Hall Farm. She shrewdly guessed that her best -chance lay through the step-mother; but for a day or two she took no -active steps, contenting herself with gleaning all the information -she could concerning the character and habits of each member of the -Denison family. Mr. Denison, she decided, was not of much account; -Mrs. Denison, a vain, half-educated woman, exalted above her natural -station, ought, with judicious treatment, to be easy to deal with. It -was with the handsome, high-spirited Olivia herself that the difficulty -lay, and Mrs. Brander felt that she must proceed with caution. - -In the meantime, the new inmate of the cottage was exciting much -general interest, and some suspicion. He lived entirely by himself, but -for such companionship as was afforded him by Mrs. Wall, during the -two or three hours a day when she jogged slowly through his apartments -with a broom and a pail, and generally “did for” him. He drove such -a hard bargain with this lady, and lived so simply, that the belief -soon spread among the villagers that he was very poor, that his big -watch chain was brass, and that his solid manner and imperative speech -were mere empty “swagger.” - -The Reverend Meredith Brander was shrewd enough to think differently. -There was a weight and solidity about the speech and manner of the -new comer which it is not given to the mere waifs and strays of the -earth to acquire. When he passed an opinion, which was seldom, for he -was apparently of reticent disposition, it was with the evident belief, -not only that it was worth listening to, but that it would be listened -to. The vicar tried hard, in every decent and graceful way, to win -from him some information as to who he was and what he did there; but -his geniality and his personal charm had no perceptible effect on the -stranger, who kept even his name a secret, and steadily declined Mr. -Brander’s invitations to him to dine at the Vicarage, or to play a game -of chess with him in the evenings. - -“I’m sure you must find it dull alone in the cottage at night,” the -vicar would say to him cheerily; “for one can see with half an eye that -you’ve been used to an active life, with lots of movement and all sorts -of society. Why don’t you let yourself be persuaded into sitting by a -warm hearth instead of a cold one, with a woman and children about you? -All globe-trotters love the atmosphere of women and children.” - -“I can bear with ’em, but I’m not excited about either species,” the -stranger answered one day to his neighbor’s persuasions. “I’ve had -a wife and children myself; but I’m bound to say I get on quite as -comfortably without them.” - -If this unorthodox speech was meant to shock the vicar, it failed of -its effect; for Meredith Brander had no Puritanical horror of human -frailties and eccentricities, but a cheery belief that they gave a -healthy outlet to the dangerous humors of the world. - -He discussed the new comer with his wife, who, however, took scarcely -enough interest in the subject to set her feminine wits to work towards -solving the mystery which hung about him. - -“I don’t know why you make so much fuss about him,” she said rather -contemptuously one day, when her husband had been recounting his -fruitless efforts to induce the stranger to dine with them. “And I -am sure I am thankful that he had the sense not to come. To judge by -his manners he has been a navvy, who went gold-digging and picked up -a nugget; and to judge by his coming here and the way he lives, the -nugget was somebody else’s, and he has to live _perdu_ until the little -affair has blown over.” - -The vicar made no reply to this; but there was evidently nothing -convincing to him in his wife’s contempt for the stranger. When he -spoke again, it was upon a fresh subject. - -“Vernon’s getting very thick with the new people at the Hall Farm. I -met him to-day arm-in-arm with papa, and I hear that he’s going to dine -with them next Friday. Now, papa is a very amiable man, though he may -not be over-endowed with brains; but I suppose it is not far-fetched to -imagine that there may be another attraction.” - -Mr. Brander spoke in his usual light and genial tones, without even the -touch of seriousness he had shown when treating of this same subject -with his brother. But the effect of his words on his wife was instant -and strong. The lines of her handsome mouth grew straight and hard, -her low, handsome forehead puckered with an anxious frown as she said -sharply-- - -“He must be stopped.” - -The vicar, raising his eyebrows blandly, stroked his chin, and looked -out of the window. - -“Yes, my dear, I admit that it would be very much for the best if he -could be stopped; but the question is, how is it to be done? All we can -do is to persuade, exhort, advise. And haven’t we done it--perhaps even -overdone it? If Vernon takes it seriously into his head that he will -marry, why, marry he will; and I don’t see how all the king’s horses, -and all the king’s men, can prevent him.” - -“Perhaps not,” said his wife, icily. “But I can.” - -Her mouth, which was Mrs. Brander’s most eloquent feature, closed with -almost a snap, and strongly suggested the idea that her interest in her -brother-in-law’s matrimonial inclinations was not purely benevolent. - -“Well, my dear, there is no denying that it would be for the best if -you could prevent this rather foolish flirtation with a particularly -headstrong girl from coming to anything. One can scarcely think that -this type of girl, for all her beauty and high spirit I think we must -allow her, would make him happy as a wife.” - -“I hadn’t thought of the matter from that point of view,” said his -wife drily. - -The vicar glanced rather uneasily at his wife, whose habit of looking -at things from a purely matter-of-fact and practical point of view -sometimes jarred upon his more easy-going nature. - -He rose from his seat, and prepared to leave the room. - -“But you should, my dear; you should,” he said in a gently reproachful -tone, as he came to the back of her chair and, gently stroking her dark -hair with his plump white hand, printed an affectionate kiss on the -smooth white forehead, from which the frown had scarcely yet departed. - -As soon as her husband had left the room, Mrs. Brander gave herself up -to resolute consideration of a difficult and delicate plan of action. -After some time she came to a decision, and her face cleared. - -“To-day is Wednesday,” she said to herself, glancing at an almanac on -her writing-table. “This dinner, or luncheon, or whatever it is, is not -till Friday. Then I have to-morrow to work in.” - -And she rose with a sigh of relief, and went about her household duties -with a lighter heart, feeling that she had provided for the fulfilment -of a very disagreeable task in a rather able manner. - -On the following afternoon Mrs. Brander, after a short drive in the -neighborhood, drove her little ponies up to the door of Rishton Hall -Farm to make her first call upon Mrs. Denison. The latter lady had -already expressed some indignation that the vicar’s wife had not called -upon her before, and had even announced her intention of being “not at -home” to Mrs. Brander, to show her sense of the folly of such airs in a -woman who ought, by virtue of her husband’s office, to be the humblest -in the parish. However, what happened when the smart-looking little -pony carriage drew up at the door was this: the farmer’s wife, after -peeping through the dining-room curtains, in a flutter of excitement, -rushed across the hall to the drawing-room, with a hoarse whisper of -directions to the approaching housemaid, and greeted the visitor, -on her entrance, with a mixture of dignity and effusiveness, which -the vicar’s wife met with her usual, straightforward, matter-of-fact -simplicity of manner. Mrs. Brander had brought her ten-year-old -daughter with her, less for companionship than for the reason, which -she would at once frankly have owned, that the child’s fragile fairness -formed an admirable compliment to her own brunette beauty. The child -also served to make the introduction of the two ladies less formal, -as her presence resulted in Mrs. Denison sending for her own two -spoilt children, whom Mrs. Brander greeted courteously, but without -effusiveness. Indeed, she afterwards described them as the two most -intolerable little offences against humanity she had ever met, and -she was much too frank to do more than veil this feeling even in -the presence of their mother, whose caresses of the little Kate and -compliments on her beauty evidently excited in the more sensible of the -two mothers no approval whatever. - -The vicar’s wife had something in her mind that she considered of far -more importance than any matter connected with mere children. Before -very long she brought the conversation round to Olivia Denison, of -whom she took care to speak with such exceedingly moderate approbation -as she thought likely to suit a step-mother’s taste. Mrs. Denison was -delighted to meet some one who did not go into the usual raptures about -the young girl’s beauty and amiability. - -“Olivia is not a bad sort of girl,” she admitted, in a patronizing -tone. “But she has been terribly spoilt by her father. Her temper is -almost unbearable, and I regret to say that she does not scruple to -indulge it on my poor children.” - -“I should think you would be glad to get her married and settled, both -for her sake and your own, then,” said Mrs. Brander. “She is a showy -sort of girl, who ought to marry even here.” - -Mrs. Denison looked for a moment rather embarrassed. - -“Well, certainly,” she admitted grudgingly. “A gentleman has already -made his appearance who seems to be attracted by her--at least, so her -father thinks. I myself shall not see him till to-morrow, when he comes -to luncheon here.” - -“Indeed!” cried Mrs. Brander, raising her eyebrows with great apparent -interest. “I wonder if it is any one I know?” Mrs. Denison gave a -little cough of uncertainty. - -“Well,” she said at last, with some hesitation, “I hope I’m not letting -out a secret, but it is your own brother-in-law, Mr. Vernon Brander.” - -Mrs. Brander almost started from her chair in well simulated horror and -surprise. - -“Vernon!” she exclaimed, in a low voice. “Impossible!” Mrs. Denison -turned pale. - -“Why not?” she faltered. “Surely there is nothing against the vicar’s -brother!” - -Mrs. Brander hesitated, in much apparent confusion and distress. - -“I would not for the world have been the first to break it to you, and -even now I scarcely like to tell you. In fact, I will not unless you -will promise that it shall make no difference in your treatment of the -unhappy young fellow,” she said at last. - -Mrs. Denison, shaking with curiosity and alarm, gave the required -promise in an unconvincing tone. - -“Years ago,” began the vicar’s wife in a tone lowered to escape the -children’s ears, “Vernon unhappily became involved in an intrigue with -the sister of the man who occupied this house, and at last, after a -quarrel, she mysteriously disappeared, and has not since been heard of.” - -“Murdered!” shrieked Mrs. Denison, startling the children, who all -turned round, and caused her to put sudden constraint upon herself. - -“Hush!” said Mrs. Brander, rather alarmed by the strength of her -effect. “We don’t like to think that; we _mustn’t_ think that. -But there is just enough unpleasantness about the affair. _You_ -understand,” she murmured confidentially. - -“I should think so!” cried Mrs. Denison, heartily. “I’ll take care that -he shall never----” - -The vicar’s wife interrupted her, laying a persuasive, but not feeble, -hand on the arm of the excited lady. - -“You will take care never to hint a word of this to him, or to any -one,” she said, in a low, but exceedingly authoritative, tone. “You -remember your promise. Without any measure so strong as that, we women -always know how to give an acquaintance who is in any way undesirable -not too much cold shoulder, but just cold shoulder enough.” - -She rose to go, feeling that she had done enough to accomplish her -purpose. - -“I think that ought to do it,” she said to herself, with subdued and -still somewhat anxious satisfaction, as she whipped up her ponies, and -drove away from the farm. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -The second Mrs. Denison was, unfortunately for her husband’s household, -one of those ladies who unite in themselves most of woman’s typical -frailties. One of the most marked of these was a great jealousy of any -member of her own sex who was younger, better looking, or in any way -considered more generally attractive than herself. This jealousy rose -to such a pitch in the case of her handsome step-daughter that she was -more pleased at the discovery of the ineligibility of Olivia’s new -admirer than disappointed at the failure of a prospect of getting rid -of her. - -In spite of her promises to Mrs. Brander, Mrs. Denison of course -told her husband that night, with some triumph, what a desperate -character he proposed to introduce into the bosom of his household on -the following day. But her sensational tirade produced little effect. -Mr. Denison had indeed heard the old story since he gave the vicar of -Saint Cuthbert’s his invitation; and, to tell the truth, it had rather -tended to increase than diminish the liking he had taken to the parson. -An injudicious liking for the girls was a humanising foible which he -could understand and excuse. As for the disappearance, it was an old -story, and might contain an old slander. At any rate, even a murderer -was better than a milksop. So he made light of his wife’s deep-voiced -harangue, and pronounced his opinion that Mrs. Meredith Brander might -find something better to do than to spread these foolish stories -concerning her brother-in-law. - -“Then you mean to take no steps, in the face of what I have told you, -to prevent your own hearth from being polluted by the presence of a -murderous libertine?” inquired Mrs. Denison, who had the liking of a -narrow and half-educated mind, in moments of excitement, for language -equal to the occasion. - -“Well, I’m not going, after inviting a man to luncheon, to rush out and -tell him we have heard a cock-and-bull story about his doings a quarter -of a century ago, and so we can’t let him come in.” - -“And so Beatrice and Reginald are to get their ideas of the church from -this man? I might have known what sort of a clergyman you would pick -up, who would never receive Mr. Lovekin or Mr. Butterworth! I am told -this Mr. Vernon Brander doesn’t even dress like a clergyman.” - -“He wears a round collar,” said Mr. Denison; “perhaps that will save -the morals of Beatrice and Reginald. Anyhow, he doesn’t talk up in his -head like old Buttermilk, and he doesn’t look so like a trussed chicken -as that lean-necked Lovekin used to do.” - -“At least there was no scandal about either of those gentlemen,” said -his wife with dignity. “A girl could trust herself with either of them.” - -“She’d have an odd taste if she couldn’t.” - -“Perhaps you have no objection to this man as a suitor for your -daughter?” - -“He hasn’t proposed yet.” - -“Or to the chance of her being found dead in a mysterious manner.” - -“Perhaps he doesn’t make away with more than seventy-five per cent. -of the girls he comes across. Olivia might take her chance,” said Mr. -Denison, who was getting sleepy, and had had enough of the conversation. - -This flippancy silenced her for a time; but it had for its permanent -effect on Mrs. Denison the strengthening of her resolution to show this -black sheep of the church what a high-principled British matron thought -of him. - -When, next day, the Reverend Vernon Brander arrived at the farm for -luncheon, his evil star brought him before Olivia had returned from -her morning walk. He was shown into the drawing-room, where, by -Olivia’s orders, in honor of his coming, a fire blazed in the usually -cheerless grate; for Mrs. Denison, although an indolent and extravagant -housekeeper, practiced from habit a dozen uncomfortable and futile -little economies, which she had learnt in her childhood’s days in her -father’s small shop. On learning of the guest’s arrival, she made -no haste to receive him; and Vernon was left for some time to an -uninterrupted study of the room. - -He decided at once, his thoughts while in this house all taking the -same direction, that Olivia seldom or never sat in the room, that -she did not like it, but that, nevertheless she had had something to -do with the arrangement of it, and that much of the decorative work, -both of needle and paint brush, with which it was adorned, was done by -her active fingers. The position of each article of furniture was too -coldly correct to please her, Vernon, used to the society of a woman of -taste, felt sure. There was no pretty disorder of open book or music, -untidy work-basket, with its picturesque overflow of feminine trifles; -no disarranged cushion; no displaced chair. The piano was shut--looked -even as if it might be locked; the furniture, of the pretty, modern, -spindle-shanked, uncomfortable type, was evidently scarcely ever used. -Vernon had time to wander about at his leisure until he found something -which roused in him more than a passing interest. This was a large -photographed head of Olivia, which stood by itself in a dark corner -on a side table in a handsome oak frame. It had evidently been taken -quite recently, and was an excellent likeness. Vernon could not resist -the temptation to take it up and carry it to a window to examine it, -as he could not do in the obscurity to which it had been condemned. -Then, as he was still left undisturbed, he put the portrait on a centre -table in the full light, and opening an album which lay not far off, -began hunting for more photographs of the same girl. He found a page -containing four, taken at different stages of childhood and gawky young -girlhood. Going down on his knees beside the large portrait, he held -open the album immediately underneath it, and began tracing out the -development of the woman from the child with the deepest interest. - -Absorbed, as his habit was, in the occupation of the moment, he did -not hear, or did not heed, the approach of footsteps across the hall. -The door had not been properly closed, and, before he could change his -position, it had been thrust open with peremptory touch, and he was in -the presence of his hostess. - -Glancing from him to the portrait on the table, and thence to the book -in his hand, Mrs. Denison saw or guessed how he was employed, and -feminine jealousy and dislike increased the horror and indignation -she was nursing against this homicidal clergyman whom her husband had -chosen to exalt at the expense of her own chosen divines. She stood -with a stony and most unwelcoming face while Vernon, rising hastily -with a bright laugh, shut the album, and came forward to meet her. - -But she put forward no cordial hand, and vouchsafed him only the -coldest little nod of the head. Vernon mistook the reason of this -reception, confounding the step-mother with the mother, and supposing -that his hostess was in arms at the liberty he had taken in thus openly -worshipping at the young girl’s shrine. - -“I must apologize for my attitude of apparent devotion,” he said; “but -I was so much interested in tracing the development of the child as -shown here,” and he held out the album, “into the woman as represented -here,” and he touched the portrait on the table, “that I did not notice -how unnecessarily devout my position had become.” - -“Very unnecessarily,” assented Mrs. Denison, in a hard and frigid tone. - -Poor Vernon looked much disconcerted by this rebuff. - -“I hope you will believe,” he began, almost stammering in his -confusion, “that I had no intention of taking a liberty in admiring -your daughter’s portrait so openly----” - -“My _step_-daughter’s!” interrupted Mrs. Denison, with a snap. - -“Oh, ah, yes--I mean your step-daughter’s,”--floundered Vernon, more -perplexed than ever. If she did not care about the girl, why this -anger? “You must all be so much accustomed to the admiration Miss -Denison excites that even an eccentric tribute may, I hope, be excused.” - -With masculine want of tact he was getting deeper and deeper into the -mire. Mrs. Denison’s cold, pale, plump face grew every moment more -forbidding. - -“The place is not so overrun with admirers of Olivia Denison as you -seem to imagine,” said she, acidly. “There is nothing the matter with -the girl’s face; on the other hand, we are not accustomed to consider -it anything to rave about. We Londoners like beauty of a more delicate -type.” - -“If by delicate you mean puny and pale,” said Vernon, with rash -honesty, “you certainly won’t get us up here to agree with you. But if -you mean refined, I can’t imagine a face more ideally satisfying in -that respect than Miss Denison’s.” - -This was the last straw. The one consolation Mrs. Denison always had -ready for herself on the irritating subject of Olivia’s beauty was that -her own flaccid paleness made the girl’s bright coloring look “vulgar.” -She had made her entrance in an aggressive mood; every word the -unfortunate man had uttered had increased her prejudice against him, -and had seemed specially designed for her annoyance. Inflamed by sullen -anger, and rushing to the favorite conclusion of the ill-bred that she -had been “insulted,” Mrs. Denison let loose upon her guest the vials -of her wrath. She had just enough sense of decency not to get loud in -her anger; but her thin, compressed lips and coldly venomous grey eyes -struck a sort of terror into the unsuspecting clergyman, before her -slow words came like the crash of a thunderbolt upon his ears. Mrs. -Denison prefaced her speech by a hard, short laugh that scarcely moved -the muscles of her flabby face. - -“I suppose your taste still runs in the same direction that it did ten -years ago then, and that you admire red-cheeked farmers’ daughters as -much as ever?” - -“I don’t understand you, madam,” said Vernon, growing paler than ever, -if that were possible, but losing his nervousness in the face of this -preposterous attack. - -His recovered self-possession irritated Mrs. Denison, who had expected -him to cower under her onslaught. Although she was already growing -alarmed at what she had done, she was too sullenly obstinate to draw -back, and she strengthened herself, even while her breath came faster -and a slight flush came over her face, with the conviction that she was -unmasking villainy, and putting to rout a man who was a disgrace to his -sacred calling. - -“Indeed, I should have thought that in this house, of all others, your -memory would have been better.” - -As Mrs. Denison had remained standing, Vernon had perforce done the -same. He now took a step to the left, so that the light might fall on -his face as well as on hers as he answered her. - -“If you have any accusation to make against me, will you be kind enough -to make it in so many words, and not in roundabout hints?” - -He had managed to make the woman feel the full awkwardness of the -position into which she had brought herself. She hesitated and -stammered, even though her grey eyes did not flinch from their -vindictive stare. - -“I--I had heard--everybody has--stories which--a clergyman, too!--I -should never have thought----” - -“No. People never do think, when they bring a vague charge, that they -ought to be ready to substantiate it. Will you tell me what you heard?” - -“I am not to be brought to book in this way,” said Mrs. Denison, -recovering herself, and speaking in a louder voice. “You cannot be -ignorant of the stories about you, and you cannot be surprised that I -don’t think you a fit person to--to be a friend to--to young girls.” - -There was a pause, which Mrs. Denison found very awkward. She stood -with one hand upon a small octagonal table, feeling very anxious that -this most obnoxious visitor would either go or give her an opportunity -of going. Vernon, on his side, stood perfectly still before her, -staring at the floor, not with the shamefaced look of remorse and -guilt, but with an expression of painful and earnest thought. At last -he raised his head, and his black eyes, full of passion and fire, met -her own cold grey ones steadily. - -“You have heard that I caused the disappearance of a girl ten years -ago?” said he, not abruptly, but with grave deliberateness. - -“Er--yes--something--yes--of the sort,” answered Mrs. Denison, taken -aback. - -“And on sufficiently good authority to warrant your considering it -true?” - -“On the very best authority. I never act on any other,” said the lady, -hastily. - -Vernon looked perplexed, and his tone grew a little more diffident as -he continued-- - -“Then why not have spared me the humiliation of this reception? Just -two lines sent by the stable boy would have been enough, and you may -be sure I should never have troubled you with what, I hope, has been a -painful interview to you.” - -Vernon said “hope,” and even put a slight emphasis on the word, as he -had a suspicion that his hostess was ill-natured enough to have found -some enjoyment in his discomfiture. With a ceremonious and dignified -bow he was passing her on his way to the door, when a genial voice -startled them both, and Mr. Denison entered. - -Not being a man of specially quick perceptions, the new comer did not -at once see that anything was wrong. He seized Vernon by both hands, -welcomed him in warm words, and with apologies for having been absent -on his arrival. - -“And where’s my Olivia?” he went on, turning to his wife, now observing -for the first time the unpromising frown on that lady’s face, and -believing that his daughter’s neglect was the cause. “She should have -been here to help you entertain Mr. Brander.” - -Mrs. Denison began to say something inarticulately, but Vernon, in a -clear and deliberate voice, took the words out of her mouth. - -“You do Mrs. Denison injustice. Judging from the manner in which she -has entertained me, I should think she is not only able, but that she -prefers, to do without any assistance.” - -Mrs. Denison looked both confused and alarmed, as she stammered -something about Mr. Brander’s having misunderstood her. For her -husband, like many other easy-going men, was subject to occasional fits -of passionate violence, which, for a woman of Mrs. Denison’s cold and -somewhat stodgy temperament, had peculiar terrors. - -“Misunderstood!” cried he, in an ominous tone of surprise and -perplexity. - -“Misunderstood what?” - -“I think the misunderstanding was on the lady’s side,” said Vernon, -very calmly, moving a step nearer the door. “For if Mrs. Denison really -thought that I could comfortably partake of her hospitality after being -accused by her of unspecified crimes, she made a mistake which I must -now beg to leave her leisure to recognize.” - -Without giving Mr. Denison, who had grown during this speech -absolutely livid with anger, time to answer him, Vernon Brander hurried -out of the room and out of the house. - -But Mr. Denison’s outbursts of passion, if violent, were short lived. -After having inveighed for a few minutes furiously against woman’s -talkativeness and woman’s indiscretion, he allowed himself to be talked -round by his wife, into believing that what little she had said to -the Reverend Vernon touching his former delinquencies, he had brought -upon himself by a very impertinent expression of his admiration for -Olivia. Being at heart a man of peace, and unable to retain displeasure -with any one for long, Mr. Denison had subsided into an uneasy and -conscience-pricked silence on the subject, when Olivia’s footsteps, -bounding through the hall with the agility of youth and high spirits, -startled both husband and wife. - -The girl sprang into the room like a flash of sunshine, but being far -more acute than her father, the first glance from his face to that of -his wife showed her that something was wrong. - -“Where’s Mr. Brander?” she asked abruptly, already with a dash of -suspicion in her tone. “Lucy told me he’d been here nearly half an -hour.” - -Mr. Denison walked away to the nearest window without speaking; Mrs. -Denison leaned back in the easy chair which she was occupying with an -assumption of easy dignity meant to conceal the uneasiness which she -felt. For to displease Olivia seriously, much as the elder woman might -affect to ignore the girl’s feelings, was a very different thing from -displeasing her good-tempered father. - -“Mr. Brander has been and has gone,” said Mrs. Denison, with an air of -offended dignity. “He has proved himself unworthy the honor of being -admitted as a friend into my family, and I never wish to hear his name -mentioned again.” - -“You don’t think I’m to be satisfied like that,” said Olivia, very -quietly. Then she stood, with hands clasped and passionate, earnest -eyes, gazing at her step-mother’s doughy face with a steadfastness -which caused that lady to “fidget” uneasily, and thus to destroy the -effect of her efforts at dignified composure. - -“You’re forgetting yourself strangely, Olivia, to speak to me in that -manner. I am mistress here, and I am not going to be dictated to by a -chit of a girl.” - -“You have said something, done something, to send him away; I am sure -of it,” said the girl with breathless earnestness, not heeding her -step-mother’s fretful protest. “I will know what it is; I have a right -to know. Papa,” she went on, turning towards her father entreatingly, -and speaking in a voice that grew softer the moment she addressed -him, “you know Mr. Brander has been kind to me, most unselfishly, -disinterestedly kind--and just when I wanted help and kindness. You -would not let him be rudely treated, would you? You would never allow -your guest to be insulted, I am sure. Tell me what has happened; I must -know. Do tell me; do satisfy me. I am not curious; I am miserable until -I know.” - -She had crossed the room to him, put affectionate hands on his -shoulders, and was looking into his face with tender pleading, far more -irresistible even than his wife’s peremptory reasoning had been. He -could not look her in the face, but frowned, and made feeble and futile -attempts to get rid of the clinging fingers. Mrs. Denison’s hard voice -then struck upon their ears. - -“Really, Edward, you’re not going to allow yourself to be talked over -in that way, I hope. Surely you and I are the best judges as to who -are, and who are not fit acquaintances for our children. And when the -wife of the vicar of the parish herself warns me that such and such a -man is a criminal of a sort not fit to be admitted into a decent house, -I don’t think any one can dispute that we have authority for what we -do.” - -“The wife of the vicar! Mrs. Brander!” exclaimed Olivia in -bewilderment. “She told you that about her brother-in-law?” - -Mrs. Denison did not answer. She was ready to bite her tongue out for -her indiscretion in mentioning her informant’s name. For she knew -Olivia’s impulsive nature, and was very much afraid that the girl would -get her into trouble with the vicar’s wife, with whom she was anxious -to stand well. For Mrs. Brander’s well-bred simplicity of manner, and -a certain air of being queen of the district which years of homage had -given her, had made a strong impression on the ex-governess. Olivia -read the truth in her step-mother’s confusion, and a new spring of -anger bubbled up in her heart. - -“The wicked, treacherous woman!” she panted, scarcely aloud, but with -great vehemence. “He shall know who are the friends who spread these -stories about him.” - -She was turning impulsively towards the door, drawing on as she did -so, one of the gloves she had taken off, when Mrs. Denison, with -unaccustomed agility, sprang up from her chair and laid a heavy hand on -the girl’s arm. - -“Where are you going?” she asked, peremptorily, with much anxiety. - -Olivia looked down at her face with a resolute expression, which made -her step-mother’s hands tingle to box her ears. - -“I am going to find Mr. Vernon Brander, to tell him of the slanders -that are being spread about him and who spreads them, and I am going to -apologize most humbly for the treatment he has received in this house -this morning.” - -If Olivia had trusted herself for another minute in Mrs. Denison’s -clutches, the last ray of that good lady’s self-restraint would have -been torn away, and she would have recalled her old methods of school -room rule by bringing her plump hand in sharp contact with the girl’s -cheeks. But Olivia was too quick for her. With an agile twist of her -imprisoned arm she freed herself, and shaking her head at her father, -who was crossing the room to follow her, she left the room even more -rapidly than Vernon Brander had done. - -Olivia flew along the road towards St. Cuthbert’s as if pursued. The -thought that the man who had done so much both to help and protect her -should have been exposed to the vulgar insults of the tyrant of her -father’s household threw her into a frenzy of anger and humiliation -for which she found no balm. With her indignation against Mrs. -Meredith Brander, on the other hand, there mingled an unacknowledged -consolation. She did not like that lady; she was also unconsciously -jealous of her strong hold upon her brother-in-law. Therefore the -discovery of Mrs. Brander’s perfidy, which could not fail to weaken -that hold, had an element which was not unwelcome. But to do the girl -justice, this selfish feeling was in very small proportion to the -passionate wish to make some amends to him for the indignity he had -just suffered. - -It has been a dull morning and now the rain was beginning to fall, -and to envelope the hills far away on the left with a haze which by -its density threatened something worse than a light shower. In her -impulsive eagerness to start on her errand of consolation, she had not -thought of the mundane precaution of taking an umbrella, and although -she was now not too much absorbed to regret the omission, she was far -too impatient to go back. As the rain fell faster she began to run, -and when she came in sight of the ruinous church, standing still far -away in the valley below her, partly hidden by the gaunt and cheerless -Vicarage, she had to pause for breath, although by that time her -clothes were wet through. Through the veil of rain she caught sight -of a man who was making his way towards St. Cuthbert’s by a shorter -path, over the meadows and through the straggling trees which at this -point skirted the hill on the south side of the valley. It must be -Vernon Brander, she felt sure, returning passionately angry or deeply -humiliated, from his unlucky visit to the farm. - -Olivia wanted to overtake him before he could reach his house: so with -her usual impetuous rashness, she broke through the hedge on her left, -ran, tumbled, and slipped down the hill, which was slippery with wet -grass, scrambled through the damp, dead underwood which grew between -the trees at the bottom, and, running for the rest of the way, got into -the lane leading to the church, and, turning the last sharp corner in a -brilliant spurt, ran into the man she was pursuing as he leaned against -the churchyard gate. - -And it was not Vernon Brander after all! - -The man had turned, hearing the rapid footsteps behind him, and the -change in the girl’s face, as she learnt her mistake, was far too -pronounced for him not to see easily that she was disappointed. - -“I’m the wrong man, missee, I’m afraid,” said he good-humoredly, and in -a manner perfectly free from offence. - -Olivia knew that this was the new tenant of Rishton Church Cottage; -she had seen him on the previous Sunday, not indeed inside the church, -of which he had confessed to the vicar a frank abhorrence, but leaning -over the low wall of his garden to watch the worshippers, as they left -the building, with half-shut, critical eyes. - -“No,” said she, apologetically; “I thought it was the vicar.” - -A curious look, partly of interest and partly, as it seemed to her, of -pity came over his face. - -“The vicar of this rat run?” he asked, with a nod of his head in the -direction of the church. - -“The Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s,” answered the girl with some dignity. - -Her ideas on the subject of conversation with strangers were strictly -conventional, but besides the universal interest and curiosity which -the mystery surrounding the new comer excited, she felt a sudden -conviction that the attraction which brought him to this remote -neighborhood was not unconnected with Vernon Brander. - -The stranger gave a sort of grunt, and nodded significantly. - -“I thought so,” said he. - -Olivia turned away, with a deep flush in her cheeks, much vexed with -herself for having given the man an opening for a remark which seemed -highly impertinent. She was making boldly for the Vicarage when she -heard the stranger’s voice again. He had followed and was walking -beside her. - -“Look here, Miss Denison,” he began, in a serious and respectful tone, -“although I am a stranger to you, you are not one to me, for I’ve -studied you since I’ve been in this neighborhood, as I’ve studied all -the rest of my neighbors. And if I thought of them all as I do of you, -it would be better for some of them.” - -Olivia turned suddenly towards him, and stopped, impressed by his tone, -and filled with dread of what was coming. - -“Don’t be frightened,” he continued, in a voice which, for the rough -man, was almost gentle. “You’re a fine, high-spirited, generous girl, -and I want to be able to say to you that I will never harm you nor -yours.” - -“You want to be able to say it!” she exclaimed in bewilderment. - -“Yes. As long as you remain Miss Denison I can say it, but if you were -to shut your ears to everybody’s warnings and marry the Vicar of St. -Moulder-in-the Hole here, I couldn’t.” - -“Why, who are you?” cried the girl, in a tremulous voice. - -“Ned Mitchell, brother to Nellie Mitchell, who was done away with here -ten years ago. And I’m here to make the man who murdered her swing for -it!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -Olivia Denison was by no means a nervous or weak-minded girl. On -learning that the man who stood before her was the brother of Nellie -Mitchell, she did not scream or stagger back, or give any outward -sign of the shock she felt, except to bite her lips, which had begun -to tremble and twitch, as she bowed her head in acknowledgment of -the information. But, none the less, she was instantly possessed by -a much greater terror than if this unexpected avenger had been a -fierce-looking personage with flashing eyes and a melodramatic roll in -his voice. She felt that there would be no softening this hard-headed -colonist, who took the punishment of his sister’s betrayer as “all in -the day’s work,” and announced his intention of getting him hanged with -the same dispassionate decision with which he would have resolved on -the sale of a flock of sheep. And at the same time she felt for the -first time fully conscious that even the absolute knowledge of Vernon -Brander’s guilt would not suffice to stifle her interest in him. - -Quietly as she took his sensational announcement, Ned Mitchell was -shrewd enough to know that the young lady was greatly shocked by it, -and her bearing filled him with genuine admiration. But his first -attempt to soften the blow was scarcely well worded. - -“Come, Miss Denison, there are as good fish in the sea as ever came -out of it, and a young lady of your spirit is too good to waste half a -sigh on any man, let alone a parson. There’s nobody fit to mate with -you in this played-out old country; what you want is a lad who can sit -a buckjumper, or ride five hundred miles without a wink of sleep except -what he gets in the saddle. That’s your sort.” - -“Is it?” said Olivia tranquilly. “Perhaps so. But I assure you, Mr. -Mitchell, I can exist a few more years without a mate at all, and that -it is no frantic desire to get married which makes me anxious to see -one of my friends cleared of a charge of which I believe him to be -innocent.” - -“Well said. That’s what a friend should believe. But if your friend has -quite a free conscience about St. Cuthbert’s churchyard and anything -that may ever have taken place in it, can you suggest a reason for the -gate’s being always locked?” - -“I suppose it is to prevent the sheep getting in,” said Olivia, -regretting the feeble suggestion the next moment. - -“Certainly the sheep can’t pick a lock, but, then, neither could they -lift an ordinary latch.” - -“Do you suppose that no churchyard is ever kept locked unless a murder -has ever been committed in it?” - -“No. But I think it strange that since I have been here, prowling -about, let us say, not only has the gate been mended where it had grown -weak in one of the hinges, but two breaches in the wall, by which one -could have got into the churchyard without the help of the gate, have -been repaired.” - -Olivia glanced towards the place where she had got in over the broken -wall on a former occasion. The gap had been stopped up, and some of the -earth underneath on the outside had been carted away to make a forced -entrance more difficult. - -“Well,” said she, her cheeks flushing, “and is there anything singular -in the fact of a vicar’s having his churchyard wall repaired?” - -“When the churchyard is so orderly and so beautifully kept as this -one?” added Mr. Mitchell, with a derisive laugh. “Yes, I think there is -something singular in it. And what makes it to my mind more singular -still is that when I congratulated the Reverend Vernon Brander on these -repairs he denied all knowledge of them.” - -“Then he certainly knew nothing about them,” said Olivia, promptly. - -Mr. Mitchell, for the first time, gave her a glance such as he was -accustomed to bestow on the ordinary run of women--a glance full of -resigned and lenient contempt. - -“Well, you are thorough-going, at least,” he said, at last, -patronizingly. “But it is a curiously lucky thing for the vicar, whose -house is the only place that commands a view of the churchyard, mind -you, that I can be seen wandering about the place one day, and find I -can’t get in the next.” - -“Very likely his housekeeper saw you, as you say, prowling about, -and, considering your manner suspicious, had the repairs made without -thinking it worth while to consult her master.” - -“Not likely,” said Mr. Mitchell, with a shake of the head. “However, -I’ll not keep you here in the rain trying to persuade an old hand like -me that black’s white. Do you know that your clothes are wet through?” - -This was quite true. Recalled to consciousness of physical discomfort, -Olivia shivered. - -“Yes, I must make haste home,” she said. Then, with a hopeless glance -at his face, as if she despaired of her words having any effect, she -added, “You are too suspicious. You are so shrewd that you think you -can’t make a mistake. But for all your cleverness, my belief in the -friend I know and trust is just as likely to be right as your belief to -the contrary.” - -“Well, well. I hope it may be. Don’t think I have any ill-feeling -towards this Vernon Brander as a man; it is the betrayer of my sister -that I’m after, and if Vernon Brander isn’t the guilty party, why, -he’ll have nothing to fear from me. Good-afternoon, Miss Denison.” - -Mr. Mitchell raised his hat, with a shrewd and not unkindly smile into -the girl’s beautiful, agitated face, turned on his heel, and began to -make his way, with his usual stolid and leisurely manner, up the hill -towards the high road. - -Left to herself, Olivia, who was by this time too thoroughly drenched -to trouble herself about a few minutes more or less in the rain, -debated what she should do. The heat of the impulse which made her -dash out of doors on learning the insult to Vernon had now departed, -and some of Mr. Mitchell’s words had hurt her maidenly modesty to the -extent of making her shy of visiting the clergyman at his house. On the -other hand, she had now, in the menaces of the colonist, another reason -for putting him on his guard. When Mr. Mitchell had disappeared from -her sight at the first bend in the lane, she began to follow in the -same direction slowly, her mind not yet made up. An unexpected incident -decided her. - -Glancing furtively at the cheerless windows of the gaunt stone house, -Olivia saw, at one of them, the figure of an old woman in a black -dress and widow’s cap, who watched the girl with evident interest, and -at last opened the front door and began making signs to her. Olivia -stopped. The signs were plainly an invitation to come in. She advanced -as far as the gate, and then the old woman addressed her. - -“Won’t you step inside a minute, out of the rain? Come in, come in; -there’s nobody about but me.” - -This decided Olivia, who recognized the speaker as Vernon’s -housekeeper, whom she had seen at Rishton Church on Sundays. So she -walked up the stone-paved path, and thanking the old woman for the -proffered shelter, followed her into a hall, the desolate and bare -appearance of which corresponded perfectly with that of the exterior of -the house. - -“I think you’d better come into my room, Miss, though it’s really only -the back kitchen,” said the housekeeper. “But Mr. Brander, being out -to-day, lunching up at the Hall Farm, as you know, Miss, there’s no -fire in his room.” - -Olivia assenting gratefully, the old woman led her past the open door -of a comfortless and dingy room on the left, which might have been -either dining-room or study, past a second door on the same side, -which was closed, to a small apartment at the back, where a bright -fire, a cat on the hearthrug, a bird in its cage, and a cushioned -rocking chair, gave a look of comfort which was a welcome relief to -the cheerless aspect of the rest of the house. An open door led into -the kitchen, and gave a pleasant glimpse of firelight shining on -well-polished pots and pans. - -The housekeeper broke into ejaculations of alarm as she touched the -girl’s wet garments. - -“Bless me! you’re soaked to the skin!” she cried, beginning instantly -to divest Olivia of her outer garments with a vigorous hand. “Come -upstairs with me. Yes, you must; it would be manslaughter on my part to -let you stay five minutes in those clothes. I believe you’ve caught a -fever already.” - -Fatigue, excitement, cold, and wet had done their work on Olivia, who -began to look and to feel ill. She resisted for a few moments the -housekeeper’s well-meant endeavors to drag her to the door, but yielded -at last, and suffered herself to be taken upstairs, and arrayed from -head to foot in garments belonging to her hostess which, if neither -well fitting nor fashionable, were at least dry. Mrs. Warmington, for -that, she informed Olivia, was her name, assured the girl that she -would have plenty of time to have her outer garments dried, and to get -away home before Mr. Brander returned, as it was his day for visiting -an outlying part of his straggling parish. - -“And,” she said, “he will no doubt go straight on from the Hall Farm -after luncheon, and won’t be back here until teatime.” - -“Without having had anything to eat,” thought poor Olivia. - -She let herself be led downstairs again, noting, as she did so, that -no visible corner of the house, except such parts of it as came within -the housekeeper’s special province, was one whit more comfortable or -homelike than the bare hall. A pang of acute pity for the lonely man -pierced her heart as she decided that, whatever sin he might earlier -in life have been guilty of, no expiation could be more complete than -his dreary life in this desolate house, with only an old woman for -companion. And Mrs. Warmington did not strike her as the most devoted -servant or the most sympathetic personality in the world. She had -“seen better days,” evidently; but although she did not flaunt the -fact unduly, it perhaps gave her a little additional aggressiveness of -manner, so that, in spite of her kindness, Olivia felt that one must be -hard up for companionship to seek Mrs. Warmington’s society. The girl -was indeed struck by the difference between the warm kindliness the old -woman showed to herself and the rather off-hand manner in which she -alluded to her employer. She began to puzzle her head as to the reason -of this, and grew very anxious to find out in what esteem the clergyman -was held by his solitary dependent. After a little conversation by the -fireside, during which the warmth came gradually back to her shivering -limbs, she put out a feeler in this direction. - -“It’s a very lonely life that you and Mr. Brander lead up here,” she -said, looking into the fire, and hoping that she did not betray in -which of the two lives she took the greater interest. - -“You may well say lonely. It’s a godsend to see a human creature -about. I could have blessed the rain to-day for bringing you here.” - -“I suppose it’s even worse for you than for Mr. Brander, because he has -his parish duties?” - -“Well, I’m of a more contented turn of mind than he,” said Mrs. -Warmington, with the same coolness that she had previously shown on the -subject of her master. “But, then, to be sure, perhaps I’ve a better -conscience.” - -There was silence for some minutes. Mrs. Warmington gave the impression -of being ready to be questioned, but Olivia was shy of taking advantage -of the fact. The housekeeper glanced at her from time to time, as if -hoping for some comment on her words. At last, as none came, she looked -her visitor full in the face, and said-- - -“I see you know the story. Every one does, more or less; though there -are not many who know the rights of it as well as I do.” - -Olivia’s heart seemed to stand still. - -“But you don’t think him guilty?” burst from her lips, in a tone which -expressed more anxiety than she guessed. “You know him, perhaps, better -than anybody; you know that he isn’t capable of anything so cruel, so -base.” - -Mrs. Warmington pursed up her withered lips in a judicial manner, -poked the fire, and put on a fresh supply of coal, all with an air of -being the chosen keeper of some great mystery. Olivia watched her, -but without asking any more questions; she felt heartsick, miserable. -Other people might guess; this old woman probably knew. At last the -housekeeper solemnly broke silence. - -“It’s hardly a tale for a young lady’s ears: perhaps it almost seems -like a breach of confidence on my part to touch upon my employer’s -secrets at all. But he has never made a confidante of me, and if -there’s any one in the world who might use the knowledge I possess to -Mr. Brander’s disadvantage, I know it is not you.” - -The young girl felt a shamefaced flush rising in her cheeks. This woman -spoke in a significant tone, implying that the depth of the interest -Olivia took in her master was not unknown to her. The girl turned her -head a little away, and stared at the fire with statuesque stillness -while her companion continued-- - -“To begin with, I may tell you that the Branders are distant relations -of mine. It does not make me love them the more, but it will prove to -you that I have no interest in making them out to be worse than they -are.” - -Olivia assented with a slight bend of the head. - -“I don’t deny that I have noticed the interest you take in my master, -and as you are an inexperienced young girl, with some warm-hearted, -and perhaps rather quixotic, notions, I think it right to put you in -possession of the facts of this business, as I know them.” - -Olivia glanced at the woman, and saw that, in spite of the dry hardness -of her manner, there was a kindly look in her eyes. Indeed, Mrs. -Warmington, whose heart was a little parched towards the world in -general, had taken a fancy to the bright-cheeked, handsome girl. - -“I suppose you know,” she went on, “that the Branders pride themselves -upon being what is called a ‘good’ family. You will also know that -in all ‘good’ families there is generally more than one ‘bad lot.’ -Although I am a connection of theirs, I must confess that there has -been quite an exceptional number among the Branders. And, awkwardly -enough, it happens that the family interest lies chiefly in the Church. -The Branders have been clergymen for generations, generally with little -credit to themselves. Here and there has been an exception, but never -more than one in a generation; the exception in our time is Meredith. -His two brothers, Vernon and one who is now in China, showed from the -very first how unfit they were for their calling. I don’t blame them -much; I don’t praise Meredith much; their temperaments are different, -and it can scarcely be called their fault that only one of the three -is a round peg in a round hole. Well, you know that both my master and -his brother, Meredith, fixed their choice on the same lady, and that -Meredith married her. After that, Vernon, who was no particular credit -to his cloth before, grew wilder than ever. It was not long before his -constant visits to the Hall Farm became the talk of the village; for -Nellie Mitchell hadn’t the best name in the world. Before long it was -rumored about that the girl had been seen, late in the evening, in the -neighborhood of St. Cuthbert’s.” - -“Did you live here then?” abruptly asked Olivia, who had been sitting -in an attitude of straining attention, with close-shut lips and heaving -breast. - -“I had been here six weeks when--when the end came. Tongues had been -going faster than ever for the last week or two, and, of course, some -of the talk had reached my ears. I knew, from little things I had -seen--a portrait, a glove, slight changes in his manner when speaking -of her--that my master had not yet got over his fancy for Mrs. Brander, -married though she was. Then I heard whispers of Nellie Mitchell’s -jealousy; how she flaunted past the vicar’s wife in the churchyard -on Sunday with a swing in her walk and a toss of her head which were -almost insults; of letters which were left in a wood close by, some of -which fell into strange hands. I was shocked by these reports, but I -looked upon them as partly gossip, and considered that, in any case, -they were no business of mine. One evening in August I was standing at -the window of the front room watching the sunset, when I saw Nellie -Mitchell coming down the lane past the house. Something in the girl’s -appearance and manner struck me as it had never done before. It was not -the first time that I had seen her come this way; but on all previous -occasions it had been after dark that I had seen a figure which I -believed to be hers slinking past hurriedly, as if anxious to escape -notice. Now the girl walked boldly--one would have said defiantly--with -a flushed face and an expression of reckless resolution. She carried in -her hand a small white packet, and, as she came opposite the house, she -stopped, and, turning so as to face the gate, deliberately untied the -string or ribbon which held her little parcel together, and counted the -letters of which it consisted. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. -I could see her red lips move as she counted them out to herself, and -then slowly tied them up again with one angry and determined look up -at the windows of this house from her bold black eyes. She did not see -me; but it was evident that if a hundred people had been staring at her -out of these empty, shutterless windows, it would have been all the -same to her. I was shocked, horror-stricken. For the first time the -full meaning of all the ugly rumors I had heard became plain to me: my -master had been this woman’s lover!” - -Olivia shivered at the woman’s words, which seemed doubly shocking from -the matter-of-fact, somewhat hard tone in which they were spoken. - -“As the evening went on, I grew more and more restless and uneasy. -Certain noises I had heard from time to time in the night, which I had -put down to the rats, came back to my mind. It now seemed to me that -they might have been due to another cause. They had come from one of -the front unused rooms. If thoughts of evil now came into my mind, how -could I be blamed? My master was away, doing his rounds in the parish; -he had told me he should not be back till late. All the rest of the -evening I watched from the window, but I did not see the girl return. -The thought came into my mind to go out and try and find out where she -had gone; whether she was really, as the villagers’ hints suggested, -waiting for some one in the churchyard. But I was afraid; I had no mind -to interfere in other people’s affairs; it has always been my custom -not to do so. For a young girl like you I am ready to break my rule but -not for such as Nellie Mitchell.” - -And Mrs. Warmington’s lips closed pharisaically. - -“Nine o’clock came, ten o’clock, half-past ten; it was quite dark. -Then, as I was walking up and down, with an attack of what I call the -‘fidgets,’ there came through the open windows a scream so shrill, so -horrible, that I staggered into the nearest chair as if a blow from a -strong man’s arm had sent me there. ‘Nellie Mitchell! Nellie Mitchell!’ -I felt myself saying, hoarsely. Then I think I fainted, for what I -remember next was to find myself hanging over the chair with my head -on Mr. Vernon’s writing-table. I got up, at first scarcely knowing -what it was that had startled me. I was in utter darkness; in my first -spasm of horror I had thrown down the lamp. As I groped about to find -a match, my fingers trembling so much that they were clumsy and almost -powerless, I heard a footstep outside the door. It was my master, -Vernon Brander! - -“I stopped in my search, and drew back instinctively, as I heard him -fumbling at the handle of the room door. It seemed such a long time -before he came in that the whole of this ugly story--the villagers’ -gossip, the sight I had seen, and the sound I had heard that -evening--all seemed to pass quite slowly through my mind as I stood -there waiting for him to come in. At last the door opened slowly, and -my master stood in the room with me. I heard his breath coming in -guttural gasps; I heard the table creak and the objects on it rattle -as he came forward and leaned upon it. I almost shrieked, middle-aged, -matter-of-fact woman that I was, when he suddenly whispered, in a -hoarse voice-- - -“‘Who’s that?’ - -“I summoned self-command enough to answer, pretty steadily-- - -“‘It’s I, sir.’ - -“He got up from the table, and turned towards the door; but an impulse -seized me to learn what I could then. I remembered with a sort of -inspiration, where the matches were, found them, and struck a light. I -was just in time to see my master’s hands as he opened the door: they -were stained with blood! - -“‘What have you done? You have killed her!’ I hissed out close to him. - -“‘Before Heaven I have not!’ he answered, huskily; but his teeth were -chattering, and his eyes were glassy and fixed. - -“Then, covering his face with his hands with a groan, he turned and -staggered out of the room. As he did so he dropped something, which -I picked up and examined without scruple. I admit that this was -high-handed, but when you are almost a witness to a foul action, you -make new laws for yourself on the spur of the moment. By this time I -had quite recovered myself. I lit a candle, and read every word of -the letters which Nellie Mitchell had flourished before my face that -evening. There were no names used. The gentleman had insisted upon -caution, as the girl over and over again complained. For these letters -were hers, and as each successive one was full of more and more bitter -reproaches against her lover, I guessed that it was the return of her -letters which had at last goaded the girl to desperation. Her jealousy -of Mrs. Brander was expressed on every page, and the last contained a -threat of exposure. It was evident that, whatever the girl’s character -might have been, she was bitterly in earnest over this passion. In -spite of myself, the burning words, guilty though they were, filled -me with a kind of pity, increased by the awful suspicion which now -possessed me. I felt the hot tears fall upon the papers in my hands, -and I was so absorbed in my reading that I did not hear my master come -into the room again; for the door had been left open. When at last I -heard his tread close behind me I started, but did not attempt to hide -how I was engaged. He did not seem startled to see the letters in my -hand, but, taking them from me, he read them right through, one by -one, and then placed them in his desk. His face was as white as that -of a dead man, and the hands he had just washed were livid round the -nails. He looked the wreck of the man who had gone out to his work that -afternoon in the August sunshine. When he had shut his desk he turned -very calmly to me and said-- - -“‘You will leave me to-morrow, of course; but you had better not -go very far, as there will be an inquiry--an inquest; all sorts of -things--and your evidence will be important--against me.’ - -“Those last two words decided me. My life was my own. This man was my -own kin. I answered, as calmly as he had spoken to me-- - -“‘You are my master, sir, and of my own blood. I shall stay with you as -long as you please to keep me. If your conscience is bad, I shall be -an everlasting prick to it; if it is clear, as I pray Heaven, you will -have at least one friend when you most want one.’” - -Olivia started up all on fire. - -“That was good of you!--that was noble of you!” she cried, in a -trembling voice. - -“Not at all. It is just the sort of thing a woman likes to do. A -little cheap quixotism--that is all; and I secured myself a home for -life, you see. I was no young girl that I should be afraid of him.” - -It was impossible to tell whether it was the cynicism or the kindliness -which predominated in Mrs. Warmington’s motives, or whether they were -there in equal proportions. As Olivia stared wonderingly into the -withered and somewhat inexpressive face, the housekeeper rose somewhat -abruptly from her seat. - -“That is Mr. Brander’s step!” she exclaimed as she turned to the door. -“If you stay here, you will be able to slip out presently without his -seeing you.” - -With these words, leaving Olivia no time to protest, or even answer -her, the housekeeper left the room, closing the door behind her. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -Olivia’s first thought, as the door closed on Mrs. Warmington, was -to follow her out and make a dash for freedom. But as she started up -with this impulse, a sliding movement on the part of the garments -she wore reminded her that she was not in walking trim; and a glance -at the gilt-framed but mildewy glass which adorned the housekeeper’s -mantelpiece showed her such a comical figure that the instincts of -maidenly coquetry would never have allowed her to risk a meeting with -Vernon Brander in that odd disguise. - -Mrs. Warmington’s figure was of the straight-up-and-down sort--long -in the body and short in the limbs. Being a lady of frugal bent and -careful habits, she wore her dresses for so long a time that they -acquired enough of the shape and character of the owner to impart the -same characteristics to any subsequent wearer. Therefore, Olivia’s -glance in the mirror showed her a woman in dark-brown stuff of slipshod -fit, with a substantial square waist, and baggy sleeves too short in -the wrist. After one despairing look out of the window at the rain, -which went on falling in torrents, she sat down again disconsolately to -listen and wait for her hostess’ return. - -Mrs. Warmington had not met her master on her way upstairs, for Olivia -had heard him go into the front room before the housekeeper left her; -that she might be equally lucky on her way down was the girl’s inward -prayer. For there were ominous sounds in the house suggesting that -Mr. Brander was not minded to sit down quietly to the writing of a -sermon or the reading of a good book, as one had a clear right to -expect of a clergyman. Poor Olivia, sitting upright as a ramrod, with -a scared expression of face, heard him come out of the dining-room -into the hall. By the noise he made at the hat and coat stand, she -guessed that he was changing his wet coat for a dry one. That business -over, he ought plainly to have returned to his room; so it seemed to -Olivia. But instead of that, he remained fumbling at the stand until -the listening girl remembered, with a spasm of terror, that she had -left there to dry, by the housekeeper’s directions, her little hand -bag. Perhaps Mr. Brander would pass it over, taking it for granted -that the flimsy little feminine thing belonged to Mrs. Warmington. No -woman would have thought so; but, of course, men are not observant. Her -worst fear was that he would remain there, not making enough noise to -put the housekeeper on her guard, until that lady should come sailing -down the stairs laden with a hat and cloak which evidently did not -belong to her. The girl scarcely dared to draw breath in her intense -anxiety. To be caught sneaking into a gentleman’s house in his absence, -warming yourself at his fire, and even--as she discovered to her dismay -on examining her feet--making free with his slippers, is an awkward -situation at any time. But when you have just been told the secret -of his life, and when your whole soul is warring about him, mercy -struggling with horror, and conviction with doubt, the dilemma becomes -well-nigh tragic. - -Presently Olivia heard him drop some object, and the little crash it -made caused her to shiver and almost to cry out. Then he began to cross -the uncarpeted hall with very slow steps. Olivia strained her ears and -held her breath. He was coming towards the room she was in. Had he -guessed the presence of an intruder, or was he only coming with the -prosaic intention of ordering something to eat? The girl remembered -with remorse how he had been cheated out of his luncheon. But what -should she do? Already she heard him calling, in a low and, as she -fancied, tired voice, “Mrs. Warmington!” There was no time to escape by -way of the kitchen--no corner of the room where she could hide herself. -As she stood up to give one last hopeless look round, she again caught -sight of her disguised figure in the glass. Seized by a happy thought, -she snatched up from the top of one of the side cupboards, that filled -the space between the fireplace and the walls, a small woollen shawl -of rusty black, which Mrs. Warmington used to wrap round her head when -she indulged in an afternoon doze. Olivia now blessed her fervently for -this information. She had just time to wrap it round her head, to throw -herself back in the rocking chair with her head turned away from the -door, to cross her legs as Mrs. Warmington did, to fold her arms, and -hide her hands in the folds of the baggy sleeves, when the door opened -softly, and Mr. Brander put his head inside. - -“Mrs. Warmington!” he called, very gently. - -No answer, of course. - -“Are you asleep?” more gently still. - -His housekeeper’s afternoon doze was a very common occurrence -apparently, for he uttered a little petulant sound, and disappeared -into the kitchen. In the dusk of a wet afternoon the girl’s ruse had -succeeded perfectly. But the obscurity which had favored her was -not equally kind to him, for Olivia heard much chinking of china -and clattering of plate before he re-entered the room. Instead of -going through to his own domain, however, he stood still between the -fireplace and the door, and Olivia, not daring to look, guessed that he -was eating. Trembling as she was with the fear of discovery, it seemed -to her a long time before she heard him take up the poker and proceed -very noiselessly to break the red-hot coals. She seized the opportunity -to turn her head a little, and to steal a frightened glance at him -through her eyelashes. He had on the shabbiest of threadbare and ragged -house coats, and was hungrily eating bread and cheese and a piece of -dry and crumbling cake. When he had built up the fire to please him, he -dragged an old church hassock from under the table, and seating himself -on it, drew as near to the grate as possible, and went on with his -improvised meal. - -He was so close to Olivia that she could detect the coaly smell which -constant contact with his mining parishioners had imparted to his old -clothes; so close that she felt that he was cold as well as hungry; so -close that his hair brushed Mrs. Warmington’s brown stuff gown as he -bent forward, with his elbows on his knees, and looked into the fire. - -And as they sat thus, in the darkening twilight, side by side, he -unconscious of her presence, she grew less afraid that he should -discover it, altogether less anxious for the safety of her disguise. -Her thoughts turned instead to consideration of his loneliness. What a -cheerless existence was implied in this creeping up to the side of a -rather cold and cross-grained old woman for warmth and companionship! -The close contact seemed to help Olivia to feel her way into the mind -of the solitary man. She pictured him innocent, laboring under a -charge which for some unaccountable reason he was unable to refute; -she pictured him guilty, torn with remorse, and working out a weary -expiation. In the latter case, she began to feel, even more strongly -than before her interview with Mrs. Warmington, that the horror of the -deed was swallowed up in compassion for the doer. When he had finished -his very frugal dinner, he sat so still that she was able to open her -eyes and so gain all the information concerning the state of his mind -which a careful study of the back of his head could impart. He was -dejected, weary, unhappy; probably smarting still, so she told herself, -from the pain her step-mother’s treatment had caused him. Presently he -rested his head on his left hand, and so came nearer still to her. She -could feel that she was trembling from the force of an aching pity, and -that her hands seemed to tingle with the wish to lie with consoling -touch on his bent head. She had forgotten Mrs. Warmington and the dry -clothes--forgotten to wonder how she was going to get out of the house -and home again without discovering herself to Mr. Brander. She soon -discovered, however, that her feelings were more acute than those of -the object of her pity; for his head tilted slowly further and further -in her direction until at last it rested on her knee. Mr. Brander, who, -after a fierce battle with certain very unclerical feelings, had tried -to subdue the mind to the flesh by a long stretch over the hills, had -succeeded in tiring himself out. - -He was fast asleep. - -And if he had but known it, he might have had sweeter dreams than he -was used to. For the resting-place he had found was the creature who -cared most about him of any in the world. - -Olivia had an inkling of this, and it made the touch of her hand -almost motherly as she bent down and held it very, very gently just -near enough to feel his hair against her fingers. Only thirty-four or -thereabouts, and his hair so grey! She could dare now, as he slept, -to bend right down, and to see by the firelight how thickly the white -threads grew among the dark behind his ears and near the temples. So -curly his hair was, she noticed; quite soft, too, and silky, like a -child’s: quite out of keeping with the worn, lined face, that looked so -sad and so old as the dancing flames threw deep shadows upon it. And -her fingers moved involuntarily through the wavy mass, as she thought, -as women will, that there had been a time, long ago, when he lay, a -helpless child, depending on the kindness of a woman. And she tried to -fancy what that poor mother would have felt if she had known what evil -rumors would some day darken the name of her curly-haired boy. Olivia -was by nature more impulsive and passionate than sentimental; therefore -these unaccustomed feelings and fancies instead of finding vent in a -gentle sigh, made her breast heave and her eyes fill, until a broken -whisper slipped through her trembling lips-- - -“Poor mother--poor son!” - -She was ashamed of her foolishness the next moment, and raised her head -quickly with a start and a hot, tingling blush, anxious to jump up and -run away, though still not daring to move. She took out her pocket -handkerchief very carefully, dabbed it against her wet eyes with much -fierceness, and then gave another glance, not at all sentimental this -time, at the face against her knee. Horror and confusion! Was he asleep -at all? The expression of his face had quite changed, and there was a -wretched tear--her tear!--on his forehead. What should she do? Remove -that tear, certainly. For she felt that it would leave a huge stain, -unmistakable as ink. Very nervously she attempted to dry it with her -handkerchief; but the moment the cambric touched his face, Mr. Brander -raised his head and prevented her. - -“Don’t!” he said, huskily. “Why should you? What is there to be ashamed -of in your kindness to me? Do I get too much from anybody?” - -Olivia did not answer. She felt as if a new acquaintance had suddenly -been sprung upon her. This mood was so different from any she had seen -Mr. Brander in before. The half-cynical self-reliance, the bright, -somewhat bitter humor had disappeared, and given place to a humility so -touching, so gentle, that she felt constrained to remain where she was -rather than risk hurting his feelings by rising abruptly. But she could -not answer his questions, and so she sat silently, with her head bent -down and turned a little away, while he resumed the position he had -first taken, with his arms on his knees, looking into the fire. After -a few moments, during which the girl had time to wonder that she felt, -under these rather awkward circumstances, so much at her ease, she -broke the silence, in a low, hesitating voice. - -“Mr. Brander,” she began, “I should like to say something to you -about--about this morning--about Mrs. Denison.” - -Her painfully apologetic tone made him turn his head at once, with a -smile. - -“You may say something to me--in fact anything--upon any other subject -than those two,” he answered, in his usual kindly tone. “Say something -to me about this afternoon and about yourself. Let this morning--and -Mrs. Denison--be buried. Mind, I say, this is no unchristian spirit.” - -“You are very good,” said Olivia, glancing at him timidly and -gratefully. - -“Do you mean that?” he asked, inquisitively. “You have heard a good -deal to the contrary, you know.” - -“Well, but is all that true?” she burst out boldly. “Now, you have -brought that question upon yourself before, and now you deliberately -bring it upon yourself again. Why don’t you satisfy me by a -straightforward answer? I do deserve it; for I always take your part, -to other people and to myself too.” - -“Do you?” he asked, so eagerly, with such a flash of pleasure over his -face that Olivia felt abashed again. Then he paused, and the light had -gone quite out of his face before he went on: “You won’t be satisfied -then with the consciousness that you are a poor beggar’s solitary -champion?” - -“I won’t be satisfied with that if I can get you to tell me any more,” -she answered, simply. “I don’t pretend that I’m not anxious to know -more; but it is not out of curiosity to learn other people’s affairs, -but because there really must be something peculiarly interesting about -a secret which causes your own relations to speak ill of you.” - -Olivia had suddenly made up her mind for a bold stroke. It cannot be -denied that there was a little malice in her heart; but it was a small -matter compared with her real anxiety to put him on his guard against -one whom she considered a treacherous friend. - -“My relations!” he echoed, with a look of such bewilderment and -incredulity that she began to think he would not believe her. - -“Isn’t a sister-in-law a kind of relation?” asked Olivia, rather -unsteadily, after a pause. - -Mr. Brander’s expression changed to one of pain and fear; so that -Olivia watched him in terror, not daring to go on. He looked at her -without answering, and then, as she remained silent and fearful, he -got up and walked to the other side of the little room, where, as her -face was turned towards the fireplace, she could not see him; but she -knew without the aid of her eyes, that he was much agitated; and when -he came back and, standing by her chair, put his hand gently on her -shoulder and spoke to her with calmness which might have passed for -unconcern, she was not deceived by it. - -“And what ill does my sister-in-law say of me?” he asked. - -“She told my step-mother an old story, and said you were not a proper -acquaintance for--young girls.” - -“Oh, she said that, did she?” returned Mr. Brander, in a measured -voice. Then he said, abruptly, after a silence, “You are sure of this?” - -“Quite sure.” - -Then it appeared to the girl that he stood beside her without a word -for a very long time. For the fire seemed to die down, and the murky -light outside to fade perceptibly, before he even changed his attitude. -At last she found courage to look up timidly into his face, and saw -that his eyes were staring towards the window with the blind look of a -seer whose vision is only keen for the fancies and phantoms in his own -mind. And Mr. Brander’s fancies must have been of the gloomiest kind, -for his face startled the girl into uttering a little exclamation, -which roused him from his abstraction, and woke him to the fact that -his hand had been laying all this time on the young girl’s shoulder. - -“I beg your pardon,” he muttered, as he withdrew it as hastily as if it -had been red-hot iron. - -The blood rushed to Olivia’s face. The touch of Mr. Brander’s hand had -not offended her; the knowledge that it had been unconscious did. And -a most acute pang shot through her heart, as she realized that it was -because his mind was full of another woman’s treatment that he was -oblivious of her. She was jealous. In such an impulsive, energetic -girl as she was, vivid feeling found vent in hasty action. Rising from -her chair, and quite forgetting that her odd costume made dignity -impossible, she said, very coldly, that she must go home now; her -father would be anxious about her, and the rain was less violent. Even -as she spoke the wind dashed a clattering shower against the window -in disproof of her words. She did not notice it herself; neither, -apparently, did her host. For he opened the door for her at once -without any semblance of a wish to detain her, and without seeming to -remark her singular apparel. - -Olivia darted out of the room and up the stairs in a tempest of excited -feelings which found vent in an outburst of indignation against -Mrs. Warmington for leaving her so long alone with Mr. Brander. The -housekeeper met her at the top of the stairs, looking herself pale and -frightened. - -“Why didn’t you come down?” asked Olivia, impatiently. - -The old woman glanced nervously down into the hall, and answered in a -soothing tone of apology, - -“I did not dare, Miss Denison. I did not want my employer to find me -talking to you. He would have guessed what we were talking about. We -get so sharp, we people who live much alone, and he would never have -forgiven me. Ever since I heard him go into the room where you were I -have been walking up and down the landing in a fever. You did not tell -him what we had been talking about, did you?” - -“No,” answered Olivia. “He didn’t ask me.” - -“Thank goodness!” said the housekeeper with such a depth of relief that -the girl’s curiosity was roused. - -“Why should you mind so much?” she asked. “He seems quite used to -having his affairs discussed, and takes it for granted that people -should think the worst of him.” - -This thought moved her as she spoke, and caused her voice to tremble -sympathetically. The housekeeper examined her face narrowly as she -answered, with great discretion-- - -“He wouldn’t have minded about any one else, Miss Denison: but it’s -different with you.” - -“Different--with me!” echoed the girl, very softly. - -Without more words, Mrs. Warmington, after once more listening and -glancing down into the hall to assure herself that they were not likely -to be disturbed, crossed the landing on tiptoe, and beckoned Olivia to -follow her. Then throwing open the door of one of the front bedrooms -without noise, she said-- - -“That is Mr. Brander’s room. Do you see by his bedside a set of hanging -shelves on the wall?” - -“Yes.” - -“And a box in the middle of the bottom shelf?” - -As she spoke, the housekeeper was crossing the room. Taking down the -box, she returned to the door with it, and, raising the lid, showed -Olivia the tray of an old-fashioned workbox with well-worn fittings. - -“It was his mother’s, I believe,” she whispered. Then, as the girl drew -back, shocked at having been inveigled into prying among Mr. Brander’s -treasures, she went on: “Have you ever seen this?” And lifting out the -tray of the workbox, she thrust under Olivia’s reluctant but astonished -eyes an indiarubber golosh, which Miss Denison instantly recognized as -one she had lost on her way back from the Vicarage on the evening of -her arrival at Rishton. - -With a little cry of astonishment and annoyance, Olivia put out a hasty -hand to recover her lost property. But Mrs. Warmington prevented her, -shutting the box hastily, and restoring it to its place. - -“I can’t take, or allow you to take, anything out of my employer’s -boxes in his absence,” she said, drily. - -“But it’s mine; it’s of no use to him, and I want it!” - -“You will have to do without it, unless you care to go and fetch it -yourself. But I think, on second thoughts, you will be satisfied that -enough honor has been paid to your old shoe.” - -Olivia blushed, and moved her shoulders with vexation. - -“It was such a huge thing!” she exclaimed, impatiently. “They were -always sizes and sizes too big for me.” - -Mrs. Warmington’s thin lips relaxed into a smile. - -“Oh!” she said; “perhaps you only wish to put a smaller one in its -place.” - -Olivia felt that she had, as her brothers would have termed it, “given -herself away,” and she was glad to let the subject drop. Following her -conductress into her bedroom, she put on her own, now dry, clothes, -in silence and much meekness, thanked her in a subdued voice for her -hospitality, and begged, as a final grace, the loan of an umbrella. - -“It won’t be necessary. Mr. Brander will see you home.” - -“Oh, no, indeed,” broke out Olivia, hastily. “I want to slip out of the -house quietly without his seeing me again.” - -“Do you really want that?” asked the old woman, with a searching look -which set the younger blushing. “Because, if so, I can take you down -this way by the back staircase. It is never used, but--” - -“Then, perhaps, the stairs will creak,” interrupted Olivia, and without -more delay she made, softly indeed but deliberately, for the front -staircase. - -“I can’t thank you enough for your kindness,” she whispered, when they -both stood in the hall. - -Mrs. Warmington shook her head with a drily amused smile. - -“I had a motive,” she said. “I am too fond of my own comfort to put -myself out of the way without one.” - -“A motive!” echoed Olivia. - -“Yes. I wanted to know you better, and I wanted you to know Mr. Brander -better. Now nobody can deceive you about him, and nobody can deceive me -about you.” - -“Why, who would try?” asked Olivia. - -“Nobody, perhaps. Good-bye.” - -With one glance towards the open door of the front room, from which -they both heard the sounds of a man’s tread, the housekeeper shook -her guest’s hand, and, abruptly leaving her, disappeared into her own -domain at the back of the house. - -Olivia, who was highly offended at this discovery that she had been -“managed” and made the victim of a little trick, walked to the front -door with her head held high, and a firm intention of not even glancing -in the direction of the study. But a sound inside the room, as she -passed the door, broke her resolution, and she gave a swift glance that -way. The look revealed Mr. Blander standing beside the black, empty -fireplace. That was all. He saw her, and saw the proud turn of her head -as she instantly averted her eyes. Then he heard the latch of the front -door as her hands fumbled with it; he heard the door open, and shut -again immediately, very softly. The next moment there was a hesitating -step back across the hall, and the young girl’s face was looking into -the dingy room. - -“Please will you open the door for me, Mr. Brander? I--I don’t quite -understand the lock.” - -He came at once, and did the little service without a word. She looked -out; it was still raining persistently, the heavy downpour having been -succeeded by a fine drizzle. - -“It hasn’t left off yet,” she said, timidly. - -“No.” - -They both stood still, looking out into the gathering darkness. - -“Shall I lend you an umbrella?” - -“Oh, if you would, I should be so glad. I will be sure to bring--send -it back.” - -He brought an umbrella from the stand, and opened it thoughtfully. - -“If I lend you this one--it is the best, the lightest; the one I use -when there’s a bishop about--I shall want it again early to-morrow -morning--” - -“I’ll be sure to--” - -“Very early,” he continued, without heeding her. - -“Then let me have the old one.” - -“It’s full of holes. Besides, one of the ribs is broken.” - -“Oh, never mind. I can quite well get back without one at all.” - -“It might be managed,” suggested Vernon, guiltily, when he had produced -and examined carefully the second best umbrella, which proved to be -only a little better than its reputation. “If I were to walk part of -the way back with you, it might clear up, and you might be able to get -home without one; and I could bring it back, you see.” - -“But I don’t like to trouble. I’m always imposing,” murmured Olivia. - -However, the half permission had been enough for Mr. Brander, who was -by this time slipping into his rough overcoat with the alacrity of the -British workman at the sound of the first stroke of six. - -Worse conditions for a pleasant walk through the fields and lanes can -scarcely be imagined than a March evening after a pouring wet day, -a fine rain falling, the ground ankle-deep in mud, and the darkness -already so thick that an occasional slip into a puddle was unavoidable. -They had to walk in most uneven, jolting fashion to find a path at -all through the steepest part of the lane. Sometimes Olivia had to -take Mr. Brander’s arm to keep her footing at all, and once he had to -help her to jump over a miniature torrent. They scarcely talked at -all, but a warm sense of human sympathy and mutual help grew so strong -between them that when they came to a particularly ugly quagmire their -eyes would meet with a smile and a nod, and they would go on again -very happily. At last, when they got to the top of the hill, and both -instinctively stopped for breath at the same moment, Olivia looked up -and said, shyly and simply-- - -“Did you know it was I--all the time?” - -“I knew it was you when I felt--something on my face. I was asleep, and -it woke me.” - -“I’m so sorry,” murmured she. - -“Don’t apologize. You may cry over me just as much as you like.” - -She laughed a little, and then they went on again, but without -exchanging any more looks, until they came suddenly, without having -realized that they were so near, to the bottom of the Vicarage hill. He -glanced up it, and Olivia caught the expression of his eyes. - -“You are not going there--to the Vicarage?” she burst out, impulsively. - -“Yes, I am,” he answered, with a dogged look of anger and scorn on his -face. - -The girl, drawing a long, sobbing breath, retreated a step without -speaking. - -Vernon stopped and looked into her face almost with the boldness of a -lover. - -“Why not?” he asked, in a voice little above a whisper. - -“Why not, indeed, Mr. Brander!” she said, coldly, but without -succeeding in hiding a break in her voice; “if the friends you can’t -trust are of more value than those you can.” - -“It is not a question of that, Miss Denison.” - -“Isn’t it?” she broke in, quickly. “I think it is. You will go in all -cold indignation, and come out all hot remorse and repentance. And you -will never see that lessons in patient self-sacrifice are all the good -you will ever get out of the Vicarage!” - -Vernon started violently, and fell to shivering. - -Shocked at the strong effect of her bold words, Olivia remained -silently and humbly waiting for the reproaches she expected. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -Olivia Denison’s outburst against the Vicarage folk and their -treatment of Vernon Brander seemed to overwhelm the latter with -consternation. He stood before the impulsive girl as if benumbed by her -vehemence; and it was not until her restless movements and bending head -showed that she felt uncomfortable and ashamed of herself that he tried -to speak and to reassure her. For it was evident that she thought her -boldness had deeply offended him. - -“You do them injustice, Miss Denison. Though I know it’s only through -your kind feeling for me. There is nothing my brother would not do for -me; he always takes my part most valiantly.” - -“Ah, your brother, perhaps. But Mrs. Brander! She doesn’t. And a woman -can do you more harm by raising her eyebrows at the mention of your -name than a man could by preaching a course of sermons against you.” - -“But why should she? Miss Denison, I can’t believe it.” - -“Do you believe what I tell you, that Mrs. Brander warned my -step-mother against admitting you into her house?” - -“I must believe it, since you say it is true. But I am sure there must -be some explanation--” - -“Of course there will be an explanation; and one that will satisfy -you perfectly, I have no doubt,” interrupted Olivia, impatiently. -“Mrs. Brander will be able to explain everything, and make you see how -entirely right and natural it is that you should have no friends but -those at the Vicarage.” - -She saw by the change in his face that she had succeeded in sowing the -seed of what she considered a wholesome suspicion in his mind; and -rather afraid of trusting herself to further speak on a matter which -lay nearer her heart than she cared to show, she held out her hand -abruptly, saying with a break in her voice-- - -“Good-night, Mr. Brander.” - -She knew he was grateful for her interest in him; she knew he had that -day been happy in her society. But she was quite unprepared for the -flash of passionate feeling which suddenly shone out of his dark, thin -face at the touch of her hand. It was like the wild gratitude of a -starving man for food, which he seizes ravenously, and for which he can -utter no articulate thanks. Olivia was almost frightened by it, and her -hand trembled as he clutched it in his. - -“Good-night,” he said; “good-night. I had forgotten what such a thing -was--as a friend--until, until you came. They are very good--my -sister-in-law, and even my old housekeeper. But they are cold; at -least, they are not like you. There is something in the very touch of -your hand, in the kindness of your eyes, that warms one and makes one -feel--human again. God bless you, Miss Denison!” - -He had hurried out his words so fast, in such a low, hoarse voice, that -Olivia scarcely heard more than half. But what she did hear touched, -melted her, made her heart open with a yearning tenderness she had -never felt before, even for her beloved father in his troubles. She -let Mr. Brander hold her hands in the grip of a moment’s passionate -happiness, and only sighed out a faint protest against his fervent -words. It was he who first woke from the entrancing pleasure of that -moment’s mutual sympathy. Letting the girl’s hand drop, he stepped back -as abruptly as if they had been interrupted, leaving her confused and -ashamed at her involuntary show of feeling. - -Through long years of self-control on his side, through pride on -hers, they both recovered their outward composure so quickly that a -very keen observer, who happened to pass a moment later, could detect -no sign of unusual emotion in either of them. This passer-by was Ned -Mitchell, who touched his hat to Miss Denison with a significant air -of being determined to remark nothing, and nodded to the clergyman -with a side glance of no great favor. As she caught sight of him, -Olivia drew a deep breath and shivered, as if some forgotten horror had -become suddenly vivid. Instead of allowing Mr. Brander to take a formal -farewell of her, as he was about to do, she detained him by a gesture -until the colonist was out of hearing, and then made an impulsive step -nearer to him, with a face full of deep anxiety and excitement. - -“I had forgotten--quite forgotten,” she panted out. “That man--do you -know who he is?” - -“No.” - -“Do you know why he is here?” - -“No--o. But I have sometimes made ugly guesses.” - -“They were right; they were true. He is the brother of Nellie Mitchell.” - -She communicated this intelligence in the lowest of whispers, and he -received it without a perceptible movement. She did not know what to -do next--whether she should attempt to comfort and reassure him, or -whether she should quietly slip away while he was apparently absorbed -in his own thoughts and unconscious of her presence. She decided on a -middle course. - -“Good-bye, Mr. Brander,” she said, in a gentle and timid voice. -He started, and as he turned towards her, she noted narrowly the -expression of his face. Whether the waning daylight had now grown too -faint for her to see properly, she could not be sure; but it seemed to her -that there was more relief than alarm in his eyes, which were glowing -with keen excitement. - -“When did you find this out?” he asked, very quietly. - -“This afternoon, on my way to St. Cuthbert’s,” she answered, promptly. - -“On your way to St. Cuthbert’s,” he echoed, very softly. Olivia blushed -and bit her lip, but she answered readily enough, holding up her head -with some dignity-- - -“You had been insulted by my people. I came to apologize for them. That -was only natural, as you were my friend.” - -Mr. Brander smiled. He seemed already to have quite recovered from any -shock her alarming information might have been supposed to cause him. - -“That was generous of you--and like you,” he said. “But it was very -unwise. Do you want to set all the old women’s tongues wagging?” - -“I don’t care,” murmured Olivia defiantly, though she cast down her -eyes; “besides, I didn’t stop to think.” - -“But you ought to stop to think. You haven’t always some one at your -elbow to do it for you, as I verily believe a woman ought to have.” - -He had fallen into the tone of playful reproach which was natural to -him when he was moved to tenderness. - -“But I was in the right,” said Olivia. - -“I don’t know about that. However, we will leave that unsettled. How -came this man to speak to you?” - -“He saw that I wanted to get into the churchyard, and so did he.” - -“And he told you he was Nellie Mitchell’s brother?” - -“Yes,” answered Olivia, who felt the hot blood burning in her face as -he mentioned the dead girl’s name. - -Both were silent for some moments, during which Mr. Brander regarded -the girl intently, trying to fathom the thoughts in her mind. - -“And you thought it would interest me to know this?” he asked, very -gently. - -“I--I was afraid so,” she burst out, and impulsively hid her face for a -moment in her hands. - -She heard his breath come fast; she seemed to feel that his hands were -near her, hovering over her, almost touching her; and she remained -motionless. But when she looked up he was some paces away, busily -employed digging holes in the ground with the point of his umbrella. As -she looked up, their eyes met. - -“Yes. You were right. It does interest me,” he said, gravely. Olivia’s -face fell. At sight of this change in her expression, Mr. Brander’s -composure suddenly gave way again--broke up altogether. He showed -himself suddenly in an entirely new light, swayed by excitement so -tempestuous that the girl realized for the first time the depths of -passion which still remained in this man under the burnt-out crust. In -a moment she recognized the fact that he was capable of impulses and of -acts which she could neither measure nor understand. For good or for -evil, his was a nature deeper and stronger than hers. This knowledge, -so suddenly borne in upon her, gave her a new interest in, and respect -for, him, even while it made her reluctantly admit that the possibility -of his having committed a great crime was far clearer to her than -before. All this flashed into her mind in a second of time, as his -agitated face turned towards her just before the feelings which surged -within him broke on his lips in hoarse, incoherent speech. - -“I must tell you--Oh, God! Why should I not tell _you_? Who in the -whole world deserves to hear the truth as you do? Listen!” - -No need to tell the girl that. Her heart was in her eyes. She held -her very breath in the intensity of a rush of feelings, which made -her wet and cold from head to foot as she stood, unable to utter a -word, waiting for the fatal explanation. He had come a step nearer -to her, the first words of his confession were on his lips, when a -bright, high, woman’s voice broke upon their ears. The sound acted on -Vernon Brander like a stroke of paralysis. His right hand, raised in -eager gesture, fell to his side; into his excited face came suddenly -the vacant stare of idiotcy. As for Olivia, the tension on her weaker -feminine nerves had been too great. - -She drew a long sigh, and burst into tears. Then, before he could -recover himself sufficiently to offer one word of comfort or apology, -she muttered a hasty “good-night,” and hurried through the farmyard -gate towards her home. - -Vernon could only watch her retreating figure a little way, as an -angle of the big barn that stood opposite the farmhouse soon hid -her from sight. Then he went on with slow, dogged footsteps to meet -his sister-in-law; for it was her voice which had disturbed his -_tete-a-tete_ with Miss Denison. The suspicions of the latter had -already bore some fruit in his mind; for he asked himself whether Mrs. -Brander had not come out on purpose to interrupt them. What other -motive could bring that comfort-loving lady out into the damp and cold -of a wet April evening? He dismissed the idea from his mind almost as -soon as it entered; nevertheless, it was a just one. - -Mrs. Brander had called on Mrs. Denison that afternoon, and had learnt, -through the indiscretion of the latter’s husband, enough of the -morning’s proceedings to fill her with anxiety and annoyance. The vicar -managed to restrain her first impulse, which was to go straight to St. -Cuthbert’s and see Vernon. - -“You will be putting yourself in the wrong if you do that, my dear,” -said Meredith, quietly. “If he thinks he has any cause of complaint -against you, he is not the man to nurse it up silently. He is sure to -come straight here on the first opportunity to ‘have it out’ with you. -And then I have no doubt of your powers of making the rough places -smooth again.” - -Evelyn Brander submitted to her husband’s judgment, with a doubt -which he made light of. A few months ago she could have made her -brother-in-law take her own view of any matter; now there was an -unpleasant possibility that he might take somebody else’s. - -As the afternoon wore on, therefore, and Vernon did not appear, she -went the length of watching for him at one of the drawing-room windows -which commanded the best view of the road; and when the tenant of the -adjoining cottage returned home, she threw up the sash, and asked him -if, in the course of the rambles round the parish which he was known -to be in the habit of taking, he had that day met the vicar of St. -Cuthbert’s. The colonist, being an observant man, noted the lady’s -anxiety, and the unusual courtesy towards himself to which it gave rise. - -“Your brother-in-law, madam,” said he, bluntly, “is standing at the -bottom of the hill. He has been standing there some time, I believe.” -Then the idea of a little experiment crossing his mind, Ned Mitchell -made a pause to give the more effect to his next words. “He is with -Miss Denison, of the farm down yonder.” - -Mrs. Brander’s handsome eyes flashed; with what feeling, whether -jealousy, or anger or disquietude, he could not be sure. She bestowed -upon him a little polite smile of thanks for his information, and said -it was an unpleasant evening. But it was evident that her interest in -him was gone; and as he had nothing more at present to obtain from -or to impart to her, the colonist gave the off-hand touch to his hat -which was the most respectful form of salutation he ever bestowed, and -retreated into his cottage. Mrs. Brander shut down the window with one -vigorous pull, and in two minutes was sallying down the hill through -the mud and the drizzle, her handsome dinner dress held at a height -more convenient than graceful, her kid shoes encased in stout goloshes, -an old macintosh of her husband’s buttoned round her with the sleeves -left swinging and a huge carriage umbrella held over her head. She was -a practical woman, and if one liked to wear handsome clothes, there was -no reason why one should spoil them for the sake of a more picturesque -appearance for ten minutes on a wet evening. As she passed the end of -her neighbor’s garden, that gentleman, who was on the watch underneath -his porch, addressed to her an admiring word. - -“Well done, ma’am!” cried he. “As long as you parsons’ ladies do your -husband’s district visiting in such weather as this, you’ll stave off -disestablishment, I reckon.” - -“Oh, yes,” she called out in answer, being in one of those anxious -moods in which the proudest woman is afraid of giving offence to a -fellow mortal; “you don’t know yet what weak woman is capable of.” - -These were the words she was uttering when the faint sound of her voice -startled Vernon and Olivia as they stood together at the foot of the -hill. - -When Miss Denison left him, Vernon had only a few steps to take before -he met his sister-in-law, who greeted him with the kindly affectionate -manner of a relation with whom one is on perfectly good terms. She gave -her umbrella to him to hold, and passed the disengaged hand lightly -through his arm. Instead of proceeding up the hill with her, however, -he stood still, remaining as stiff as a wooden soldier. - -“Aren’t you coming up to the house?” she asked, with innocent -peremptoriness, shaking his arm persuasively. - -“No, thank you,” said he coolly, but with a coolness utterly different -from hers, as it arose from the chilling of a warm nature, not from the -innate frigidity of a cold one. - -“Oh, but you must! I was peeping out of the drawing-room window when -the bear next door came back to his den and told me you were out here, -talking to Miss Denison. So I rushed out hoping to catch you both, and -drag you in to dinner; the pretty farmer’s daughter to amuse Meredith, -and you to entertain me.” - -With the audacious coquetry of a cold woman, she pressed his arm -with her hand, and bending forward looked into his face with her -great gazelle-like eyes, which, by a turn of her head, she could make -divinely alluring while ordering the details of a custard pudding. But -Vernon was not now to be allured. He withdrew his arm boldly under the -pretence that it required two hands to hold the heavy umbrella at the -proper angle. - -“Miss Denison has gone home,” said he. “And I’m going home: thank you.” - -“What, without an umbrella? Come as far as the house, and I’ll give you -one. It’s sure to rain before you can get back.” - -“Miss Denison has got mine. I can go to the farm to fetch it.” - -“Well, perhaps you won’t mind seeing me as far as the door first. I -can’t hold that great thing and keep my dress up too. I won’t insist -on your coming in; that will do some other time. I had something to -say--to ask you about my Katie; but never mind now. I see you are -thinking of something else.” - -“Katie!” exclaimed Vernon. “What about Katie?” - -“Oh, she doesn’t seem very well to-day, and I thought perhaps--” - -“You thought what? Is there anything I can do?” - -“There might have been. But I can’t ask favors of you in such a mood as -you are in to-night. We are losing you day by day. You will soon have -no place in your heart even for Katie.” - -“I think you misjudge me, Evelyn. A child may forget her friends when -they are absent. But at least she does not speak ill of them.” - -Mrs. Brander stopped short in the mud, and looked at him with proud -indignation. - -“Of course I see you are insinuating that I have done so. Your new -friends have been turning you against the old!” - -“No. It seems, though I can scarcely believe it, that my old friends -have been turning my new ones against me. Now, Evelyn, you are honest, -aren’t you? Did you, or did you not, warn Mrs. Denison against me, as -not being a proper friend for a young girl?” - -Now, Vernon Brander only did his sister-in-law justice when he called -her honest. Her blunt frankness, which made little account of other -people’s feelings, had often been counted against her as a fault. -Moreover, it was one result of her husband’s profession that, though -not by nature over-scrupulous, lying should now seem a great sin to -her. But the issues at stake seemed to her so great that it cost her -only a moment’s hesitation to reply-- - -“I did not. I told her I understood you did not think of marrying. Was -I wrong?” - -“No,” answered Vernon, in a very low voice. - -Evelyn’s great eyes were meeting his with the simple, direct stare -habitual to her, which seemed to preclude the idea that she could lie. -A weaker, a more sensitive, or a more modest nature would have shrunk -from the gaze of his burning, pleading eyes. But her character was not -built on complex lines; she felt that she was doing the best possible -thing under the circumstances for herself and for everybody else, and -so, her conscience being, as usual, free, there was no need for any -airs of disquietude or remorse. And so the guileless man was caught at -the first throw of the line, and was carried off to the house safe and -subdued, while she informed him that Katie was not well, and that if he -and his old housekeeper were willing to take charge of the little girl -at St. Cuthbert’s for a fortnight, she thought the change would do her -good. - -The vicar’s wife had not overrated the effect of this proposal. To have -his darling niece in his own care for two whole weeks was a bribe which -would have tempted him to condone any wrong. By the light which came -into his face as he quietly said he should be glad to have the child, -Mrs. Brander knew that her trump card had been very well played, and -that she had an influence ready to her hand which might be reckoned -upon to counteract the dangerous one of Olivia Denison’s youth and -beauty. - -The tenant of the cottage watched the pair curiously as they passed his -garden on the way up to the Vicarage. Nothing in the demeanor of either -escaped his penetrating eyes. Absorbed as he was in one object, every -smallest incident which occurred in his neighborhood was regarded by -him as having a possible bearing upon it. - -“I wonder,” he said to himself, as they turned the corner into the -private road at the top of the hill, “what is the reason of the -interest that parson’s wife takes in her husband’s brother? Pretty -strong it must be to bring my lady out into the puddles in those -finicking togs of hers! Love, passion, anything of that sort? She -ain’t built that way; and if she had liked him best, she would either -have married him or she’d have given ’em something to talk about by -this time. I should like to think there was a woman in the secret--my -secret; it would make my work seventy-five per cent. easier.” - -In the meantime, Mrs. Brander and Vernon had reached the house, and had -been met at the door by the vicar, who seemed placidly amused by the -triumph and satisfaction he saw on his wife’s face, and by the subdued -and even hangdog expression on that of his brother. - -Dinner was waiting; and the vicar, who was as much disturbed by such -an occurrence as he ever was about anything, hastened to lead the -way to the dining-room, gently murmuring disapproval of his wife’s -conduct in leaving the house at such a critical moment. The meal passed -uncomfortably; for the unexplained uneasiness under which Vernon was -evidently laboring could not fail to effect, in some degree, even his -rather stolid brother. When they all adjourned to the drawing-room, -the constraint of his manner became so apparent that Meredith, used to -an atmosphere of calm respect for himself and content with things in -general, laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder and asked him, with -benevolent peremptoriness, if there was anything the matter. - -Vernon who was standing by a table, turning over the leaves of a -magazine with unmistakable lack of interest, started violently, and -caused his sister-in-law to look up from the needle work with which her -handsome, industrious fingers were nearly always employed. Her quick -eyes discovered, at a glance, that there was some more serious reason -for his melancholy than she had supposed. She rose and with a thrill of -vague anxiety laid aside her work and crossed the room towards the two -brothers. Vernon’s eyes met hers, and the expression she saw in them -caused her to stop abruptly. - -“Well, what is it? Do speak out, Vernon. We are not fools. We are ready -to hear anything,” she said, in impatient, almost querulous tones. - -Her brother-in-law cleared his throat, looking from the one to the -other with a strange yearning in his eyes. - -“I will speak; I will tell you,” he said huskily. “I have learnt to-day -something which may cause you some alarm--for me,” he added, hastily, -as husband and wife looked anxiously each at the other. “I don’t know -whether you have ever troubled yourselves about the man who has come to -live next door, or made any inquiries about him.” - -“Well, who is he? What is his name?” asked Evelyn, while her husband -remained silently watching his brother. - -“He is Ned Mitchell, the brother of--” - -He stopped. There was dead silence in the room. Not one of the three -seemed to dare to meet the eyes of another. Evelyn was the first to -speak. Her voice was low and husky, quite unlike her usual bright, -imperious tones. - -“You are sure?” she said. - -“Quite sure.” - -Another silence. - -Then the vicar spoke. His voice was not affected by the alarming -announcement, except that it was, perhaps, unusually gentle and kind. -He laid a sympathetic hand on the shoulder of his brother, who still -remained, with head bowed down, unable to meet their eyes. - -“And, of course, you think he is here about that unfortunate business -of ten years ago?” - -Evelyn shuddered, and glanced first at her husband and then at the -broken-down man on the other side of her. Her lips moved, imploring -Meredith to be kind, to be careful. Vernon raised his head, looking -still at the carpet. - -“I suppose so,” he answered, in a husky voice. “Not that we need -trouble ourselves. What can he really do? Nothing. I--I am as safe as -ever.” - -The vicar withdrew his hand. Calm as he had remained, he seemed to -breathe more freely at this assurance. - -“I hope so, indeed,” he said, solemnly; “for all our sakes.” - -Vernon rose, and his eyes met those of his brother for the first time. -He tried to speak, but only a dry, choking sound came from his parched -mouth. He seized the hand his brother held out to him, and wrung it -till the clasp of his thin, nervous fingers left livid marks on the -soft pink flesh. - -“God bless you,” murmured the vicar, in his warmest tones of -encouragement and sympathy. - -Again Vernon tried to speak: again he failed. With a hasty side glance -at his sister-in-law, full of a plaintive, dumb sort of gratitude and -entreaty, he crossed the room rapidly, with almost a staggering gait, -opened the door with clammy fingers, and hurried out. - -Husband and wife, thus left face to face, said not a word, but each -gave a strange look of searching inquiry into the face of the other. - -“Poor fellow!” said the vicar, gently. - -Mrs. Brander did not answer. With a woman’s keener sympathy, she was -listening to her brother-in-law’s footsteps in the hall outside. All -there was of warmth in her somewhat cool nature was brought to the -surface to-night. As she heard the hall door open, she uttered a little -cry, and, leaving the room quickly, came up with Vernon before he had -got out of the house, and put a warm, loving hand upon his arm. - -“Oh, Vernon, Vernon! I wanted to say God bless you too!” she whispered, -with tenderness most unwonted in the self-contained woman. - -Vernon looked in her face with astonishment. There were tears in her -great brown eyes; tears which, if he had seen them a few months ago, -would have set his blood and his brain on fire. Now the sight of them -filled him with astonishment and gratitude, but left him calm. - -“You are too kind, dear,” he said, pressing her hand affectionately in -his. “You must not trouble your head so much about me. Indeed there is -no need. Good-night, good-night.” - -He stooped and kissed her hand very gently, very reverently, and left -her, hurrying down the lane without a look behind. - -Evelyn Brander stared out into the darkness for some minutes after he -had disappeared from her sight. For the first time, perhaps, in all her -life she felt a vague sense that there might be something in existence -more serious, more interesting than what we should eat, and what we -should drink, and wherewithal we should be clothed. - -“If I had only known,” she murmured to herself; “if I had only been -able to know!” - -Then she looked curiously at the hand Vernon had kissed, seeming -surprised to find no change in its appearance. The next moment, raising -her head to its usual proud angle, with a little laugh at her own -folly, she shut herself into the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -When once the secret concerning the identity of the stranger at the -cottage had been let out, it spread mysteriously throughout the length -of the straggling village with astonishing rapidity. Ned Mitchell had -come back; and, remembering the character for pigheaded obstinacy he -had borne at home when he was a boy, it was safe to prophecy that there -would shortly be a “shindy” somewhere. Two or three old people now -declared that they had recognized him from the first, though they had -been too discreet to make known the fact; and towards the close of the -day following that on which he had revealed his name to Miss Denison, -it became plain to him, from the whispers of young girls and the -curtsies of old women, that he was the hero of the hour. - -In the evening he had the honor of a call from the chief of the village -busybodies, a superannuated postman, who clung to his old trade of news -carrier to the community. As Ned Mitchell lived by himself, and locked -up his house when he was out, the visitor had to sit on a broken horse -trough which stood on the green under the trees opposite to the cottage -until the colonist returned from one of his long daily rambles. - -“Good-evening, squire,” said the old postman, rising with fussy -respect, and hobbling quickly to the gate lest his unwilling host -should shut him out before he could reach it. - -Mitchell glanced towards him, and jerked at him an indifferent nod. -The old man was not to be rebuffed. He had that quality of dogged and -patient energy which we can most of us show in other people’s business. - -“Pardon, squire,” he said, with a beggar’s humility. “Don’t be -affronted with me for wishing to be one o’ t’ first to pay my respects -to ye.” - -“Respects!” echoed Mitchell, shortly, thrusting his hands into his -pockets with an instinctive perception that these contained his most -respect-worthy attribute. - -“Ay, squire. I’m proud to be one o’ t’ first to welcome ye back to yer -owd home.” - -“Old home! What, do you call this wretched little heap of mouldy -bricks and worm-eaten boards a home for me?” asked the colonist, -contemptuously. - -“Noa, squire; leastways it didn’t ought to be. But as them as have no -right to ’t have got t’ Hall Farm instead o’ them that was born and -bred there, it’s summat to welcome ye back to t’ village that’s proud -to have you belonging to it.” - -“Proud! Why proud?” asked Mitchell, bluntly. “If the village has got to -be proud of me, I ought to be ashamed of it, I should think. And who -can have a greater right to the farm than the man who’s paying the rent -of it.” - -The old postman was not abashed. Each snub administered to him did but -increase, in his eyes, the importance of the administrator. He felt, -too, that the opportunity he gave the colonist of sharpening his wit -upon him was inclining that gentleman to look upon him with favor. - -“Very true, squire. You that travel get a different way o’ looking at -things from what us stay-at-home folk do. All t’ same, squire, I hope -as I may be allowed to give you a bit of a hint that may, or it may -not”--and the old man nodded with mystery and importance--“be of use to -you on your business here.” - -“My business here! And what’s that?” asked Mitchell, abruptly. - -“Well they do say as how it were on account of summat as happened ten -years ago that were never cleared up.” - -“Oh?” - -“And if so be as that’s true, which I don’t say--neither do I say -otherwise, as it aren’t true, why then what I say is,” went on the old -man, whose style grew more involved the nearer he came to the point, -“that Martha Lowndes, as were her foster-sister, and them two always as -thick as thieves, which that is a party as knows more’n she tells.” - -Ned Mitchell, who had been taking nuts from his pocket, opening them -with a penknife, and devouring them ravenously, shut up his knife and -laid his hand on his garden gate without the smallest sign of interest -in the information he had received. - -“Is that all?” he asked, feeling his pockets to make sure that not one -nut still lurked in the corners. - -“Well--” began the gossip, rather disconcerted, but ready to make the -best of a bad business. - -“Ah, it is all, I see,” interrupted Mitchell. - -And with a nod of stolid indifference, he turned and strolled up the -cottage path. - -But Ned Mitchell, though he had no notion of being grateful for the -old man’s information, was not long in making use of it. No sooner had -the April evening closed in than he, having already found out Martha -Lowndes’ dwelling, knocked at the door of a small, tumble-down cottage, -where he was admitted at once by a woman who looked about fifty, and -whose face was careworn and deeply furrowed. - -“Martha Lowndes?” said Ned. - -“Yes,” answered the woman, looking at him curiously. - -“I thought you were younger.” - -“I’m thirty-five,” said the woman, shortly. “You’re Ned Mitchell, I -suppose. I’d forgotten you; but they told me you were about; so I -suppose it’s you.” - -“Right you are.” - -“Come in, then.” - -He at once accepted the not very gracious invitation, and sat down on -one of the wooden chairs, which she dusted for him. - -“And so you’re come at last. You didn’t hurry yourself.” - -“No, I didn’t hurry myself, but I meant to come.” - -“Well, I thought it was odd if you didn’t, and her your favorite as she -always was.” - -“Yes, that’s true. But that was in the old days, when I was -sentimental. If it had happened when I first went away, with nothing -but the shirt on my back and my mother’s Bible, I should have worked my -passage home by the next boat, and run amuck among these fine gentlemen -till I got the right one by the throat. But when it did happen, I’d -got sheep farms of my own, and a wife and family, and was making my -pile. So I let justice wait till my liver wanted a change. But it’ll be -justice none the less for that.” - -The woman stood with her arms akimbo, regarding him solemnly. Indeed -all capacity for gaiety or even cheerfulness seemed to be dead in her. - -“Well,” she said, presently, “and what do you want with me?” - -“You can tell me something, or else I’ve been made a fool of.” - -“Yes, that’s right enough. I can tell you something. It’s been on my -mind this ten year, and it’s what has made an old woman of me before -my time. You remember me, ‘flirting Mattie’ they called me then, and I -don’t say but what I was as good as my name. There were a pair of us, -they said; and we were together a good deal. ‘Birds of a feather,’ you -know. But Nell was always closer than me; if I fancied anybody, all the -world might know. But she, she’d carry on with half a dozen, and you -might never know which was the one she’d a liking for, or if it was in -her to care for anybody. It wasn’t for a long time I myself guessed -there was something up--not till she grew mopish and fidgety like, and -set me wondering. For awhile she’d own to nothing, and it wasn’t till -one day I took her unawares like that I found out how serious it was -with her.” - -“Serious?” - -“Yes. As serious as it could be. I taxed her with it quite sudden -one day as she was sitting there on that same chair like as it might -be you. And she turned quite white and confessed, and said as how it -wasn’t that as troubled her most, but that he’d got tired of her, and -wanted to get shut of her, and was crazy at the thought of the exposure -and disgrace. ‘Why, it’s you that’s got the worst of that to bear; not -him!’ cried I. And all on a sudden she gets quite quiet, and as it -might be bites her lips together, so as no words she didn’t want to -use mightn’t force themselves through. ‘Why don’t you speak to your -brother?’ said I; ‘he’d get the fellow to do the right thing by you.’ -But she only shook her head, and got up, and began to walk about, and -just said in a low voice that I didn’t understand. And I began to guess -it was a gentleman.” - -“You taxed her with that?” - -“Yes. She took it all in the same sullen way, and would name no names. -But she said he loved another woman, and she’d have forgiven him -anything but that.” - -“But you should have got her to say who he was, woman!” - -“Do you think, if wild horses could have dragged it from her, I -shouldn’t have known? I tell you I never knew before what was in the -girl; how obstinate she could be, nor what strong feelings she had. It -was something quite different to what I’d ever felt, and I wasn’t the -same with her as I’d been before. When she passed through this door -that evening, it seemed as if a fierce, revengeful woman had gone out -where just a giddy girl like myself had come in.” - -Ned Mitchell was not moved by this recital to any show of deep emotion, -but the woman could see that he was touched, and she went on in a voice -less studiously cold-- - -“I didn’t see her again for some days--not for near a fortnight, I -think. But when I did, it didn’t need her words to point out the change -in her. I didn’t dare ask her many questions that time, but I’d got -some inkling by then as to who those might be that was bringing her to -this pass. I thought I’d try to get at the truth in a roundabout way -if I could; so I began, ‘I didn’t see you at church on Sunday evening, -Nell.’ Her face grew sullen at once. You see, sir, I’d heard of a -certain clergyman that was often at the Hall Farm of an evening.” - -“You mean Vernon Brander, I suppose?” - -“Yes. And how Nell had been seen late o’ nights down by St. Cuthbert’s.” - -“Well, now, I think his coming openly to the farm is more in his favor -than not.” - -“Unless it was a blind.” - -“Well?” - -“Well, I dursn’t say more then, but presently, as she sat at tea -with me, I caught her eating some green gages that was on the table -in an oddly ravenous way, stones and all. ‘What ever are you doing, -Nell?’ says I. ‘You’ll be ill for sure if you swallow those stones -like that.’ And she looks at me with an odd smile. ‘I’m practising,’ -says she. ‘I may have to swallow worse than that some day.’ I stared -at her, thinking perhaps her trouble had touched her head, poor thing! -And then I got quite cold, fancying perhaps she had it in her mind to -make away with herself. And I says, ‘Nell, if ever you feel tempted to -do a mischief to yourself, think of them that cares for you truly--of -poor Ned, away across the seas!’--yes, I said that, Ned--‘and of me, -that’s always cared for you like as if you’d been one of my own!’ Then -up she started from her chair, and began to roam about the room again, -restless like, just as she’d done the last time. ‘Don’t be afraid, -lass,’ says she to me, in a voice she meant to be rough. ‘I’m not -going to do anything foolish--not more foolish than I’ve done already, -that is. While there’s life there’s hope, they say, though perhaps -there’s not much of either left for me!’ ‘What do you mean, Nell?’ says -I, frightened. She didn’t answer me for a minute; then suddenly she -turned, with her great black eyes flashing, and said, ‘If I’m found -dead, Mattie, you’ll know I didn’t put an end to myself. And I tell you -I’ll let others know it too, if my body lies buried fifty years first.’ -Oh, Ned, I shall never forget her face. It was white like death, and -the lips all drawn back from her teeth. ’Twas as if all life and the -wish to live were burning out of her. ‘Why, Nell, this man, whoever he -is, he surely never threatened to kill you!’ ‘Not in words, no,’ says -she, with her eyes fixed in front of her. ‘But there was murder in -his eyes the last time I saw him. If he’s past caring for me, he may -kill me; I don’t care. But he shan’t live happy with the love of that -other woman; I swear it. I’ve been true to him. I’ve done for him what -there’s hardly a girl in England would have done; I’ve held my tongue -when just to speak would have ruined him. But I’ll not die, and be put -out of the way, and him go unpunished!’ I was that frightened, Ned, I -could scarcely speak. I told her not to have such dreadful thoughts, -and I reminded her again of you, and how fond you were of her. ‘Yes,’ -says she, with a queer smile that made me feel cold; ‘Ned would see me -righted if any one tried to wrong me. And whether I’m alive or dead he -will.’” - -Ned Mitchell did not move. His face was set like a rock, and, beyond -the fact that he was deeply attentive to every detail, it was -impossible to guess what effect the story had upon him. He nodded to -the woman to go on. - -“‘Alive or dead, Nell!’ says I, when I could speak for trembling. ‘What -makes you harp so on death, if you mean rightly by yourself and them -that love you? As for the rascal that’s brought you to this, if you -won’t make a clean breast of it to your brother Sam, you’d best keep -out of the creature’s way, seeing you think so ill of him as to believe -him ready to do you a mischief. It’s no good of courting harm. You’ve -no need to give way. If Sam was to turn against you when it all comes -out, you could go away to Ned; he’d receive you fast enough, whatever -you’d done, I’ll warrant. Keep a heart in you, my girl.’ But she took -no notice, and went on eating the green gages, stones and all, in just -the same way, till I tried to take the dish away. Then she threw back -her head with a hard laugh, and, says she, ‘Look here, Mattie, you may -as well leave those things here. I’m not cracked; I’ve a reason for -what I’m doing. I shall go and meet him again; I tell you I’m that mad -about him I can’t keep away when he tells me to come. But if he tries -any tricks with me, I’ve made up my mind that I’ll find a chance to -swallow something of his, if it’s but a shirt stud or a button, so as -my body, when it’s found, shall bear witness against him just as well -as my tongue could if I was alive. Now you remember that, Mattie, if -things come to the worst.’ - -“And with that she was off and out of the house. But I ran after her, -and caught up with her, and, ‘Nell,’ says I, ‘when are you going to see -this man?’ For I had it in my mind to stop her. And she gave me a queer -look out of the corners of her eyes. ‘I’m going to meet him to-morrow -night,’ says she. And she snatched away her arm and ran off. That was -the last I saw of her, alive or dead.” - -There was a short pause. - -“Then you might have saved her,” said Ned Mitchell, at last, in a -rasping voice. - -“Don’t say that, Ned,” pleaded the woman in low tones. “Many and -many’s the time I’ve said that to myself, and reproached myself. But, -remember, she said, ‘To-morrow night’--” - -“Well, you might have known it was only a blind, with her heart set on -the fellow like that. I should have known. However, it’s no use wasting -words over it now. You thought you would see about it next day, and -when next day came it was all over with the girl.” - -“You’ve no right to be so hard, Ned; you that were content to let the -man who murdered your sister lie peacefully in his bed these ten years!” - -“That’s different. If I’d come over next day I couldn’t have brought -her back to life again,” said he, in a dogged tone. But the man’s -conscience was uneasy, and this made him the more harsh towards Martha. -“Why didn’t you tell this yarn you’ve been pitching me to somebody that -would have seen into things?” - -“I did tell it to Sam. But you know Sam, how timid he was, and slow at -things. And his wife never could abide Nell, and nothing would ever -persuade her the girl hadn’t gone off with somebody; and, indeed, many -people believe that now, and say Nell Mitchell was always a light sort, -and it was just what they’d expected, for her to make a bolt of it with -somebody. But I know better.” - -“How about the parsons? How did they take it?” - -“Well, I can tell you the rights of a little story that’s not -generally known. Next morning, before anybody knew Nell had -disappeared, Parson Vernon was at Matherham Railway Station in time -for the first train to London. His brother Meredith, who’d been called -out of his bed in the small hours to see a dying man, came up with him -while he was standing on the platform. My cousin Dick--you remember -Dick, the miller’s son--saw the meeting; and he says he never saw such -a contrast between brothers as those two made; the one coming up all -fresh and smiling, and surprised; the other pale and ghastly, with -bloodshot eyes, and a wild, hunted look in his face already. ‘Why, -Vernie,’ says the vicar, ‘what are you doing here at this time in the -morning?’ Dick says the other looked as scared as if the hangman’s rope -was about his neck. He stammered and said something about a morning -paper; for Dick had edged near enough to hear. But then the railway -ticket fell from his fingers on to the ground, and Mr. Meredith picked -it up sharp as a needle. Dick saw by the color it was a third class -ticket to London. Then the brothers looked at each other, and Mr. -Vernon saw it wouldn’t do. The other took his arm and led him from the -station, and I suppose Vernon made a clean breast of it, and told him -how bad it would look for him to run away. And sure enough, when the -inquiry was made, the best point in Vernon’s favor was that he had done -nothing to escape it. Dick kept his own counsel, except to me that he -could trust; and the few people that was about just then had no wish to -come forward. For though Mr. Vernon was looked upon as a bit wild for -a parson, he was popular too in a way, and then if not for him they’d -have held their tongues for the vicar’s sake. So there was just a fuss -and a scandal and an inquiry, and Mr. Vernon was had up on suspicion, -because some one had heard cries of ‘Murder!’ near St. Cuthbert’s that -night. And then it all died away, and everything was the same as before -except Mr. Vernon and me; the shock made me what you see; and as for -Mr. Vernon, he’s been a changed man, and he’s that loved now that if -you was to have him up again, on something stronger than suspicion, -it’s my belief the miners would lynch you.” - -“I shall take my chance of that,” said Ned Mitchell, stolidly, as he -rose to go. “So this precious vicar that everybody thinks so much of -does all he can to shield his brother?” - -“You can hardly blame him for that. You’d do the same yourself.” - -“Blest if I should! Let those suffer that do wrong, say I. My sister -did wrong; but she had her punishment, else I’d not have lifted a -finger for her. As for these sermon vampers, it would be small harm if -they both swung together, I expect. I’ve not much respect for parsons -out of their proper place, the pulpit.” - -But Martha looked scandalized at this speech, and seemed to regret her -frankness. - -“You’ll not go insulting the vicar, I hope, Ned,” she said, uneasily. -“‘By their works ye shall know them,’ the Scripture says, and if so, -you’ve got nothing against the vicar but a weakness for his own flesh -and blood.” - -“Well, what are his ‘works?’ What does he do? Does he live in a poor -house, to have more to spare for folks poorer than himself? Does he -deny himself a wife and children, that he may be a better father to his -flock? Or, if he despises temporal things for his parishioners, if not -for himself, does he trudge it on foot, all weathers, to give spiritual -consolation to people too ill to come for it?” - -“No-o; that’s Mr. Vernon that does all that. But Mr. Meredith is--just -what a vicar ought to be.” - -“A pretty figure for a pulpit? I see. Oh, I’ll let him alone. Nothing -I shall say shall take a single one of the well-to-do creases out of -his fat face. I’ve other fish to fry than to go hurting the feelings of -your pretty vicar: never fear. Good-evening.” - -He did not wait for his curt salutation to be returned; but slightly -touching the hat it had not occurred to him take off, he opened the -door, and walked out with his usual ponderous, deliberate step. But -after going a few paces he stopped short, and returning to the cottage, -thrust open the door and addressed Martha again-- - -“You say some one heard the cry of ‘Murder!’ on the night my sister -disappeared. Who was it?” - -“A lass that was coming back from Sheffield with her young man--Jane -Askew. They’re married now, and she’s Mrs. Tims. They both heard it.” - -“And they saw nothing, and looked for nothing?” - -“They couldn’t agree as to where the sound came from; and perhaps -neither of them’s over brave, and near a churchyard at night too. But -going along they met somebody that knew more than them, they think; for -he was limping along at a great rate with a scared look on his face, -and he came straight from the churchyard.” - -“Hey, and who was that?” asked Mitchell, with strong interest. - -“A tramp called Abel Squires.” - -“Perhaps he was mixed up in it?” - -“Oh, no, I hardly think that. She was a strapping lass, and he’s a poor -crippled fellow with only one leg. Besides, what should he do it for?” - -“Anyhow, where is he to be found?” - -“Ah, that’s just what nobody knows. He used to be seen about here often -enough, but since that night he’s only been caught sight of once or -twice, and then always in company with the same person.” - -“And that person is--” - -“Mr. Vernon Brander!” - -“Thanks. That’ll do for me, I think.” - -And with that he left her as abruptly as before, and this time walked -straight back to his own dwelling without a pause, or so much as a -glance to right or left of him. - -For some days after that, the stolid figure of the colonist was missed -from the village. People began to think that he had decided that the -object of his stay was hopeless, and that he had slunk away quietly -to avoid the humiliation of owning that his dogged obstinacy had been -beaten. The old woman who swept his rooms and washed up his tea things, -though much questioned, could tell nothing. He had paid her up to the -day of his departure, and had simply told her that he was going away. -But whether for a day, a week, or forever he did not say. No board, -however, was put up before the cottage to announce that it was to let; -so that speculation was in favor of his return. Martha Lowndes was the -only person who rightly guessed on what errand he had gone. She alone -would have felt no surprise if she could have followed the track of -Ned Mitchell as he wandered about the country spending a day here, -three days there, always stolidly unsociable, and yet always contriving -to get more information out of his neighbors than the chattiest and -cheeriest of travellers could have done. He was tracking a man down -with the feeblest of clues--a wooden leg and a Yorkshire accent. But he -was gifted with a dogged energy and patience which nothing could daunt, -and so in the end he found his man. The place was a common lodging -house; the time was three weeks after he started on his search; the man -was Abel Squires. - -Ned Mitchell, when he found himself face to face with the crippled -tramp, thought that his work was practically done--a witness found -ready to his hand. But he was mistaken. Luckily for his object, he -broached the matter with the caution of a skillful diplomatist, so that -Abel had no idea of the interest he took in it. But the Yorkshireman -in tatters was as keen and canny on his side as the Yorkshireman in -broadcloth was on his; he was impervious to attack, either direct or -indirect, and at the mere suggestion of bribery he grew closer than -ever. Mitchell, however, did not give up the game, and at last he hit -upon the means of opening the tramp’s mouth. Poor Abel had a partiality -for strong liquor, and the temptation to indulge in it was more than -he could resist. The wily Ned was cautious, and contrived to treat -his ragged companion, not wisely but too well without exciting his -suspicion. But even under the soft influence of rum and water, the -tramp was more difficult to manage than his tempter would have supposed -possible. It was not until after a long convivial evening that, Abel’s -rough head having fallen at last on to the table in a drunken sleep, -Ned Mitchell was able to stand over him and say to himself, with a -gleam of savage and doubtful satisfaction breaking through the heavy -stolidity of his expression-- - -“You miserable, tattered old beggar! Have I got all out of you that you -have to tell, I wonder? Anyhow, I think I know enough to hang the right -rascal by. But I shall have to work, work, work.” - -On the following day, just three weeks after he left Rishton, Ned -Mitchell was again seen leaning over his little cottage gate, smoking -a bad cigar, and staring placidly at the broken stocks in the village -green. The first persons to note his return were the vicar and his -brother Vernon, who strolled through the churchyard together while he -was standing at his gate. The younger man changed color at the sight of -the colonist; the elder wished him a cheery “Good-day.” - -“Ha, Mr. Mitchell, you can’t keep up your incognito any longer. We -thought you had gone back to Australia without bidding us good-bye.” - -“Never fear, Parson Brander,” returned Mitchell, drily, looking -straight into the clergyman’s kindly eyes; “there’s another man has -got to say good-bye to you all before I go back.” He glanced from one -brother to the other as he uttered these words. Vernon kept his eyes on -the ground, but he looked livid. The vicar smiled, and gently shook his -head. - -“You’ll have to tell me this riddle by-and-by,” said he, in his genial -tones. - -“Whenever you please, vicar,” said Ned. - -And as the two clergymen passed on, Ned Mitchell, without deigning -so much as to glance at the younger, raised his hat to the Reverend -Meredith Brander, a most unheard-of mark of respect for him to bestow -on any dignitary of the Church. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Before the first day of his return to Rishton was over, Ned Mitchell -had to submit to the threatened interrogatory of the vicar. - -Ned had strolled into the churchyard, and was examining with a rather -cynical expression a beautiful marble monument, one of the chief -ornaments of the enclosure, on which were set forth, at great length, -in gilt letters, the many virtues of his late brother, “Samuel Robert -Mitchell, of Rishton Hall Farm, who departed this life February the -eighteenth, eighteen hundred and----, aged thirty-nine. He was a kind -husband, a devoted father, a loyal citizen, a faithful member of the -Church,” etc., etc. - -And below was a similar epitaph for “Lydia Elizabeth, relict of Samuel -Robert Mitchell.” - -At the foot of this was a text, cut in larger letters than the rest: -“In death they were not divided.” - -“They were in life though,” murmured Ned, shaking his head slowly. -“Never a meal passed but they were at it, hammer and tongs, about -something or other. Marble had need to be tough or it would split up -into shivers under the weight of lies we put on it.” - -At that moment he became aware that the vicar, who had come over the -grass from his house, was standing behind him looking much amused. - -“Thinking aloud!” said Mr. Brander. “A bad habit, Mr. Mitchell. Imagine -what it might lead to if one had any crime on one’s conscience.” - -“But parsons are supposed never to commit crimes, aren’t they?” - -“Or never to have any consciences?” - -“No, I won’t say that. The only criminal of your cloth that has -happened to come in my way has felt many a prick of conscience, I’m -ready to wager.” - -The vicar looked at him inquiringly, and did not attempt to hide that -he felt some anxiety as to the other’s meaning. - -“Whoever he may be, I hope so, for the credit of my order,” said he, -gravely. - -“Yes, vicar, and for the credit of your family,” retorted Ned, drily. - -Mr. Brander did not look surprised, but only deeply grieved. He laid -his handsome white hand on the colonist’s shoulder, and addressed him -in tones of almost fatherly expostulation and entreaty. - -“Look here,” he said; “I don’t want to preach; there’s nothing I -dislike more than preaching out of the pulpit. But I must say a few -words to you now I have the chance; and you may be angry with me if you -like.” - -“All right, vicar, fire away--I mean go on,” he corrected, -respectfully. “Let me tell you, it’s not many men of your profession I -would listen to (except in church, where you all have a prescriptive -right to do your worst on us.) But I’ve learnt something about you -quite recently which makes me think you’re different from the rest. So, -sir, when you please, I’m all attention.” - -“Well, then,” began the vicar in his most persuasive tones, “don’t you -think it’s very uncharitable of you to come over here with the fixed -intention of ruining a man? And all for what? What good can it do your -unfortunate sister now to have the past raked up, and her sins as well -as those of others dragged again into the light? Now, do you even -think, going to work in the spirit you do, that you are sure to light -upon the right person to punish? Isn’t it possible that, acting with -such a vindictive feeling as animates you, you may make an innocent man -suffer, for lack of finding the guilty one?” - -“No; to be plain with you, vicar, I don’t think anything of the kind. -As for the feeling which animates me, I think I ought to understand -that better than anybody; and I’ll let you know what it is. I’m not a -generous man, parson; years ago I might have been, perhaps, at least -as far as my favorite sister was concerned. But I’ve roughed it a good -bit in the world since then, and all the pretty bloom has been rubbed -off my character, d’ye see? But I’m a just man: and I don’t see why, if -a man and a woman sin, the woman should get all the kicks and the man -all the halfpence. That’s a vulgar way of putting it, but you’ll know -what I mean. My poor sister goes wrong. I don’t say she was worth much -sympathy; and my private feeling has nothing to do with it; but she had -her punishment. She was ruined, and then brutally murdered. Yes, don’t -tell me any humbugging stories about her going away of her own accord; -I know better. Whatever happened, poor Nell was not the girl to slink -off like that, and never be heard of again. She’d have come over to me, -if she’d had to work her own passage in men’s clothes, as they say the -lasses do sometimes. Well, that’s the woman’s end; now for the man. He -gets the woman’s love, for what it’s worth. I don’t put much value on -such things myself; but anyhow, he gets it. Then when he’s tired of it -and of her, and the girl grows importunate and her love inconvenient, -he quietly puts her out of the way, and no questions asked--” - -“Oh, but there were questions asked, and very inconvenient ones too,” -interrupted the vicar, gently. - -Then he bit his lips, as if he had not meant to say so much. - -“Aha, vicar, it looks very much as if you had a notion who it is I’m -driving at!” - -“I don’t pretend to deny that you mean my unlucky brother,” said the -vicar, gravely. “To admit that is really to admit nothing, as everybody -knows he was suspected, just as they know too that I myself never -believed he did it.” - -“You judge him by yourself, I expect. You, being of calm and -well-regulated temperament, can’t understand how a member of your -family can be so different from yourself.” - -“There you are mistaken, Mitchell, as others have been mistaken before -you. People think I am calm because I am fat. As a matter of fact, -I have been so worried over these suspicions of my brother that my -wife has caught me pacing up and down the room in my sleep, too much -disturbed on his account to be able to rest.” - -“It does you great credit to be so fond of him; I don’t blame you in -the least for it. You do your duty as a brother, and I’ll do mine.” - -“And I believe you’ll soon come to the conclusion that it is your duty -as a brother to let the unhappy girl and her history be forgotten as -soon as possible.” - -“My duty as a brother is to leave your brother alone, in fact!” - -“Haven’t I told you I believe him to be as innocent of this business -as I am myself? But these suspicions, which he can’t ignore--for you -take no pains to hide them--are demoralizing in the extreme. They make -him silent, sullen, mistrustful; in fact they breed in him all the -appearances of guilt.” - -“Ay, that they do.” - -“Supposing that he had committed the crime, don’t you believe in -atonement? After ten years of self-denial and hard work and sacrifice, -might not a man reasonably suppose that his sin was, humanly speaking, -washed out, and that he might indulge the hope of some human happiness -with a woman who loved him?” - -Ned Mitchell turned at this, from contemplation of the highly -ornamental, castellated tower of the little church, to curious -consideration of his companion’s face. - -“Oh,” he said very drily, “I didn’t know you were encouraging him to -marry.” - -A deep flush overspread the vicar’s face at this speech. Even his -striking amiability was not quite proof against the quiet sneer. No -annoyance, however, appeared in his tone as he said-- - -“Certainly I should not think of encouraging him to marry while -these cruel rumors continue to be spread about him. It would only be -misery for both of them. But if once the evil reports were silenced -and forgotten, I should urge him to find happiness in what I have -myself found to be the surest and best place to look for it--domestic -pleasures.” - -Ned appeared to consider this proposition thoughtfully for some -moments. Then he said-- - -“It’s curious that you should be the first of your family that I ever -heard to be of your way of thinking, parson, isn’t it?” - -Again Mr. Brander reddened. It was an annoying thing for a popular -spiritual autocrat to be questioned in this inquisitorial way by a -man in no way qualified to be a judge of him or his family. But his -patience was equal even to this trial. He said, very mildly-- - -“Yes, I am afraid--that is I believe that is so.” - -“Well, then, I think it’s too much to expect to find another in the -same generation.” - -There was a pause; the vicar looking mildly grieved, Ned munching a bit -of stick with much relish, while he regarded his companion out of the -corners of his eyes. - -Evening was closing in rapidly. A thin mist was gathering under -the trees on the top of the hill, enshrouding the tombstones and -softening the outlines of the little white stone church and of the -pretty ivy-grown Vicarage. Not a sound was to be heard in the near -neighborhood; and the noises of the village--children’s voices, lowing -of cattle, and the carter’s cry to his horses--came up faint and -subdued from below. - -Suddenly this peaceful stillness was broken by a long and dismal howl, -which startled the vicar and caused Ned Mitchell to turn his head -attentively in the direction of his cottage. A minute later it was -repeated, and before a word had been exchanged between the two men on -the subject of this strange interruption, a yelping and barking began, -and mingled with the howls, which still continued, until the air seemed -to vibrate with the discordant sounds. - -“You’ve brought back a dog with you, I perceive,” said the vicar. - -“H’m, yes. I’ve brought two. Fond of dogs, vicar?” - -“Very. Are you going to offer me one of yours?” - -“I don’t think so. They’re not exactly the sort Mrs. B. would fancy -poking about her pretty garden. They’ve got queer ways have my dogs.” - -“You’ve had them some time?” - -“Ten hours. But they were being prepared for me beforehand. In fact, -they have been some time in training.” - -“Sporting dogs, eh?” - -“Yes, and trained for a particular sort of game.” - -Ned Mitchell was rubbing his chin slowly and listening to the harsh -duet with much satisfaction. There was a quiet significance in his -words and manner which kept alive the curiosity of the vicar. - -“I should like to see these dogs, Mr. Mitchell,” said he. - -“Well, sir,” said Ned, with great heartiness; “choose your own time.” - -“Suppose, then, we say now?” - -“Now it is, then.” - -Ned removed his arm from the tombstone against which he had been -leaning, and led the way out of the churchyard with alacrity. - -“This place gives me the horrors towards night time,” he explained as, -with unwonted civility, he opened the gate for the vicar to pass out -first. - -“Why, surely a man of your sound practical sense doesn’t believe in the -ghosts and goblins that keep the ignorant out of churchyards at night?” - -“No: but such things can be done in lonely churchyards, under cover of -the popular horror. You agree with me there, vicar, don’t you?” - -This pigheaded colonist would harp always upon the same string. As -plainly as if he had mentioned the name, his tone intimated St. -Cuthbert’s churchyard and the murder of a girl there by Vernon Brander. -But the vicar was learning how to “take” him, and he assented at once. -They crossed the little village green, under trees whose bare branches -began now to show small tufts of delicate young leaves. There was -a strip of garden in front of the cottage; it had little space for -flowers, but was well filled with shrubs and evergreens, which grew -close up to the lower windows and almost shut out all light from the -tiny sitting-room on the left-hand side of the door. Ned Mitchell, -leaving the path, forced his way through the evergreens, and, holding -the branches apart with his hands, beckoned his companion to the -window, before which the vicar perceived a couple of strong iron bars -had been put up. - -“Why,” said he, as he picked his way daintily over the moist mould, “is -it a menagerie of wild beasts you have in there?” - -“Something very like it,” answered Ned, as a couple of brute faces, -with hanging jaws and bloodshot eyes, dashed up against the window, -licking the dusty frames with long red tongues, and jostling each other -with hungry eagerness. “Whoa!” cried Ned, as he pushed up the window, -and stretching a fearless hand through the bars, stroked and patted -their sleek heads with an assured strength and coolness which told -them he was their master. “I must have the glass taken out of these -panes--what there’s left of it--or my pets will be hurting themselves.” - -“Your pets!” said the vicar, as he peered into the room, felt their -hot breath on his face, and listened to their hungry growling, “Well, -Mitchell, you have an odd taste in your choice of domestic favorites. -If my inclination lay in the direction of a couple of fierce hounds -like that, I think I should consider that old kennel in the back garden -a near enough abode for them.” - -“What, for friends I count upon to do me a great service!” exclaimed -Ned, grimly. “Oh, no! my hounds are already more to me than his pig is -to an Irishman. No place that’s not good enough for me is good enough -for them. Besides, if they were put into the kennel they would be -almost close under some of your windows, and would disturb you and your -good lady at night. They make more than a lapdog’s yapping when they -are uncomfortable, I can tell you,” he added, turning with admiration -to his hounds, who were snapping savagely at each other, and sniffing -the air with dilated nostrils. - -“They seem to be hungry,” said the vicar, who, if he did not share -their master’s admiration, was much interested in the brutes. - -“Well, which of us wouldn’t be, if he’d had nothing to eat all day? -It’s a part of their education, that,” he went on, as he drew back from -the window and took up an iron spade which stood inside the little -porch. “Now I’m going to show you how accomplished they are, if you -care to see. If I bury an old bone with next to no flesh on it in any -part of this garden, they’ll hunt it up. That is, they will if they -answer to the warranty I had with them. That’s the accomplishment I -bought them for.” - -“Dear me, very curious,” murmured the vicar, with great interest. “And -this is your first trial of them?” - -“Yes. I only brought them back with me in the small hours this morning, -and they’ve been without food ever since.” - -“And are you sure of getting them out of that room without their making -a meal of you?” - -“I must chance that. I didn’t buy them for lapdogs, and I think I can -manage them. Anyhow, I intend to try. I suppose, vicar, you’ve no mind -to help me,” he added, rather maliciously, as he turned to go into -the cottage. “It isn’t work for gentlemen of your cloth, I know. I -don’t suppose anything fiercer than a toy terrier is allowed by the -Thirty-Nine Articles.” - -“There’s no mention of bloodhounds in them, certainly; but I’m willing -to help you all the same, if I can,” said the vicar, mildly, preparing -to follow his host into the cottage. - -Ned Mitchell looked surprised. Then he glanced rather contemptuously -from the plump hands and neat white cuffs to the handsome, placid pink -face, and said, drily-- - -“I’m afraid they’ll make rather a mess of your linen, parson, if they -don’t of you.” - -“I must chance that, as you say yourself,” said the vicar, calmly. - -Ned nodded, and saying he would be back in a moment, he disappeared -through the porch with a grim chuckle. When he returned, a few minutes -later, holding in his rough fingers a handful of mouldy bones, the -vicar was leaning against the porch, thoughtfully turning up his cuffs -and his coat sleeves with the most scrupulous neatness. - -“Not a very tempting feast that, one would have thought.” - -“Well, if they want anything more tempting than that to make them hunt -with a will, I’ve been deceived in them, that’s all, and back they go -to the man I bought them from.” - -As he spoke he took up the spade, and began to search for a suitable -place in which to bury the fleshless bones. He decided on a spot in -the back garden, under the prickly leaves of an auricula. There, right -under the branches, he dug a deep hole, not without much damage to his -hands and his clothes. Into this hole he threw the bones, covering them -carefully with the displaced earth. The vicar laughed as Ned flattened -down the mould and stamped upon it. - -“You are expecting too much of those unlucky brutes,” said he. “I quite -believe that they might grub up a nice fresh leg of mutton, or the body -of a newly-killed rabbit. But old bones like that, and under two feet -of earth! No, my dear Mitchell, it’s not in reason.” - -“All right,” said Ned, putting his hands in his pockets. “If you think -my little experiment is not worth watching, I won’t trouble you with my -company or my dogs.” - -“Oh, but of course I must see the end of this. And if your hounds do -answer your expectations after all, I quite agree with you that the -best room in the house is not too good for such clever beasts.” - -They went round to the front of the cottage again, and through the -porch into the narrow passage. Ned brought a lighted candle from the -kitchen, and proceeded to search among a bunch of large keys which -hung from a nail in the wall. Meanwhile the dogs, disappointed at the -disappearance of their master, from whom they had expected food, howled -and yelped with redoubled vehemence, and flung themselves against the -door of the room in which they were confined until it shook and creaked -on its old hinges. Ned glanced at the vicar with a sardonic smile. - -“Have you still a mind to go in there, parson?” he asked, rather -maliciously. “You clergymen are holy men, as we all know, but things -have changed since Daniel’s time, and I doubt, no offence to you, -whether he’d have got off so well if he’d been pitched into a lion’s -cage at the Zoo as he did among those old Persians!” - -The vicar looked nervous, certainly. But he still stuck to his -resolution of going into the room. Ned shrugged his shoulders, and -whistled softly, staring into his companion’s face as he fumbled with -the keys, and seeming rather to enjoy the notion of the change which -would come over that pink, plump, mildly jolly countenance when the -fangs of one of the hounds should meet in the clerical anatomy. He -felt quite sure that it was the vicar’s entire ignorance of hungry -bloodhounds and their little ways which gave him such an appearance of -placid pluck. - -“Are you ready?” he asked, as he put the key in the door. “We shall -have to dash in pretty quick to prevent the brutes from coming out.” - -The vicar nodded, and came close up beside him. Ned gave him a last -and, as it were, a farewell look, and opened the door. The hounds, -with hungry growls and jaws dripping with foam, rushed at the opening. -Ned Mitchell was too quick for them; he was in the room, with the door -closed behind him, before either of the brutes could get so much as his -nose outside. Quick as he was, however, the portly vicar was before -him, and was well in the middle of the small room by the time the door -closed. - -Then Ned Mitchell found, cool as he was, that in fancying himself -able to master these two fierce brutes, he had reckoned without his -host. In a moment he discovered that it was only when satisfied with -food and carefully muzzled, as they had been for their journey in the -small hours that morning, that he could attempt to cope with them -successfully. Both together they now flew at him, springing, the one -at his throat, the other at his right hand. The attack was so sudden, -so fierce, that he staggered back against the door, in danger of being -overpowered, and struck out with unsure aim, failing to beat them off. -He had been forced to drop his candle when the hounds set upon him, and -it was almost in darkness that the struggle went on, the man cursing -and the animals growling, while they bit at and worried him with the -savagery of ravenous hunger. - -The vicar was standing, motionless, in the middle of the room. Ned saw -his portly figure in outline between him and the faint light, and in -the midst of his own occupation wondered, not having any great respect -for the physical powers of the Church, that Mr. Brander did not edge -further away from the scene of combat, or show some other sign of -nervousness. - -“Shall I help you?” asked the vicar, tranquilly, when the struggle -between man and hounds had gone on for several exciting moments. - -Ned was too busy, trying to keep off the dogs, to express the -astonishment he felt at these words and the tone in which they were -spoken. - -“Yes, for Heaven’s sake, yes, if you can!” he panted out. - -He had scarcely uttered these words in answer, when the vicar came -to his aid with a promptitude and dash which a professional tamer of -beasts could scarcely have exceeded. Seizing by the throat first one of -the hounds and then the other, he choked them off his half-bewildered -companion, and held them, yelping and gurgling, while Ned, savagely -angry at “the parson’s” superiority more than grateful for his timely -help, picked up and relit the candle with affected unconcern. - -“Well done, vicar!” said he, in a tone which betrayed that he was not -particularly well pleased. “If you can manage to hold the brutes while -I find the key, we’ll soon be shut of them.” - -“Don’t hurry on my account,” said Mr. Brander, quite pleasantly. - -His bland tone made Ned’s blood boil. The colonist resolved, since he -seemed to like his occupation, not to curtail his pleasure. He took -twice the necessary time to find the key and place it in the lock. -Then, before turning it, he inclined his head over his shoulder, and -asked, maliciously-- - -“Getting tired?” - -“Not a bit!” said the vicar, mildly. - -“Hang you!” muttered Ned below his breath. - -The next moment he heard a rush and a growl, and felt the teeth of one -of the hounds meet in his right leg. - -“Hallo!” cried Mr. Brander; “can’t you manage him?” - -Ned did not answer. Between pain and rage, indeed, he would scarcely -have been articulate if he had done so. He gave the dog a vicious -kick, which sent him howling away, and, turning the key in the lock, -beckoned to the vicar to follow him out. Before doing so, however, -Mr. Brander had to dispose of the animal he was still holding. His -arms, strong as they were, had begun to ache with the strain, for the -dog had writhed and struggled the whole time. Then Ned, holding the -candle high, and examining the vicar’s face with exceeding interest and -equal malevolence, saw upon it an expression very different from its -habitual, placid mildness. The blue eyes were flashing; the handsome -mouth was drawn in a tight, straight line; the clear-cut features -seemed to have in a moment lost their plumpness, and to have become -hard and cruel; while the soft, white hands looked strong and sinewy -as they clasped the dog’s throat. Ned watched him curiously. The vicar -looked into the animal’s bloodshot eyes with the expression not merely -of a master, but of a tyrant. Lifting him with both hands high into the -air, he gave the dog such a shaking as set him gurgling and howling and -twisting his body with pain, and flung him to the far end of the room -to join his companion. Then he crossed the room without any haste, and -went out at the door, which Ned shut and locked. - -“And now,” said the vicar, “how about the experiment?” - -Mitchell, who was engaged in an examination of his injured leg, looked -up quickly. - -“Well,” he muttered, in unwilling admiration, “you are a cool hand, I -must say.” - -“Cool!” exclaimed the vicar as pleasantly as ever; “one needs to be -cool with acquaintances who invite one into a sitting-room furnished -with a couple of bloodhounds and nothing else. Ugh!” he cried, as he -suddenly noticed the condition of his hands, which were smeared with -blood and foam, “what a mess those brutes have made me in!” - -Ned laughed shortly, and continued to stare at him with the deepest -interest. - -“It looks very unsuitable now, that same mess, when you are all the -parson again,” he said, drily. “But, curse me with book and with bell -if I don’t think that a minute ago you looked as if you could stand the -sight of blood as well as any soldier.” - -“And why not?” asked Mr. Brander, who had this time wiped his hands, -pulled down his cuffs, and almost recovered his usual exquisite -appearance. “People seem to forget that we parsons were not born in the -surplice, and that we have all been through the same training as other -men from whom a little readiness with wrists and fists is expected at a -matter of course.” - -“That’s true, parson. But we’d always looked upon you as one of the -meek ’uns. Now if it had been your brother----” - -“Ah, poor Vernon! I think all the spirit has been badgered out of him.” - -“Well, but, parson,” said Ned, still gazing at him with the same steady -and curious stare, “I think you have spirit enough for two.” - -Mr. Brander turned and met his look straight, eye to eye. - -“Yes,” he said quietly and firmly; “and when it comes to an attack -upon my brother, you’ll find that spirit a more serious thing to deal -with than you expect.” - -They had come through the porch out into the garden again, and were -standing very near together, with the setting sun throwing a weak and -watery light upon their faces. A passer-by, noticing their attitudes, -looks, and tones, would have guessed that a challenge had been thrown -down and taken up. - -The two men bade each other good-night in a manner which showed on -each side both caution and mutual respect. And having retired each to -his house, they instinctively tried to get a sight each of the other. -The clergyman went to his study, and seated himself with a book at the -window; Ned Mitchell took the air at his back door. The vicar remained -calm and smiling, and looked amused when he caught Ned’s anxious look. -The colonist took things less easily. - -“That parson’ll be a very difficult beggar to tackle,” he said to -himself almost despondingly. “I could manage Vernon by himself, but -with this old ‘Soap-your-sides’ behind him it’ll be a long job--a very -long job.” - -But he comforted himself before going to bed by a look at his -bloodhounds! - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -The Reverend Meredith Brander had not been Vicar of Rishton and -compulsory student of the wiles of frail humanity for fourteen years -for nothing. When from his study window he saw Ned Mitchell--after many -yawns, several sleepy stretchings out of his arms, and an occasional -nod of the head--retire from his back door and shut himself in, it -seemed to the vicar by no means certain that his neighbor had gone -to bed. So he withdrew a little way into the shelter of his window -curtains, and remained on the watch, beguiling the time by composing -a very pretty opening for next Sunday morning’s sermon, wherein the -rising moon, as it showed more and more of his laurels, was used to -typify the grace of repentance illuminating the dark places of the -heart. - -And the result justified Mr. Brander’s doubts. Ned Mitchell did, it is -true, go to bed, but he speedily got up again, impelled to this freak -partly by the pain in his injured leg and partly by his unsatisfied -curiosity concerning the accomplishments of his dogs. The vicar smiled -as, after an hour and a half’s watching, he saw Ned’s candle glimmering -weakly through the blinds; first on the upper floor of the cottage, and -then on the lower. Presently Ned himself re-appeared at the back door, -which he set wide open, before proceeding to draw on his hands a pair -of stout leather gloves. Then he retreated into the cottage again, and -gave the vicar time to open his window a little way very softly. As -he did so, sounds of yelping and scuffling reached his ears from the -cottage, and a few moments later the hounds rushed out into the garden. - -The month was May, and in this cold north country the trees both in -the vicar’s garden and in that of his neighbor were as yet only thinly -covered with leaves; so that there was little to hide the movements of -the animals, which, after a preliminary scamper round the house and an -attempt to get through the bars of the gate, began to sneak about close -to the walls and under the shrubs, sniffing, prowling, scratching, -like uncanny creatures half seen in the moonlight, making the branches -of the evergreens sway and rustle, and uttering from time to time -a yelping, whining sound, as they grubbed and searched restlessly -for food. The vicar pulled aside his curtain and watched with great -interest. The hounds were getting--whether by accident or led by scent -he could not yet tell--nearer and nearer to the shrub under which Ned -Mitchell had buried the untempting bones. Ned himself, from the upper -floor of the cottage, was intently watching them. Hither and thither -the brutes roamed, in apparently random search for something to appease -their hunger. With nose pointed always to the earth they crept slowly -along, or bounded a few paces, sometimes raising the night echoes by a -deep howl, more often uttering the low, wolfish sounds of half-starved -savage creatures. But aimless as their wanderings seemed to be, often -as they deviated from a straight course to it, they did both come, -slowly but surely, nearer to the auricula. The vicar rose from his -chair; Ned Mitchell hung his whole body out of his little window. As -the animals drew closer to the place where the bones were hidden, they -seemed to the careful eyes of the watcher to grow more excited, to yelp -and whine more savagely, to sniff the cold earth with keener nostrils. -At last the muzzle of one of the hounds touched the prickly leaves of -one of the lowest branches of the auricula. He drew back with a snort -of pain. A minute later, however, drawn by his irresistible instinct, -he returned, and, making a furious attempt to pass under the low -branches, retreated again, whining and savage from the effect of the -pricks he had received. The third time both dogs drew near together, -and this time--regardless of the scratches inflicted by the thorny -boughs on their backs--they pushed their way under the auricula, and -began to grub and to scratch up the earth with might and main. - -In an incredibly short space of time, considering the depth of earth -with which Ned had covered them, the bloodhounds had dug up the buried -bones and were crunching them ravenously with their powerful jaws. Ned, -uttering a short laugh of triumph, raised his head and caught sight of -the vicar, who now, regardless of concealment, was pressing close to -the window panes of his study a face which looked of a greenish pallor -in the moonlight. Ned watched him with an intent, glaring gaze for a -few seconds; then, shutting his little window rapidly and noiselessly, -he slipped out of the cottage by the front door, and, making his way -round to the back stealthily under cover of the evergreens, crept -along in the shadow under the dividing wall until he stood, unseen by -the vicar, almost under the latter’s window. After the lapse of a few -moments his curiosity was rewarded. - -“Poor Vernon! My poor brother!” murmured the vicar with a heavy sigh. - -Then Ned, hugging himself and indulging in a knowing smile of -satisfaction, heard the study window close. - -He crept back into his little house by the way he had come, narrowly -escaping the attentions of his hounds, which, having quickly finished -the scanty meal the dry bones afforded them, seemed inclined to try, -as more nourishing, the person of their master. He went indoors, armed -himself with a plate of raw meat in one hand and a short whip in the -other, and calling them into the house succeeded in shutting them up -once more in the room they had previously occupied. - -“Good dogs! good dogs!” he said, approvingly, as he stood at the crack -of the door and watched them snarling over the food. “That’s nothing -to the meal you shall have when you’ve hunted out the next lot of old -bones I shall set you grubbing for.” - -And with another grim chuckle as he closed the back door and gave a -glance at the now deserted study window of the Vicarage, Ned Mitchell -retired for the night with a light heart and a good conscience. - -Next morning Ned was early on the watch, in spite of the fact that the -wound in his leg gave him a good deal of pain. He saw the vicar go out -a couple of hours earlier than usual; and instead of walking, as was -his custom in the morning, he was on his cob. Ned nodded to him as he -went by, and timed his absence by a ponderous gold watch which was with -him night and day. - -“An hour and twenty minutes,” he said to himself, as Mr. Brander -returned at an ambling, clerical pace, and, meeting the nurse with -his little son descending the hill for their morning walk, gave the -boy a ride in front of him as far as the stables. “Yes, parson; just -long enough to ride to St. Cuthbert’s, catch your brother before he -started on his parish work, have a quarter of an hour’s chat--about the -weather, let us say--and be back in time for your own morning walk.” - -Perhaps Ned Mitchell’s shrewd face betrayed his suspicions; perhaps -the wily vicar’s knowledge of men was greater than any that books -on divinity could impart; for, seeing the colonist leaning as usual -over his garden gate, his shrewd eyes lazily blinking in the spring -sunshine, Mr. Brander nodded, wished him good-morning, and added, -cheerfully-- - -“On the watch, eh?” - -“Perhaps, vicar,” answered Ned, touching his hat, with a knowing -twinkle in his eye. - -“How are the pets this morning, after their night’s work?” - -“Night’s work?” echoed Ned, who had entertained the mean suspicion that -the vicar would not own to his nocturnal observations. - -“Yes, I did a little bit of spying too last night,” answered Mr. -Brander, who seemed to take a frank and boyish delight in an open and -declared warfare with his neighbor. “How’s the leg this morning?” - -Ned, who chose to think that the vicar might have prevented the injury -to his limb if it had so pleased him, answered with a tone which was in -marked contrast to the good humor of the other. - -“It’ll do,” he said, shortly. “How’s your brother this morning?” - -Again Mr. Brander seemed to take a buoyant pleasure in his antagonist’s -cuteness. - -“My brother is very well,” he said, smiling. “And I’m sure, whatever -you may think, that he would be quite pleased to hear of your kind -inquiries.” - -“Well, we shall see about that,” said Ned. “Now, come, parson,” he went -on, persuasively, “you might just as well confess what I know--that -you rode over to St. Cuthbert’s this morning to put him on his guard -against my tricks.” - -“And may not one with good reason put an innocent man on his guard -against an avowed enemy?” - -“I am not your brother’s enemy, Mr. Brander. I am the enemy of the man -who murdered my sister. It is you who are saying that they are one and -the same.” - -“No, no, no!” broke out the vicar, with vehemence unusual to him. -“The fact is, you have come here with what you consider a strong case -against the poor fellow, and everything you hear goes to pad up that -case. If I believed in my brother’s guilt, do you suppose I should -leave my little daughter in his care, as I have done for the last week, -and intend to do for another fortnight?” - -“Why not parson?” said Ned, very quietly. “Neither you nor I are simple -enough to think the worse of a man because he happens to have made a -little slip by the way. The man who murdered my sister didn’t say to -himself, ‘I will change my whole course of life and become a murderer,’ -as if it were a profession. No, he is going about the world at this -moment just like you or me, doing his daily duty as well as he can, and -perhaps feeling sorry enough for that little slip to better his life in -atonement for it.” - -“Indeed, indeed he is,” broke in the vicar, earnestly. “If you could -see how my brother works: how he tries by every means--” - -“Hadn’t we better leave your brother’s name out of the discussion?” -asked Ned, with a touch of dry insolence. “You are not anxious to fix -the noose round his neck yourself, I suppose.” - -The poor vicar looked beyond measure crestfallen and disconcerted. -After all his assertions of his brother’s innocence, to have betrayed -himself like that! He stammered and tried to explain away his -unfortunate admission; but not succeeding very well, he made haste to -cut short the conversation and retreat into the house with his little -son. - -Ned Mitchell was not left long without an object to interest him. He -remained sunning himself at his garden gate for some minutes after Mr. -Brander’s disappearance, and then retired into his cottage, from one -of the tree-shaded windows of which he soon saw a person approaching, -at sight of whom his rugged features seemed to tighten, the only sign -they ever gave of unusual excitement. It was Vernon Brander. From the -curious glances which the clergyman cast in the direction of the room -in which the bloodhounds, now asleep after a good meal, were still -confined, it was clear he had been fully informed concerning them. He -stopped before the garden fence, peering among the evergreens with -evident interest. But as Ned appeared at the door, with the intention -of a little talk with him, he hurried on towards the Vicarage without -another glance at the cottage. Ned looked after him with a curling lip. - -“I suppose some people would admire that fellow, with his lanky face -and his good deeds. But I never did have any fancy for your martyrs, -especially when their private life won’t bear looking into.” - -And after watching the clergyman until he had turned into the private -road, Ned directed his attention to two visitors, who, attracted by -certain rumors about the occupant of the cottage, and the menagerie -he had set up there, had joined their forces on the way to pay Mr. -Mitchell a morning call. - -These visitors were Mr. Denison and Fred Williams. Fred had by no -means got the better of his violent admiration for Olivia Denison. -But having found her persistently “out” when he called at the farm, -and persistently curt when he met her out of doors, he had consoled -himself for her frigidity by taking a trip to New York, whence he had -now not long returned. To signalize his recent achievements in the way -of travel, he wore a wide-brimmed hat and a sea-sick complexion, and -carried a revolver in a leather belt. This was his first meeting with -any of the Hall Farm people since his return, so that, on coming face -to face with Mr. Denison, who was passing through the farmyard gate, he -overwhelmed him by an outburst of effusive cordiality which astonished -that gentleman beyond measure, but raised his spirits, and soothed him -with the feeling that here was a friend. - -Mr. Denison was one of those simple-natured men who are only too ready -to find a friend in any one who addresses to them a kindly word. -Things had been going badly with him. Having started farming with -all the skin-deep energy of the enthusiastic amateur, he had long -ere this discovered the perversity of the whole animal and vegetable -kingdoms: the determination with which sheep die of the rot, pigs take -the measles, beans and peas refuse to come up at the proper time and -crops fail on the slightest provocation, or on none. A suspicion had -begun to take root even in his ingenious mind that there was more in -farming than one would have thought while going over a farm; and a -stronger suspicion still that, if things did not soon “take a turn,” -his new profession, instead of making his fortune, would land him in -the Bankruptcy Court. He could not fail, moreover, to be alive to the -sturdy animosity of his rival, John Oldshaw, and to the ever-increasing -pleasure which that amiable person showed on meeting him, as his own -prospects of finally getting the Hall Farm at an easy rent seemed to -grow better. Olivia, who understood her father’s temperament too well -to communicate to him the smallest fact which was likely to trouble -him, had never uttered the name of Fred Williams in his presence, -except to say with much haughtiness that he was a quite insufferable -person. But Mr. Denison, who never disliked anybody, would have been -quite ready to set her aversion down to groundless prejudice when Fred -listened sympathetically to a rambling account of the last outbreak of -the feud with Oldshaw. - -“The fellow’s such a cad, too,” complained Mr. Denison, mildly. “Not -that I should think the worse of him for not being a gentleman,” he -added. “His son is a nice lad, a very nice lad, and we get on together -admirably. If he were only in one’s own class there might be a Montague -and Capulet end to the business, I fancy; for if he were a little -better educated I should almost fancy he was in love with my daughter -Olivia. You may have seen Olivia?” he continued, naively, with a touch -of paternal pride. - -Yes, Mr. Fred Williams might have seen Olivia, but was wise enough not -to own to more than this at present. - -“Well, the use that young fellow has been to me--me, a man old enough -to be his father--is something remarkable. In fact, I don’t mind -telling you” (Mr. Denison didn’t mind telling anybody), “that if it -hadn’t been for his hints, I should never have been able to carry on -the farm at all. Why, if I give him--on the strict Q. T. you know, for -it mustn’t come to his father’s ears--a commission to buy me a few -sheep, or a well-bred shorthorn, and his father sends him to market for -the same purpose, he’ll contrive to get me the best, Mr. Williams--me -the best--I assure you.” - -“Indeed!” murmured Fred, with a deferential courtesy entirely new to -him. - -“Yes, I assure you it is so. Now I am not one of those old fools who -fancy that a young man will do such a thing out of friendship for -a man of his father’s generation. I see there is something behind -it,” continued Mr. Denison, astutely. “And I confess,” he went on, -growing more confidential as his small friend, while listening more -sympathetically than ever, linked his arm within that of the farmer, -“that I almost wish my daughter hadn’t been ‘brought up a lady,’ as the -saying is, when I see what a very good thing young Oldshaw and I could -have made of it together--he with his knowledge of practical farming, -and I with my--with my knowledge, my--er--my knowledge of the world, in -fact.” - -“A very good idea, sir--a very good idea,” assented Fred, -enthusiastically. “At the same time you might find a son-in-law who -could help you without looking so far beneath you. I say so far,” -he went on, “because there is a something about you that--er--makes -you sort of different from other people, you know; a dignity or high -breeding or something; and perhaps your daughter may have a touch of -it. I say perhaps, you know, because I scarcely know Miss Denison.” - -“Well,” said Mr. Denison, swallowing the bait with all simplicity, -“I suppose there is, as you say, a certain _cachet_ about a man who -has lived so much in town or near town as I have. And whatever is -best about me my Olivia has certainly inherited. But whoever my child -marries, it must be for her own good; not for mine.” - -Simple, selfish Mr. Denison thought there was something rather -praiseworthy in this declaration. Fred listened shrewdly. - -“It must be much worse to be badly off, or--or not to be exactly -flourishing, when one has a family to care for and provide for,” he -suggested. - -Mr. Denison seized his hand. - -“My dear lad, that’s just it,” said he, almost earnestly and in all -sincerity. “A man on a farm by himself must be in heaven. On the same -farm, with a family, he may be in--in quite another place.” - -“I see, I see,” murmured Fred, pressing his arm against that of the -older man. “Money market tight, and all that.” - -“Tight, I believe you!” assented Mr. Denison, bubbling over with his -confidences, as weak men do when they have had to exercise an unwonted -self-repression. “You would scarcely believe what the tightness amounts -to sometimes. A young man in your position couldn’t realize it.” - -“Oh, yes, I could though. Nothing of that sort that you have ever borne -is as bad as what my guvnor’s gone through lots of times. It was before -he was blessed with me, and of course he don’t talk about it; but you -may take my word it’s true.” - -“Dear me!” said Mr. Denison, as if this was almost inconceivable. -Though in truth the airs of patronage the elder Mr. Williams liked to -assume had often caused him to jibe gently in the bosom of his family -at the waste of pounds by men who were better used to pence. - -“But it seems worse for you, you know--don’t seem natural somehow. -Seems as if it were the right and proper thing for you to have lots of -money. Makes me uncomfortable to hear you haven’t, and--and all that -sort of thing, you know.” - -He gabbled out this broken speech with an air of modest confusion which -touched Mr. Denison, whose finances were at a distressingly low ebb. He -pressed the young fellow’s arm in silence--rather awkwardly, but with -much feeling. Fred went on, quickly-- - -“Now don’t be offended; you mustn’t be offended. I’m not of enough -account in the world for a man like you to be offended with me. But if -you wouldn’t mind--you needn’t think anything of it--if you should be -tight, I mean strait, anything like hard up, in fact, I should really -feel it quite an honor if you would--” - -Poor Mr. Denison was quite broken by this offer, which came upon him -unexpectedly. He protested, stammered, grew red in the face, and dim -in the eyes. He was a gentleman, sensitive, and not without pride. But -he was weak-natured--harassed by difficulties he saw no way out of. -Although he repeatedly refused Fred’s repeated offers and with perfect -sincerity; he did so in a tone which encouraged the young man to think -that his yielding was only a question of time and of an adroitly chosen -moment. - -“At any rate, you’re not offended with me for making the suggestion?” -Fred asked at last. - -He was glad to see that Mr. Denison looked rather disappointed to think -that he was taken at his word. - -“Offended! No, indeed, my dear boy. One can’t afford to be offended at -a friendly offer nowadays.” - -“I daresay, you know, I haven’t put it as nicely as I might, and that’s -why you go on refusing. Of course my manners are not up to yours. -You’re refined; I’m not. But I mean what I say, and that’s something; -if you can’t be refined and all that, any way it’s something to be -sincere.” - -“It’s everything, in my opinion. I shall not forget your disinterested -kindness, Williams. But what put it into your head I can’t think.” - -“Came like a flash, you know,” answered the young fellow, promptly. -“Gentleman--handsome, dignified gentleman, credit to the parish--looks -humped. What’s the cause? Sure to be the old thing--money. Besides, -we’ve a mutual interest, you and I; you’re fond of dogs. I suppose -you’ve come up to see those hounds they say Mitchell’s got?” he -suggested. - -For, on reaching the garden paling of Church Cottage, they had both -stopped, as if their journey were at an end. - -“Well, yes--no; I had come to see Mitchell, certainly; and I had -heard about these hounds he’s brought back with him. But that wasn’t -altogether my reason for coming.” - -He would have babbled out his reason with his usual ingenuousness if -Ned had not interrupted the conversation by calling “Good-morning!” -approaching them in a leisurely manner at the same time. - -“I know what you’ve come for,” he said, with a nod to the younger man. -“They’re in there. Don’t be too familiar, unless you want to leave a -pound of flesh with them.” - -And he jerked his head back in the direction of the room where -the bloodhounds were kept. Fred Williams did not wait for further -conversation, but raising his hat with great ceremony to Mr. Denison, -and shaking his hand warmly, he went through the gate and up to -the cottage window. Ned threw at him with some disdain what may be -described as half a glance. - -“Unlicked cub, that!” he said, not much caring whether the subject of -his remark heard it or not. - -The guileless and grateful Mr. Denison demurred at this, and Ned did -not think the point worth discussing. - -“I suppose you didn’t come up to talk about dogs?” he asked, drily. - -“Why, no. As a matter of fact,” said Mr. Denison, with the hesitation -of a person unused to come straight to the point, “I have heard odd -reports about; I--I--” - -“Have come to the wrong shop, Mr. Denison, if you expect to hear any -village gossip from me.” - -“Quite so, quite so. But everybody knows now why you’re here,” said -Mr. Denison. “And as the man they say you’re after is an admirer of my -daughter’s--” - -“‘They say’ a lot of things, Mr. Denison, which I’d advise you not to -listen to.” - -“But I’ve been quite discourteous to this gentleman on the strength of -your suspicions!” - -“Well, I should find some stronger ground to go upon before I was -discourteous again.” - -“Then you don’t believe these dreadful stories?” - -“I know nothing of any dreadful stories.” - -“Mr. Mitchell, I beg you to be plain with me. Am I right in refusing to -have anything to say to--a certain clerical neighbor of ours?” - -“Mr. Denison, if my advice is worth anything, have nothing to do with -any clerical neighbors.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell, that is enough for me. I see you wish to -steer clear of libel. But I understand your warning, and I thank you. -Vernon Brander shall not enter my house again.” - -He wished the colonist good-morning, and went back to his farm with a -more satisfied conscience. His wife, then, had not been so far wrong in -her estimate of the Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s, though her treatment might -have been open to criticism. But Ned Mitchell looked after him with the -tight-lipped smile of contempt with which he was always so ready. - -“Does he really think a few mumbling words from him will turn that -strong-willed lass, I wonder?” thought he. - -And dismissing the subject with a short laugh of derision, his thoughts -turned to his hounds, and to a plan which he was nourishing very near -his heart. - -That very day he resolved to put it into practice. In the early part of -the afternoon, therefore, he strolled down to St. Cuthbert’s, found the -churchyard gate securely fastened, and, making a circuit of the walls, -discovered a point where it was of no very formidable height. - -“I think my beauties could do that!” chuckled he to himself. And -returning straight to his cottage, he remained within doors until the -sun began to go down. - -Then, going, as he now did without fear, into the room where the -hounds, again ravenous with hunger, were yelping and savagely howling, -he cowed them with a small whip, which he did not scruple to use -cruelly, and securing the animals in a leash, left his little dwelling -with them. The hounds were fierce, strong, and difficult to manage. -Ned, who still limped in pain from the effects of the bite one of them -had given him the night before, cursed them below his breath one moment -and burst out into enthusiastic praises of them the next. He made his -way with them direct to St. Cuthbert’s, going over the fields. It was -growing dusk; the walk was a lonely one; he did not see a single human -being as he made his way slowly along, surprised at the ever-increasing -pain his wounded limb caused him. - -At last he came in sight of the ruined tower, the patched-up walls of -which bulged out dangerously, threatening constantly to fall, a mass -of ill-assorted fragments of brick and stone, wood and tiles, into the -disused graveyard beneath. - -“Steady, my beauties, steady!” said he to the yelping hounds. “Your -work is going to begin, my dears! Steady now, steady!” - -And he made his way, with the hounds still straining at the leash, to -the spot he had picked out that afternoon. - -“There are some old bones for you in there, or I’m much mistaken, that -will be worth a king’s ransom to me, and a good home for the rest of -your days to you, my beauties.” - -The hounds growled and sniffed, and leaped up about him, as if madly -eager to begin their grim hunt. Close up to the wall of the old -graveyard he came, and peered over at the irregular mounds, overgrown -with rank grass and weeds. There was little daylight left, but his -keen eyes could still see dimly into each dark corner, filled with old -stones and decaying vegetation. His hands were trembling, stolid as he -was, with his eagerness to let the hounds go. His eyes were hungrily -roaming over the neglected enclosure where he believed the clue to his -secret to lie, when suddenly a sound came to his ears which paralyzed -his arms and seemed to stop his fast-drawn breath. It was the voice of -a little child. - -Looking again more intently than before into the chaos of broken and -misplaced tombstones, he saw, peering out from behind a tuft of shaggy -briar and weed, the face of a little child. It was tiny Kate Brander. -Ned looked at the fierce brutes and shivered. Another moment and they -would have been loose in the graveyard, ravenous and blood hungry. Then -the expression of his face changed. - -“Yes, he has got the best of this move; curse him! But the game’s not -played out yet.” - -And, with a lowering face, and slow, heavy gait, he turned, with his -yelping brood, towards the road home. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -The stolid calmness of Ned Mitchell’s every-day demeanor, which was but -a mask for strong passions and still stronger resolutions, broke down -entirely under his disappointment. If the mouldy old graveyard of St. -Cuthbert’s had been a paradise of sweet sights and sounds and scents, -he could not have been more maddened by the impossibility of entering -it. Even the innocent child herself, whose presence among the ruined -graves had prevented him from letting his hounds loose, shared his -anger. - -“They can’t keep the brat there always, that’s one thing,” he said to -himself, as he limped along. - -He found the return journey over the fields more tedious than he--a -strong, healthy man, used to bear great fatigues without any ill -effect--could have thought possible. The hounds were growing every -moment more troublesome, straining harder at the leash, snapping and -yelping the while. The wound in his injured leg was beginning to smart -and burn, the muscles were swelling most painfully, and long before he -reached Rishton Hill every step was causing him acute agony. The last -field he had to cross brought him out into the road almost opposite the -farmyard gate of Rishton Hall. Leaning against the gate and stroking -the shaggy head of a poor old mongrel which had attached itself to the -farm since she had been there, was Olivia Denison. She looked very sad, -and stared out at the fields and the grey hills beyond with a face out -of which all the bright girlish vivacity seemed for the moment to have -gone. She started and blushed on seeing Ned Mitchell, who had succeeded -in reducing his unruly pets to something like submission, but whose -temper had been by no means improved in the task. - -“Oh!” she cried, running through the gate and coming fearlessly within -the range of the leash, “are these the dogs I’ve heard about?” - -“How should I know what you’ve heard?” snapped Ned. “But I know what -you’ll feel in a minute if you come within reach of the brutes’ jaws.” - -For answer to this speech, Olivia stooped and laid her hand with a firm -touch on the head of the animal nearest to her. Whether he had been -cowed by Ned’s course of treatment, or whether there was something -peculiarly sympathetic to the animals in her bold manner of approaching -them, the dog only gave an ungracious growl, but made no attempt to -resent her advances more actively. - -“And are these--bloodhounds?” she asked, almost with bated breath. - -“Yes, that’s what they are,” answered Ned, as if he had been -challenged. - -Olivia’s breath came more quickly as, still looking down at the brutes, -and even playing with the ears of one of them, she listened and -evidently read the meaning of his tone. - -“What have you got them for?” she asked, raising her head suddenly, and -looking at him askance. - -“I’ve got them to play sexton for me in St. Cuthbert’s churchyard; to -dig up some bones there that were buried with less ceremony than they -ought to have had.” - -“There are a good many bones in that old churchyard. How do you know -your hounds will dig up the right ones?” - -“It’s sixty years since any body was buried there--until ten years ago.” - -“And if you should happen to come upon these bones, and even be sure -they are the right ones, how will you be sure who put them there?” - -“I don’t say I shall. But at any rate it will be a step in the right -direction. And I shall have my eye on any likely folk who may be about, -and see how they take the discovery.” - -“It seems to me you’re no better than a detective,” burst out Olivia, -hotly. - -“Well, I hope I’m no worse,” said Ned, laconically. - -Olivia turned her head away, looking hurt and anxious. - -Ned, who liked and admired the girl, felt a little sorry. He moved off -with his dogs, and began to whistle; but the pain of starting again -made him break short off and draw his breath sharply through his teeth. -This attracted Olivia’s attention; she watched him as he labored up the -hill, and before he had gone very far she ran after him. - -“What’s the matter with you, Mr. Mitchell?” she asked. “You walk lame -to-night. Have you hurt yourself?” - -“No. And what’s that to you if I have?” he answered curtly. - -“Nothing, if you don’t think sympathy worth having.” - -Ned stopped. The strong-limbed, plucky women he had got used to in -Australia, and from whom he had chosen his own wife, were rather -lacking in graceful feminine ways; so this pretty speech and gentle -tone, coming from a girl whose spirit he admired, touched and softened -him. - -“What are you up to now?” he asked, gruffly enough, but not without -betraying signs of a gentler feeling than he would have owned to. “I -know better than to think you’d trouble your head about an old bear -like me if you didn’t want to get something out of me.” - -“Well, I want to get the pain out of you--and perhaps a little of the -surliness too,” she added, archly. - -“The first would take a doctor, and the second would take a magician.” - -“Are you going to have a doctor?” - -“No. I can’t go after one myself, and my establishment doesn’t include -anybody I could send.” - -“I’ll send for one. I’ll get one of the farm boys to go; or, if there -isn’t one about, Mat Oldshaw will go, I know.” - -Ned looked at her cynically. - -“Poor Mat,” said he. “And to think I was fool enough myself once to run -errands for a girl who thought herself as far above me as heaven from -earth. When all the time she was dying of love for another chap too. -Just the same--just the same.” - -Olivia blushed and looked annoyed, but she answered, quietly-- - -“Mat would do a kind deed for any one, Mr. Mitchell. And I should -be sorry for him to think that it is a sign of great wisdom to be -discourteous to a woman.” - -“Very good,” said Ned grimly. “Sorry I haven’t time to let you exercise -your wit on me a little longer. Good-night.” - -He hobbled up the hill with great and evident difficulty, his dogs -slinking behind him. He was absolutely faint with pain by the time he -reached home. - -It was quite dark in the cottage when he arrived, and he made his way -at once to a shelf in a passage where a box of matches and a candle -were kept. But he felt from end to end of the shelf without being able -to find either. The dogs, having become excited since their entrance, -sniffed about the floor, yelped and pulled afresh at the leash, -impeding his movements. He had shut the front door on entering, relying -on his candle and match box; so that he could not even see the forms of -the struggling animals to avoid them. Two or three times he stumbled -and set them growling as he groped his way towards the room where he -kept them shut up. A dizziness was creeping over him, which seemed from -time to time almost to overcome him, while occasionally for a moment -it seemed to leave his head again perfectly clear. He remembered, or -thought he remembered, that he had left the door of the room wide open -for ventilation; but now he went the whole length of the wall, feeling -with his disengaged hand, without finding any opening. - -The hounds meanwhile were growing more excited--more troublesome than -ever; so that, in his dizzy and wearied condition he could not move or -even think with his usual precision. Their behavior, however, at last -roused a suspicion in his mind. - -“Somebody’s been in here,” he muttered to himself. “And the dogs know -it by the scent.” - -He had grown bewildered in the darkness, and no longer knew in what -part of the passage he was standing, as the dogs, still straining to -get free, pulled him from side to side. Suddenly he heard the faint -creaking of a door. The dizziness was coming upon him again, and he -turned, in a half-blind, stupefied way; saw, or thought he saw, a -faint light come as if through an open door, and the next moment found -himself lying on the floor, while the sound of the hasty shutting of -another door behind him fell upon his dull ears. After this he became -unconscious. When Ned came to himself, it was a long time before he -could remember, even in the vaguest manner, the experiences he had just -gone through. He fancied himself in one of the dungeons he had read -about in his boyhood, which bold, bad barons built under their castles -for unlucky prisoners who fell into their hands. In strange contrast -to the prosaic reflections which occupied his mind in every-day waking -hours, the most fantastic fancies now passed through his brain; that he -was a prisoner, flung down here by an enemy; that fetters of red-hot -iron had been fastened to one his legs. He thought he heard the sounds -of every-day life, muffled by the thick stone ceiling between, in the -castle above him; the noises of animals; sounds of a man’s voice; then -of a woman’s. He recognized the tones of the latter, he felt sure, -though he could not remember the possessor’s name. Then suddenly a -light was struck in his dungeon and a hand touched him, and it flashed -upon him that he had come back, that he was in his own cottage lying on -the stone floor of the passage, with a grey-bearded man kneeling beside -him, and a woman’s skirt brushing against his feet. - -“He must have fallen very heavily,” whispered the woman. - -And Ned’s senses came fully back to him. - -“Of course,” he murmured to himself, “it’s Miss Denison.” - -“He can’t have fallen as heavily as that unassisted,” said the -grey-bearded man, whom Ned now knew to be the doctor. - -“Do you mean that he was thrown down?” asked Olivia, in a whisper of -tragic earnestness. - -“Yes. Look at the blood on the stones.” - -“Oh!” The girl’s teeth chattered with horror. - -There was a pause, while the doctor lifted him gently. - -“That’s the leg he limps with,” said the girl. - -The doctor touched the wounded limb gently, but the action made Ned -moan. - -“What shall I do with the dogs?” asked Olivia, presently, in the same -low voice. “I think they are kept in one of these rooms. My father said -so.” - -“Turn the brutes loose in the garden.” - -But Ned, though the movement caused him acute pain in his injured leg, -struggled up on one arm and shook his head feebly. - -“No, no,” he said, in a weak, husky voice; “I’m going to be ill, I -know. Take me upstairs to my room, and put the dogs into the room on -the opposite side of the landing.” - -“Oh, come, we can’t have that. It wouldn’t be a proper arrangement at -all--most unhealthy,” objected the doctor. - -Ned glared at him, and instantly began to try, in a dogged manner, to -get up. - -“If you won’t do it, or let it be done, why, hang you! I’ll do it -myself,” he panted out. - -“I’ll do it, Mr. Mitchell,” said the girl’s clear voice. - -Ned heard her go upstairs, soothing and encouraging the hounds, which -scrambled and shuffled up after her. - -“That’s a good plucky ’un,” he then remarked to the doctor. - -And satisfied now that his savage pets were safely disposed of, he -fell back on the doctor’s arm. For there was a curious buzzing noise -in his ears, and his head felt alternately very heavy and very light. -He wanted to keep his senses clear until the young girl should come -down again, but it was only by a strong and exhausting effort that he -succeeded. As soon as she reached the bottom stair, Olivia heard him -addressing her in a faint voice. - -“Thanks--thanks for what you’ve done. I’m not ungrateful. Now get -me some one--to look after me--who’s got a little nerve. For I -don’t care--how they treat me--but they must take care--of my dogs. -For somebody wants to get at my dogs, I know. And they must be -prevented--prevented. You’ll see to this. Promise me.” - -“Yes, I will, I promise,” said Olivia, in a firm voice, afraid that she -was speaking to a dying man. - -She had scarcely uttered the words when he again became insensible. - -Olivia was in sore distress as to the manner of fulfilling her -promise. On the one hand, she had to keep her word by finding a nurse -for him who would not be afraid of the hounds; on the other, she was -particularly anxious that, if he should grow delirious, his ravings -should not be heard by any one who would chatter about them. - -“We must get him to bed,” said the doctor, as she stood debating this -difficulty. “The young man who came for me--is he about?” - -“Mat Oldshaw? Oh, yes, I expect so. He stayed in the garden when we -came in. He wouldn’t go away without asking if there was anything more -he could do.” - -“Ask him to come in, if he is there, please.” - -Olivia went out into the garden. As she passed under the porch, she -saw a man slink limping away from the side of Mat, who was standing -near the gate, and pass behind a bushy screen of evergreens. She sprang -forward to the gate, but the man had gone out of sight. - -“Mat,” she asked, in a frightened voice, “who was that?” - -“Nobbut a tramp,” he answered. “Nobody to freight yer. It’s ten yeer -an’ more since he wur in these parts.” - -“Oh, no, it isn’t,” said Olivia, decidedly. “He was here four months -ago. His name is Abel Squires, isn’t it?” - -“Ay, that be his name, sure enough,” answered Mat, with surprise. -“Wheer did you happen upon him?” - -“Never mind. I want to know what he’s doing about here.” - -“He wants to get a sight o’ Mester Mitchell, he says.” - -“But what did he sneak away like that for when he saw me come out, -instead of waiting to ask if he could see him?” - -“He doan’t want to be seen aboot here, he says.” - -“Mat,” cried the girl, earnestly, after a few moments’ thought, “Mr. -Mitchell has been knocked down and hurt. The doctor wants you to help -carry him upstairs. I wonder if it was this tramp who did it.” - -“Noa, Miss, but Ah knaw who did,” said a rough voice so close to her -that it startled her. - -She turned and saw the one-legged man whose conversation with Vernon -Brander she had overheard in the churchyard. The ground was so -soft with recent rains that his wooden leg had made no noise as he -approached. Olivia drew her breath sharply through her teeth and -felt cold with terror as she looked at his weather-worn, strangely -inexpressive face. Here, she thought, was the man whose silence about -that miserable night’s work of ten years ago Vernon had had so much -difficulty in procuring. And he had come with the express purpose of -seeing Ned Mitchell, whom she looked upon as Vernon’s avowed enemy. - -“You know who knocked Mr. Mitchell down?” she said, faintly. - -“Ay,” said Abel Squires, with a nod. - -She had a fancy that this man was trying to implicate Vernon, and she -scarcely dared to frame her next question. - -“You mean that you saw him do it?” she asked after a short pause. - -“Ah werr standin’ in’s bit o’ garden at back theer,” said he, jerking -his head in the direction of the cottage. “An’ Ah see a mon go in, and -after a bit Ah see him coom aht. An’ if Mester Mitchell wur knocked -deaun,” he went on, doggedly, “Ah say Ah knaw t’ mon as did it. An’ it -beant no good to ask me who t’was, for Ah mean to keeap me awn counsel; -Ah’m used to’t.” - -Olivia did not know what to make of the man. Though his voice was -rough, his manner of speech was mild, and betrayed no hostile feeling -towards anybody. - -“Are you a friend of Mr. Mitchell’s?” she asked tentatively. - -“Ay,” nodded Abel, good-humoredly. “He’s never done naw harm to me.” - -Seized with a bold idea, Olivia scanned the man narrowly from head to -foot. - -“Will you tell me what business brought you to see Mr. Mitchell?” she -asked, frankly. - -Abel Squires examined the girl’s face closely in his turn. - -“What do you knaw abaht it?” he asked, shortly. - -“I know that he is trying to find out a secret; a secret which I think -you know.” - -“Maybe Ah do; maybe Ah don’t; anyhow, Ah doan’t prate abaht it!” - -“Then what do you want to see Mr. Mitchell for?” - -“Ah think he got summat aht o’ me last toime Ah see him; Ah want to -knaw how mooch.” - -The girl’s face cleared. - -“Could you nurse a sick man?” she asked. “Mr. Mitchell is ill, -delirious, and I don’t want to trust him to any prattling old woman.” - -“Ay,” said Abel, promptly; “Ah can do’t.” - -“Come in with me, and let us see what the doctor says,” said Olivia, -leading the way into the cottage with eager footsteps. - -She was surprised at her own daring in taking this step; but she argued -with herself that if the tramp, possessing Vernon’s secret, as she -knew he did, should wish to turn informer, there was no possibility of -preventing him, while he would be within reach of Vernon’s influence as -long as he was attending on the sick man. If, on the other hand, he was -loyally anxious to keep it, there could be no better person to watch -over the man from whom she wished to keep the truth. - -The doctor asked Abel a few questions, and agreed that he might be -tried as sick nurse. Tramp though he was, Squires was a man of some -intelligence, and had picked up many a scrap of practical knowledge in -the wanderings in which his life had been almost wholly spent. Before -the doctor and Olivia had left the house, they felt that the patient -was in no unskilful hands, while the hounds were under control of a man -entirely without fear. - -As she left the cottage, after listening fearfully for some minutes to -the incoherent mutterings of its unlucky tenant, Olivia met Mat, who -was dutifully waiting in the garden to learn whether she had any more -work for him. She stopped short on seeing him, and said, “Oh!” in some -confusion. - -“What is it?” asked Mat, whose loyal admiration for her made him quick -of apprehension. “You want summat more done. Whatever it mebbe, Ah’m -ready to do ’t.” - -“You are good, Mat,” she said, gratefully, with a bright blush. “Nobody -is ever as ready to help me as you, or so quick to know when one wants -help.” - -“Ah knaw more’n that,” said Mat, encouraged by her praise. “Ah knaw, Ah -guess, what you want done.” - -The color in Olivia’s cheeks grew deeper than ever. She said nothing, -however; so Mat, after a short pause, went on-- - -“You want somebody to knaw what happened.” - -Olivia laughed bashfully. “You’re an accomplished thought reader, Mat. -Who is the person?” - -“Parson Vernon.” - -“Well, don’t you think he ought to know, as--as he’s a friend of Mr. -Mitchell’s?” - -“Ay,” said Mat. “Ah’ll go straight off to him neow.” - -“Thank you, Mat. And be sure you don’t forget to tell him that Abel -Squires is going to nurse him.” - -“Ah’ll mahnd that. Good-night, Miss Olivia.” - -“Good-night, Mat. I don’t know what I should have done without you this -evening.” - -Mat blushed. “You knaw, Miss,” he said, in a bashful, strangled voice, -“you’re as welcome as t’ flowers in Meay to aught as Ah can do--neow -and any toime.” - -And he pulled off his cap awkwardly without looking at her, and ran -off down the hill before he had even stopped to replace it; while Miss -Denison, much more leisurely, started on her way home to the farm. - -Long before Ned Mitchell’s illness was over, poor Olivia had grave -reason to repent her choice of an attendant. Old Sarah Wall, who had -been in the habit of coming in for a couple of hours daily to do the -cleaning, was now installed permanently on the ground floor, which -she had all to herself. The front door was kept on the chain, and to -all inquirers it was Mrs. Wall’s duty to answer that Mr. Mitchell -was getting on very well, but was not allowed to see any one. If any -further questions were put to her, or a wish expressed to see his -attendant, she put on a convenient deafness, and presently shut the -door. No one was admitted but the doctor, even when Ned was well enough -to sit up at the front window, with one or other of his fierce hounds -at the side of his chair, and his odd-looking attendant in the back -ground. The evident good understanding which existed between master and -man filled Olivia with foreboding, and caused still deeper anxiety to -Vernon Brander, who, having called at the cottage day after day, and -failed to extract any information from Sarah Wall, deliberately walked -round to the back garden and climbed into one of the windows of the -upper floor by means of the water butt. Here he came face to face with -Abel Squires, who, hearing the noise, came out of his master’s room -to find out the cause. He tried to retreat on seeing Vernon, but the -latter seized his arm and detained him. - -“Look here,” said he, in a low voice, but very sternly; “you’ve broken -faith, I see.” - -Abel’s wooden face never changed. - -“Well,” said he doggedly, “Ah doan’t say Ah haven’t. Boot it was forced -aht o’ me when Ah wur droonk. That’s all Ah have to say.” - -And to demonstrate this he folded his arms tightly, and met the -clergyman’s eyes stubbornly and without flinching. - -“So that man knows everything?” asked Vernon, in a low voice, glancing -at the door of Ned Mitchell’s room. - -“Pretty nigh all as Ah knaw.” - -Vernon’s face was livid. He leaned against the window-sill and looked -out fixedly into the Vicarage garden. - -“He can’t do anything,” he muttered. - -“He means to try,” said Abel. “Hast tha seen t’ dogs?” - -“No, but I’ve heard about them; and they won’t help him much,” answered -Vernon, quietly. - -“Tarn’t easy to trick ’un,” said Abel, warningly. “He’s none so over -sharp, but he’s sure.” - -Vernon said nothing to this; after a short pause, he bade Abel good-day -very shortly, and went downstairs. Old Sarah Wall was standing at -the door, in colloquy with some one outside. She cried out when she -felt a man’s hand on her shoulder; and Vernon, hastily telling her -to be quiet, drew back the chain and let himself out. He started in -his turn on finding himself face to face with Olivia Denison. Being -overwhelmed with anxiety on his account, it was only a natural result -of her girlish modesty that she should appear freezingly cold and -distant in her manner towards him, even though her curt greeting caused -him evident pain. After the exchange of a very few indifferent words, -Vernon raised his cap stiffly and left her; while she, angry with -him, still more angry with herself, walked slowly down the hill, more -anxious, more miserable on his account than ever. - -It was on the ninth day after the beginning of his illness that Ned -Mitchell, whose impatience to be well materially retarded his recovery, -could at last bear confinement no longer, and seized the opportunity of -a short absence of Abel’s in the village to make his way once more down -to St. Cuthbert’s churchyard. He wanted to take his hounds with him, -but decided that it would be rash to do so until he was more sure of -his own powers of reaching his destination. For he found, much to his -own disgust, that he felt weak and giddy. However, he set out on his -walk as quickly as he could, taking his way over the fields to escape -observation. Evening was closing in--an evening in late June, warm and -balmy. He chose to set down to the summer heat the dizziness which he -felt creeping over him long before the ruined tower of St. Cuthbert’s -came in sight. - -When he reached the lane which divided the last field from the -churchyard, his head swam and he staggered across the road and caught -the gate for support. After a minute’s rest, he raised his head and -looked over into the enclosure. Was he delirious again? Had the wild -fancies of his illness come back to torment him? He saw before him, -instead of broken, moss-grown headstones, rank weeds, and misshapen -mounds of earth and rubbish, a churchyard as neat and trim as that -of Rishton itself, with tombstones set straight in the ground, well -gravelled paths, and borders of flowers. The churchyard wall was -garnished along the top with broken glass, and two notice boards, -respectively at the right- and left-hand of the gate, bore these words: -“Visitors are requested not to pluck the flowers,” and “Dogs not -admitted.” - -This last inscription reassured Ned as to the state of his own brain. -He laughed savagely to himself, and after a few minutes’ rest, which he -spent in grim contemplation of the altered churchyard, he turned to go -home. - -Whether he had “got his second wind,” or whether the rage he felt -stimulated his powers, Ned returned home much faster than he came. Just -outside the cottage gate he met Sarah Wall, wringing her hands and -muttering to herself in deepest distress. - -“What’s the matter with the woman?” asked Ned, in his surliest tones. - -“Oh, sir! the dogs, the dogs! It warn’t my fault; it warn’t indeed! How -they got out I know no more than the babe unborn!” - -“Get out!” shouted Ned, with fury. “What the d----. You wretched old -woman. Are they lost? Have they got away?” - -“Oh, sir, don’tee speak like that; don’tee look so; it warn’t my fault. -Abel should have been there to look after ’em.” - -Ned kept down his rage until he got out of her what he wanted to know. - -“What happened then? Tell me at once, quietly. Where are the dogs?” - -“Oh, sir, they’re in there,” said the old woman, pointing with a -trembling finger to the cottage. “And now if you was to flay me alive -could I tell you how--” - -But Ned did not stay to listen. He was up the garden path and through -the porch before she could utter half a dozen words. An oath and a howl -of rage burst from his lips at the sight which met his eyes. Stretched -on the floor of the stone passage lay the dead bodies of the two -bloodhounds, foam and blood still on their jaws, their attitude showing -that they had expired in great agony. Ned hung over them for a moment, -touched them; they were scarcely cold. Then he stood bolt upright with -a livid face. - -“They have been poisoned!” he whispered, in a harsh, gurgling voice. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -Ned Mitchell was not the sort of man to waste much time in -the indulgence of an outbreak of passion. After a few minutes’ -contemplation of the dead bodies of his hounds, he pulled himself -together and prepared for action. There had flashed into his mind -the recollection of the evening on which his illness began. He had -forgotten until that moment all the details of his arrival home, his -groping about for a light, the sounds he had heard as of a person -moving in one of the rooms, and the glimpse he had caught of an opening -door as he fell senseless to the floor. It now occurred to him for -the first time, as he went over the small incidents of that night one -by one, that the fall from the effects of which he was suffering was -caused by a heavy blow from some one who had forced an entrance into -the little cottage during his absence. - -“A murderous blow!” he muttered to himself as--alone, in the dusk, with -his dead hounds encumbering the ground at his feet--he staggered along -by the walls, reproducing the sensations he had felt just before his -fall. “It must have been in here that he was hidden,” he went on to -himself, as he found himself at the door of the room where he had first -kept his hounds. “For it was on my right hand as I came in that I heard -the noise; I am sure of it.” Speaking thus, slowly, to himself, he at -last turned the handle and went into the unused room. It was musty and -close, and he had to open the windows before he could breathe easily. -He had a match box in his pocket; striking a light, he examined every -corner of the empty room with the utmost care, and discovered at last, -close to the wall in a nook where the light from the windows scarcely -penetrated, two dried-up, evil-smelling scraps of meat. “Ah!” said he -to himself. “Poisoned, of course! And as the first attempt wouldn’t do, -he had to try again.” - -He removed the meat carefully from the room, and hid it away for -further examination. Poor, trembling Mrs. Wall having by this time -returned to her place in the kitchen, he went in and asked her, in a -dry voice, if she had heard anybody about the place in his absence. - -“No, sir,” quavered she. “Indeed I didn’t.” - -“You were out, of course?” - -“No, sir; at least, I’d only gone just half-way down t’ hill as far as -t’ post office, to get in a pound of sugar because you’re out of it, -sir; and I give you my word, sir, I’d never ha’ gone if I hadn’t ha’ -thought as Abel was upstairs, and--” - -“And you came back just a minute or two before I did?” - -“Yes, sir; not so very long.” - -“Not long at all, or you’d have had the whole village up here, poking -and prying into every corner, I know,” said Ned, grimly. “And when you -opened the door you saw the dogs lying as they are lying now?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And you’ve heard nobody about?” - -“No, sir; at least, no, not to-day.” - -“Not to-day! Then you have heard somebody in the place since I’ve been -ill?” - -“Oh, no, sir, not nobody to matter--nobody at all. Only one day, as -I wur talking to Miss Denison from t’ Hall, as wur at t’ door asking -about you, I wur pushed aside quite sudden like; and when I looked it -wur parson Brander.” - -She lowered her voice to a whisper as she uttered the name. For in -spite of her cautious way of putting it, Sarah Wall felt a decided -suspicion that the Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s, against whom her prejudice -was strong, was at the root of this business. - -“I don’t know where he come from, sir,” she croaked on, rather -mysteriously. “But it wasn’t through t’ door, for it wur on t’ chain.” - -Ned, having got out of her all she had tell, turned with an abrupt nod, -left the kitchen, and again went out into the garden. Abel Squires, who -was hobbling up the hill on his crutch, redoubled his pace when he saw -his master at the gate. - -“So ye’re aht, Ah see,” he called out, as soon as he was near enough. -“Ah guessed how ’t would be as soon as ma back wur turned.” - -As he drew nearer he saw by his master’s face, not only that he was -greatly fatigued, but that something serious had happened. - -In a few short sentences Ned told him the events which had occurred -in his absence: his visit to St. Cuthbert’s, the finding of the dogs’ -bodies, and the discovery of meat which he believed to be poisoned. - -“Wall tells me,” said he, “that Vernon Brander got into the place one -day while I was laid up.” - -Abel nodded. - -“Reight enough: so he did. Got in at t’ ooper floor by t’ water boott.” - -“What reason did he give?” - -“Wanted to knaw heow mooch you knew. So Ah told him. He’s been going -abaht loike a churchyard ghost ever since. Ah met ’un just neow on’s -way oop to t’ Vicarage.” - -“To the Vicarage?” - -“Ay.” - -“Well, I’m going up there now.” - -And he turned and began to walk up the hill. Abel hopped after him, -assuming his most persuasive mien. - -“Doan’t ’e, Mester Mitchell--doan’t ’e,” he entreated. “It’s naught but -cruelty to him as hasn’t done it; an’ as for him as has, you’ve got -plenty in store for him wi’out worriting of him now.” - -Ned paid not the slightest heed to these remonstrances, but went on his -way, still closely attended by Abel the length of the Vicarage garden -wall. - -Abel redoubled his pleadings as they caught sight of the two brothers -and Mrs. Brander walking in the garden. - -“Look ’e here, Mester Mitchell,” said he, in a rough voice that, plead -as he would, could get no softer. “Ah’ve kept away from Rishton ten -year fur to please parson Vernon, ’cause Ah’m t’ only chap as see what -happened that neight, an’ he wouldn’t trust me to hawd ma toongue. What -Ah could do fur ten year, couldn’t you do fur a neight?” - -Still Ned walked stolidly on, vouchsafing no answer, until the party -in the garden caught sight of them, and the Vicar of Rishton came down -to the side gate to meet them. As he drew near, Abel, after one futile -attempt to drag Ned bodily away, tried to escape himself. But Mr. -Brander was too quick and too strong for him. - -“Why, who have we here?” he said, curiously, seizing Squires by the -arm, and looking into his wooden face. “Isn’t it Abel Squires, the man -who picked up my father’s signet ring on the Sheffield road?” - -“Ay, sir,” said Abel, very bashfully, while he persistently avoided -meeting the vicar’s eye. - -“I thought so,” said the vicar, good-humoredly. And without noticing -the lowering expression of Ned’s face, he turned and shook his hand. -“Glad to see you about again, Mr. Mitchell. I must tell you a story -about our friend here,” he continued, putting a kind hand on the -tramp’s shoulder. “Years ago, when I was scarcely more than a boy, my -father lost a signet ring one night as he was returning home from a -sick bed. It was an old-fashioned thing; much too large for his finger. -He never expected to see it again; but a fortnight afterwards who -should turn up but Abel Squires, inquiring of the servants if anybody -in the house had lost a ring. He had picked it up, and having no means -of advertising his find, had perseveringly called at house after house -on the outskirts of Sheffield where he found it, until he at last -got directed to my father as the owner. He was so much struck by the -circumstance that he declared it should be treasured up for ever by the -head of the family as a reminder that the world had contained at least -one ideally honest man.” - -“You’re t’ head of t’ family, yet you don’t wear it though, parson,” -said Abel, glancing at his hands. - -He had listened in much confusion to the account, changing from his -wooden leg to his sound one and back again, and looking as if the -vicar’s speech contained some revelation particularly painful for him -to hear. - -The vicar, who had been touched by his excessive modesty, was surprised -at this retort. - -“No, I don’t wear it now,” he said, laughing genially. “I did though, -until I had the misfortune to lose it myself, some years ago. It was -too large for me, as it had been for my father, and I never knew how it -had gone. And you were not about to find it for me.” - -“Nay, sir,” was all Abel said, with one shy glance at the bystanders. - -They had formed a strange group while the vicar’s recital lasted. -Each one seemed to know that something serious was impending, and to -listen, in silence not all attentive, to the vicar’s innocently told -reminiscences. He was the only person at ease in the little circle. -Ned was standing solid and square, listening to Mr. Brander’s little -story with a contemptuous face; Vernon Brander, who seemed of late to -be growing daily more lean, more haggard, kept his eyes fixed upon Ned -with an expression of undisguised apprehension; while Mrs. Brander, -whose great black eyes were flashing with excitement to which she -allowed no other vent, looked steadily from one to the other of the -rest of the group, as she stood a little away from them all, motionless -and silent, like a beautiful statue. - -When the vicar’s prattle had come to an end, there was a pause. He -seemed himself to become at last aware that the minds about him were -occupied with some more serious matter, and he turned to Ned with a -look of inquiry-- - -“Is anything the matter, Mr. Mitchell?” he asked. “You look less happy -than a man should do who has just been released from the confinement of -a sick bed. Can I advise you or counsel you in any way? Would you like -to come into my study?” - -Ned raised his head and looked at him like a bull in the arena. - -“No,” he said, savagely, “the garden will do for what I have to say. -It’s only this: My bloodhounds have been poisoned”--a little shiver of -intense excitement seemed to run through the group--“And by the same -hand that killed my sister. Now I give the man who did both those acts -till this time to-morrow to confess publicly that he’s been a great -hypocrite for ten years, with good words on his lips and bad thoughts -in his heart. But if in those four-and-twenty hours he don’t confess, -then he shall be buried at the country’s expense before the year’s out.” - -There was dead silence after this speech, which Ned delivered, not in -his usual coarse, loud tones, but in husky, spasmodic jerks, and with -the manner of a man bitterly in earnest. The vicar listened with great -attention; Abel Squires seemed to wish, but not to dare, to move away; -Vernon shook from head to foot with high nervous excitement; while Mrs. -Brander moved to the side of her brother-in-law, and stole her hand -within his arm. - -Not a look, not a movement, was lost on Ned, whose features suddenly -broke up into a grim and horrible smile as he noted the action of -the lady. It was a smile of cunning, of mockery. But Mr. Brander had -treated him with dislike and contempt. - -“You think,” said the vicar of Rishton at last, “that the man who -poisoned your dogs was the same who made away with your sister?” - -“I don’t think; I know.” - -“I don’t want to be hard on you, Mitchell. But it seems to me that you -feel the latter loss the more acutely of the two.” - -“It showed,” returned Ned, doggedly “that the fellow is no better -minded now than he was then.” - -“You might say so if they were human beings whose lives he had taken,” -said the vicar, continuing his gentle remonstrance. “As they were only -dogs, I am inclined to take a more lenient view; while admitting that -this unknown person----” - -“No, not unknown,” interpolated Ned. - -The vicar went on without noticing the interruption. - -“--had no right either to trespass on your premises or destroy your -dogs, allowance must be made for the state of mind of a desperate man, -who believes, rightly or wrongly, that these animals will be used to -discover his guilt.” - -“Well, vicar,” said Ned, who had been staring straight into the -clergyman’s face with a cynical smile, “I’ve said my say; that’s what -I came here for. Now it’s done, I’ll wish you, and your good lady, and -Mr. Vernon there, a very good-night.” - -The vicar held out his hand. - -“Good-night. You will not be offended with me for saying that I hope -Heaven will soften your heart,” he said in a low voice, in the gentle, -almost apologetic tones which he always used when touching upon -religious matters. - -“No, I’m not offended,” said Ned, in a hard, mocking voice. - -“And will you come to our haymaking to-morrow?” Mr. Brander continued -in a lighter tone. “It will be a very simple sort of festivity, but it -may serve as a change from your hermit-like solitude and your gloomy -reflections.” - -Ned began to shake his head rather contemptuously, muttering something -rather surlily about being “too old to pick buttercups.” - -“Mr. Williams, of the Towers, will be here,” went on the vicar, -as pleasantly as ever. “He is exceedingly anxious to make your -acquaintance.” - -The expression of Ned’s face changed. - -“Is that the Mr. Williams who has been bothering so about repairing -the old church down there--St. Cuthbert’s?” he asked, with affected -carelessness. - -And the vicar’s expression changed also. - -“I believe he did talk about it at one time; but as my brother objected -to it, he had to give up the idea,” he said, in a low voice, glancing -at Vernon, who was talking to Mrs. Brander. - -“Ah!” said Ned, with a look down at his boots and a nod. “Yes, I’ll -come, vicar, and thank you kindly for your invitation,” he said, more -graciously. “I can’t make hay, but I’ll be most happy to stand about -and look pretty,” he added, with a short laugh. - -Raising his hat ceremoniously to Mrs. Brander, whom he admired, and -whose indifferently concealed dislike therefore irritated him, Ned -Mitchell turned on his heel without so much as a glance at Vernon, and -made his way down the hill to his cottage, leaning on the arm of Abel -Squires, who had bade “t’ gentle fowk” a humble and bashful farewell, -and hastened to the support of his patient, upon whom the fatigue and -excitement of the evening had begun to tell heavily. - -Solemnly and almost in silence, Meredith Brander and his wife then -parted from Vernon, who took his lonely way over the fields in a state -of suppressed excitement so acute that on reaching St. Cuthbert’s -Vicarage he was highly feverish, with a burning head, hot, dry hands, -and a mouth that seemed parched and withered. He lay awake for the -greater part of the night. Next morning, his old housekeeper, not -hearing him rise as usual, went up to his room, and found him in a -restless, uneasy sleep. Seeing that something was wrong with him, -and deciding that it was the result of overwork, Mrs. Warmington -applied a characteristically rough-and-ready remedy. She ransacked his -wardrobe, selecting everything that was fit to wear, and quitted the -room as softly as she had entered it, leaving pinned to his pillow the -following note:-- - - “I see you have had no sleep and are unwell. So I have taken away your - clothes and locked the door. If you are ready to promise to stay in - bed all the morning, and not to go out to-day, knock three times, and - I will bring up your breakfast.” - -When he woke up, Vernon gave the three knocks, after very little -hesitation. He felt so ill that he was glad of an excuse to spend an -idle day--glad too that in this way he could escape the ordeal of the -haymaking at his brother’s, and a meeting with Olivia Denison. For, -haunted as he was by the remembrance of her gentle touch, of her softly -uttered words of sympathy as he sat beside her by Mrs. Warmington’s -fireside, he felt that another cold look, another frigid bow, like -those she had given him on their last meeting, would be a torture more -than he could bear. - -Vernon Brander was far too ignorant of the peculiarities of the -feminine character to know the significance of that coldness; he -thought that it meant in her what it meant in him, a firm determination -that all sentiment between them should be for ever at an end. While, -as every one knows, if that had been the case she would have been -gentle, tender, anxious to soften the cruel blow she was preparing for -him, anxious also that there should, after the parting, be a little -sentiment left. As it was, poor Olivia, on her side, was suffering a -good many torments. While never allowing herself to believe the worst -she heard against Vernon Brander, her common sense was continually -warring with her feelings, and calling her all sorts of unflattering -names for her prejudice in his favor. She hated and despised him, she -loved and respected him, all in a breath. She resolved never to see him -again, she determined to encourage him in spite of all opposition, in -the course of the same day. But the value of the former resolution may -be gauged by the fact that she made it very strongly on the morning of -the haymaking, and was bitterly disappointed when, on arriving with her -father and step-mother at the big field by the churchyard, where the -tent had been put up, she learnt from little Kate that he had sent word -to say he could not come. - -But Olivia was not to go without admirers. Approaching the tent as -she came out of it was Fred Williams, dressed in a light grey suit -of a check so large that there was only room for one square and a -half across his narrow little chest, a very pale brown hat, and a -salmon-colored tie. He greeted Mr. Denison effusively, and asked Olivia -if he might get her a cup of tea. - -“No, thank you,” said she, coldly. - -But her father, surprised and displeased at her tone, interfered. - -“Yes, my dear, I am sure you would like a cup of tea,” said he. - -“Take her to the tent, Fred, and look after her.” - -Then, as the young man, who looked delighted at her discomfiture, -turned to shake hands with her step-mother, Mr. Denison whispered to -his daughter, in as peremptory a tone as he ever used to her-- - -“You mustn’t put on these airs, Olivia. Young Williams is a very good -fellow, and has obliged me considerably, more than once. I insist on -your being civil to him.” - -Olivia turned white, and bit her lips. A suspicion of the truth, that -her father was under monetary obligations to this wretched little -stripling, flashed into her mind. She waited very quietly, but with a -certain erect carriage of the head which promised ill for the treatment -Fred would receive at her hands. He, however, was not the man to be -scrupulous about the way in which he attained his ends. He trotted -beside her to the tent in a state of great elation. - -“Awfully slow these bun scuffles, ain’t they?” he said in his most -insinuating tones. “I shouldn’t have come at all if it hadn’t been for -the chance of meeting--some one I wanted to see.” - -This was accompanied by a most significant look; but unfortunately -Olivia, who was considerably taller than he, was looking over his head -at some fresh arrivals. - -“Indeed,” she said, absently. - -Fred reddened; that is to say, a faint tint, like the color in his tie, -appeared for a moment in his cheeks, and then left them as yellow as -before. He tried again. She should look at him; it didn’t matter how, -but she should look. - -“Those country girls look at me as if they’d never seen anything like -this get-up before. It’s the proper thing down in the south, isn’t it?” - -“I should think so--on Margate ‘excursionists,’” answered Olivia, -briefly. - -Fred was quite unmoved. - -“Now what would your father say if he heard you?” he asked, -good-humoredly. “You know he told you to be civil. Ho, yes, I’ve sharp -ears enough--always catch up anything I want to hear.” - -Olivia said nothing to this, and presently he went on, in a persuasive -tone-- - -“You know it’s worse than wasting your time to be rude to me, because -I’m not a bad chap to people I like, and to people I don’t like I can -do awfully nasty turns.” - -“Oh, I don’t doubt your power of making yourself unpleasant,” said -Olivia, quietly. - -Still Fred Williams only chuckled. They had by this time reached the -tent, and he gave her a chair with a flourish of satisfaction. - -“There, now you must look up to me to fire off your spiteful little -shots, instead of down at me as if I were a worm or a beetle. It’s not -many men of my size, mind you, that would walk with a girl as tall as -you--it puts a fellow at a disadvantage. And as your six-footers are -not too plentiful in these parts, it would be wiser of you to make your -peace with the little ones.” - -“I assure you,” said Olivia, looking up at him gravely, “that I could -get on very well without either six-footers or four-feet-sixers.” - -“That’s a nasty cut. There’s not many fellows would stand that,” said -the irrepressible one. “But, there, I tell you there’s nothing I -wouldn’t put up with from you. I suppose you won’t insult my guv’nor if -I introduce him to you,” he continued, glancing towards a corner of the -tent where the elder Mr. Williams was engaged in animated talk with Ned -Mitchell. - -“Certainly not;” answered Olivia, “I am told by every one that you -could scarcely be told for father and son.” - -This was true. Mr. Williams, though he was not free from the faults of -the parvenu, was ostentatious in his charities and respectful towards -wealth, had a handsome person and a dignified carriage, and was in -every way his son’s superior. He had been most anxious to make Ned -Mitchell’s acquaintance, feeling that in this man, who had begun with -little and by his own exertions had made it much, he should meet with a -congenial nature. And so it proved. Ned having the same feeling towards -him, they had become, at their first interview, if not friends, at -least mutually well-disposed acquaintances. - -When Fred interrupted their _tete-a-tete_, they were deep in a -conversation they found so interesting that Mr. Williams, in reply to -his son’s request that he would come and be introduced to a lady, waved -him away, saying, “Presently, my boy, presently.” - -He came back, laughing at his father’s earnestness. - -“He and that colonist fellow are so thick already that there’s no -separatin’ ’em,” he said to Olivia. “They’re at it, hammer and tongs, -about the old tower down at St. Cuthbert’s, and as the vicar has just -come and shoved his little oar in, I expect they’ll be at it till -breakfast time.” - -“The tower of St. Cuthbert’s!” exclaimed Olivia, rising hastily from -her chair. “What are they saying about that?” - -Fred, who noticed everything, saw how keen was the interest she showed. - -“Yes. You know my guv’nor was hot on building a new tower to the place, -and paying for the repair of it. He likes things brand new, does the -guv’nor, and he likes tablets and paragraphs with ‘Re-erected by the -generosity of F. S. Williams, Esquire, of the Towers,’ on ’em. And he -was put off it, I don’t exactly know how. So Mitchell’s working him up -to it again.” - -“Since your father won’t come to me, you shall take me to him,” said -Olivia, brightly, though her lips were quivering. - -Fred, still watching her carefully, noticed this also. As they crossed -the floor of the tent, he could see that she was straining her ears to -catch what she could of the talk of the three men. For Mr. Meredith -Brander had now joined the other two, and was taking the chief share of -the subject under discussion. This was no longer St. Cuthbert’s Tower, -but the recent loss which the colonist had sustained by the poisoning -of his hounds. - -“My own impression,” the vicar was saying, in tones of conviction, “is -that you must have caused their death yourself during your sleep.” - -“How do you make that out, vicar?” asked Ned, very quietly. - -Since that outburst of fury the evening before he had been very -subdued--almost amiable. - -“Why, I cannot conceive any motive strong enough to induce anybody -else to make away with them. If they were really dangerous to some -one’s secret, poisoning them was too suspicious an act. Besides, my -brother--I mean the churchyard of St. Cuthbert’s has just been laid out -as a garden, and the wall has been fringed with broken glass to keep -out all unauthorized intruders. Now what could a man kill your dogs -for?” - -“I have my own ideas as to the reason,” said Ned. Then, after a short -pause, he added, “You see, the poisoning of the hounds led to a delay. -Now a hunted criminal lives by delays.” - -“Hunted criminal!” Poor Olivia echoed these terrible words below her -breath. The very sound of them blanched her cheeks and seemed to check -the beating of her heart. - -It was again Ned who spoke-- - -“Tell me, vicar, what you mean by suggesting that I poisoned my hounds -in my sleep.” - -“Don’t you know,” said Mr. Brander, “how an active man forced into -inaction will brood over an idea until it is never out of his brain? I -imagine that you, moved as you certainly were by fears for the safety -of your dogs while you were ill, got these fears so strongly in your -mind that at last you got up one night, and with your own hands did -what it was always in your mind that some one else would do--laid about -the poison which the dogs took as soon as they by some means got loose.” - -“Dear me! Very ingenious theory--very ingenious!” said Mr. Williams. - -“I don’t suppose,” went on the vicar, modestly, “that the idea would -have come into my head if it had not been that in my own family there -have been marvellous instances of somnambulism. An ancestor of mine, -a very energetic man who loved the sound of his own voice, had been -ordered a rest from preaching by his doctor. Well, I assure you that -after obeying this injunction three months, he got up one night, got -the church keys, let himself in, and was discovered there by his wife -in the pulpit, preaching a sermon in his dressing-gown and slippers! -And there have been numberless other instances in our family--some -within this century.” - -“Dear me, that is singular indeed,” said Mr. Williams. - -“A very high-spirited family yours, vicar,” said Ned, who had not -moved a muscle during this recital, “and the spirit is sure to peep -out sooner or later. You, I think, though you’ll excuse my saying so, -are about the only one of the bunch that hasn’t let it peep out rather -discreditably.” - -“Perhaps my sins are all to come,” said the vicar with a jolly laugh. - -And, catching sight of the two young people who were waiting for a -hearing, Mr. Brander himself introduced Olivia Denison to old Mr. -Williams, and left the group to join his other guests. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -The haymaking in the glebe field of Rishton Vicarage was an annual -affair, an institution of Meredith Brander’s own, dating from the young -days of his reign. It had been at its origin a thoroughly Radical -institution, a freak of the then very youthful vicar, who had not yet -quite dropped all the wild ideas for the reconstruction of society of -his university days. Rich and poor, gentle and simple, an invitation -had been extended to all; the glebe field was to be the scene of -such an harmonious commingling of class and class as had not been -dreamed of since the dim days of Feudalism. For a year or two both the -villagers and the richer class were represented; the former sparsely, -it is true. But there was no commingling. Then the villagers, not -quite understanding the vicar’s idea, began to have a suspicion that, -besides being somewhat bored and bewildered by the entertainment and -the necessity for putting on “company manners,” they were being laughed -at; and thenceforth they stayed away altogether. So that the annual -haymaking had now become what Mr. Brander called “a mere commonplace -_omnium gatherum_,” where the lowest class represented was that of -well-to-do farmers, whose wives and daughters having replaced the -straightforward rusticity of half a century ago for a veneer of fashion -and refinement, were tiresome guests, captious, self-assertive, and -intolerable. - -Among the most prominent members of this last class were the two -daughters of John Oldshaw. Despising their shy, good-hearted brother -Mat as much as they did their coarse-mannered father, they prattled of -Gilbert and Sullivan’s last opera, of the newest shape of sunshade, -of the most recently published novel, uneasily anxious to show that -they were abreast of the times. They hated Olivia Denison for her easy -superiority; and while indignant with their brother for admiring her, -they were still more indignant at the knowledge that he was too much -her inferior for her to treat him with anything but kindness. - -Olivia, who was always scrupulously courteous to these young ladies, -shook hands with them as she left the tent with her persistent admirer, -Fred Williams, who, with little attempt at concealment, tried to draw -her away from the farmer’s daughters. - -“How charming Mrs. Brander is looking to-day!” said the elder, in the -loud, unpleasant voice which shivered in a moment all her pretensions -to refinement. “She reminds me more of Lady Grisdale every time I see -her.” - -Lady Grisdale was a fashionable beauty, whose photograph, together -with those of the Guernsey Rose and Mrs. Carnaby East, adorned Miss -Oldshaw’s drawing-room mantelpiece in a plush frame. - -“Yes,” assented Olivia, “she is like the portraits of Lady Grisdale. -How is your brother? Isn’t he coming here to-day?” - -The Misses Oldshaw disliked any allusion to their brother, who, they -considered, did them little credit. And to hear him mentioned by -Olivia Denison was especially galling. It seemed to them to signify, -what indeed was the truth, that she ranked Mat, with his rough speech -and shy, awkward ways, above themselves, with all their pretensions. -Miss Oldshaw therefore answered with a shrill tartness which surprised -Olivia, who had certainly no wish to offend her-- - -“Oh, he’s not coming here. His tastes don’t lie in the direction of -either nice people or nice amusements.” - -“Indeed! I should have thought they would when he’s so nice himself.” - -“Oh, of course niceness is a matter of taste,” said Miss Oldshaw with -an affected laugh. “Perhaps you would consider the person he has gone -to see nice.” - -“Very likely,” said Olivia, coolly. - -“Dear me,” interrupted the second sister, with a perceptible sneer; -“you forget that Mr. Vernon Brander may be a friend of Miss Denison’s.” - -“If it is Mr. Vernon Brander whom Mat has gone to see, I don’t think he -has chosen his pleasure badly. At least he is in pleasanter society, -than we all have the fortune to meet here.” - -And Olivia, who had remained very quiet during this disagreeable -colloquy, turned away, while her companion burst into a loud fit of -laughter, and glancing over his shoulder at the sisters, remarked in a -voice which they were intended to hear-- - -“Why does Mrs. Brander invite those people? Everybody knows they were -both sweet on Parson Longface until they found it was no go.” - -Olivia made no answer to this graceful remark. She was standing close -to the hedge which bounded the field on the side nearest to the -village. The trees grew thickly outside, and even at five o’clock the -sun was strong enough to make the shelter of the overhanging branches -welcome. The devoted Fred had put into her hands a very fanciful -little hay rake; but instead of amusing herself by turning over the -sweet-scented hay which strewed the field all round her, she only drew -the rake listlessly along the ground with an air of being a thousand -miles away. - -“I’m afraid I bore you,” said Fred at last, in an offended tone, -finding that all his conversational efforts failed to wake the least -sparkle of interest in her eyes; “I should have thought this sort of -thing would have been just what you would like: wants such a lot of -energy, and all that sort of thing, you know.” - -“Yes,” answered Olivia, dreamingly; “it wants too much energy to be -wasted on play, when one has serious things to think about.” - -“Serious things!” echoed Fred, pricking up his ears, and rushing at -this opening. “Yes, I’ve got a lot of serious things to think about -too--one thing jolly serious. I say,” he went on, getting rather -nervous, “I’m glad you take things seriously; I like a girl who can be -serious.” - -“Do you?” asked she rather absently. “I should have thought you liked a -girl who could be lively.” - -“Well, yes; I like ’em both. I mean, I like one who can be both--or, -or--” - -“Both who can be one, perhaps,” suggested Olivia, laughing. - -She had had to stave off proposals before from men whom she was -anxious to save from unnecessary pain. But with this grotesque little -caricature of an admirer, she felt no sentiment deeper than a hope that -he would not be silly. Insignificant as he seemed to her, however, -she made a great mistake in despising him, and in forgetting that a -small, mean nature is very much more dangerous than a nobler one. -So that while she was innocently trying to avoid the annoyance of -his love-making with light words and laughter, he was growing every -moment more doggedly bent on doing her the honor of making known his -admiration. Although the possibility of a refusal had not occurred to -him, he felt nervous, as he would have felt with no other woman. - -“I say, now, be serious a moment, can’t you? Or I shall think I paid -you too great a compliment just now.” - -“As I am not used to compliments, perhaps it got into my head.” - -“Oh, of course I know you have had plenty of fools dangling about you -and saying a lot of things they don’t mean--” - -“So that one more or less hardly counts,” suggested Olivia, laughing. - -He would not be angry even then. He thought if he affected to drop -the subject he should soon bring her to reason; so he said, “Oh, well, -of course, if that’s your way of looking at it, there’s no more to be -said.” - -But she took him at his word, and, with just a nod of assent to his -last remark, ran to the hedge, with a cry, “There’s Mat!” as she caught -sight of Farmer Oldshaw’s son standing under the trees. - -Fred Williams looked after her with an ugly expression on his little -yellow face. - -“Fancy my not being common enough for her, by Jove!” was his modest -reflection as he saw her shake hands heartily with the young man. - -Olivia with a woman’s quick perception, had known at once that Mat had -something of importance to tell her. - -“What is it, Mat?” she asked, anxiously, as they shook hands. - -“Mester Vernon: he’s very bad wi’ t’ fever,” said he, in a low voice. -“Ah allers weaite at corner o’ t’ long meadow o’ Thursdays, an’ walk -wi’ him as far as Lower Copse, where he goes to ’s meeting. An’ to-deay -he didn’t coom, so Ah knew summat wur wrong, an’ Ah went to ’s home, -an’ Ah saw him. An’ Ah thowt Ah’d let ye knaw, Miss Olivia, so Ah coom -here to tell ye.” - -Olivia had very little shyness with Mat; he knew her secret, and he too -loved Vernon Brander most loyally. She thanked him in very few words, -but with a look of gratitude in her eyes which stirred in the young man -feelings of pain and pleasure she never guessed at. - -“I shall manage to get away in a few minutes,” she said. - -“If you’re goin’ to see Mester Vernon, you’ll let me see ye seafe -across t’ fields?” - -“Yes; I shall be very glad if you will.” - -With the rapidity of a butterfly, in order to avoid the unlucky Fred -Williams, Olivia sped across the scattered hay to the tent where she -had left Ned Mitchell and Mr. Williams the elder. They were conversing -as earnestly as ever, and certain words which fell upon the girl’s ears -as she stood waiting for a chance of catching Ned’s attention showed -her that they were still on the old subject. - -“You will scarcely believe me, Mr. Mitchell, when I assure you that -nothing but the dissuasions of Mr. Meredith Brander and his brother -have prevented my doing it long before. However, I have made up my mind -not to put up with this sort of thing any longer. I have no doubt their -motives were good--perfectly good. But they are certainly mistaken in -letting a private fad for antiquities interfere with the comfort of the -parishioners.” - -“And they won’t find on every bush a parishioner rich enough and -generous enough to rebuild a church at his own expense,” added Ned. - -“Oh, well, perhaps not,” allowed Mr. Williams, modestly. “Anyhow, I’ll -get Lord Stannington’s permission at once, and the new St. Cuthbert’s -tower shall be an object of admiration in the neighborhood before the -winter comes.” - -Ned Mitchell was satisfied; he had sowed the seed well. Having now -leisure to look round him, he perceived that Olivia, standing by -herself, with her eyes fixed earnestly upon him, was waiting for speech -with him. With her feminine grace, her high spirit and her devotion, -she was a girl after his own heart; what little of amiability there -was in his character always appeared in his face and manner when he -addressed her. - -“Oh, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, in a low, pleading voice, as he nodded to -Mr. Williams and walked out of the tent with her, “I want to ask you -not to be hard.” - -“Too late--too late by fifteen years, Miss Denison,” said he, not -harshly, however. “But what particular proof of hardness have I given -you just now?” - -“You know,” said she, tremulously: “the new tower--St. Cuthbert’s -tower--” - -Ned Mitchell stopped short, and made her turn face to face with him. - -“It seems to me, young lady,” said he, “that you haven’t much faith in -your lover.” - -“Mr. Vernon Brander is not my lover,” said she, blushing. - -“Not to the extent of having asked you to name the happy day, perhaps. -But whether you confess it or not, I know that if Vernon Brander were -free to marry, he might have you for the asking.” - -“Well, yes, he might,” said poor Olivia, raising her head proudly one -moment, and the next letting it fall in confusion and shame. “And I -confess I don’t feel sure whether he has done this dreadful thing or -not; and--and that it wouldn’t make any difference if he had. And it’s -because I don’t feel sure that I’m come to beg you not to have St. -Cuthbert’s tower touched. And I’ve just heard that he’s ill, and I’m -very miserable about it. There, there--now I think I’ve humiliated -myself enough to you.” - -They were in the open field, with young men and maidens on either -side making more or less shallow pretences at haymaking. Olivia could -not indulge the inclination that prompted her to burst into a rage of -passionate tears. But she was almost blinded by the effort to keep them -back; and Ned Mitchell had to guide her steps between the haycocks, -which he did gently enough. - -“Look here,” he said, in a tone which could only express feeling by -jerks; “I don’t want to hurt you. There’s nobody I wouldn’t sooner -hurt, I think. You’re a brave girl. I like you. I approve of you. Hold -your tongue, and I’ll promise you something.” - -The last admonition was unnecessary: she was quiet enough. - -“I give you my word. Now, mind, you’re not to shout out!” She shook her -head. “I give you my word no harm shall come to--somebody.” - -“Mr. Vernon Brander?” she asked, in a whisper. - -“Yes.” - -“Oh, Mr. Mitchell, you are good, then, after all!” she said, with naive -earnestness and gratitude. - -“Don’t be too sure of that. But I do keep my word. He’s ill, you say?” - -“Mat Oldshaw has just told me that he is in a fever.” - -“And you are going to see him? What would your father say?” - -“I can’t help it. I must: I must. He has no friends to visit him.” - -“Oh, yes, he has. Mark my words: as soon as she hears of it, his -sister-in-law will fly to his side.” - -Olivia seemed to shrink into herself with a shiver at these words. Her -warm-hearted outburst of grateful confidence was over. - -“What do you mean to imply?” she asked, coldly. - -“Nothing: nothing but just what I say. You may tell Vernon that I am -coming this evening to look after him. Here you are. You can slip -through this gate and be off under the trees and down through the -village. And I’ll make up a story for your step-mother.” - -He opened the gate for her, and let her through. Olivia scarcely dared -to believe that he would keep his promise of doing no harm to Vernon; -still, his kindness to herself was encouraging, and, in spite of doubts -and fears, pangs of jealousy of Mrs. Meredith, self-reproach for acting -against her father’s wishes, Olivia felt lighter hearted since Ned -Mitchell’s promise, and congratulated herself, as she approached St. -Cuthbert’s Vicarage, and bade good-bye to faithful Mat, that she was -the bearer of good news. - -Her heart beat fast as she went up the stone pathway of the barren -enclosure before the house. In answer to her knock, Mrs. Warmington -opened the door, and uttered a short exclamation, whether of surprise, -joy, or astonishment, the visitor could not tell. - -“So that’s the answer to the conundrum!” was her rather bewildering -greeting. - -“Is Mr. Vernon Brander at home?” asked Olivia, with some dignity. - -But Mrs. Warmington would have none of it. - -“Oh, yes, you know he is,” she answered, impatiently. “And, what’s -more, you know he’s ill. And he knows you are coming, and of course -that’s the reason why he wouldn’t go back to bed, when he knows as well -as I do that bed’s the place where he ought to be.” - -“If he does expect me, it’s only guesswork,” said Olivia, more softly. -“For I’ve sent him no message, and he has sent me none.” - -“Oh, the air carries messages between some people,” said Mrs. -Warmington, impatiently. - -“Who is that?” asked Vernon Brander’s voice from the front room. - -“It is I, Mr. Brander,” answered Olivia, in a very meek, small voice. - -She opened the door and entered shyly, with a prim little speech upon -her lips, something about “so many inquiries having been made for him -that she had offered to come and learn how he was.” But she only got -out a few words and stopped. He was still standing by the door, and she -had not yet looked at him. When she modestly raised her eyes, she read -in his face such feelings as put her pretty platitudes to flight. - -“Oh!” she said, softly, and clasped her hands, while her lips quivered -and her eyes filled. But she instantly recovered herself and became -very stately and stiff. - -“Come and sit down,” said he; and, closing the door, he took her hands -in both his, and led her to a battered armchair, which stood beside the -worn old sofa from which he had just risen. - -Olivia allowed herself to be led to the chair, on which she sat down -with some constraint. Mr. Brander took an ordinary cane-seated chair at -the other side of the table. There was a silence of some moments. Then -the girl spoke. - -“I am glad you were not at the haymaking this afternoon, Mr. Brander. -The sun was so hot, even up to the time I left, that it was quite as -much as we could do to breathe, without the fatigue of making hay.” - -She did not look at him while she spoke; but as he only said “Yes” in -a very faint voice, she slowly turned her head and saw that he was -swaying on the table, ashy white and breathing heavily. All her shyness -and constraint broke down in a second. She started up, and running -lightly round the table, put a strong supporting arm around him. - -“Come to the sofa,” she said, gently. “You are not well enough to sit -up.” - -For answer he laid his head against her shoulder, and looked -rapturously into her beautiful face. - -“I don’t feel ill,” was all he dared to say. - -Olivia blushed, but did not withdraw her arm. - -“That is all nonsense,” she said, imperiously. “You are ill, and I -believe you want a doctor, and I mean to fetch one. I’m turning nurse -to the parish,” she went on merrily; “you know it was I who got the -doctor for Mr. Mitchell.” - -Vernon’s face clouded. - -“Yes; I know,” said he. - -“Oh, Mr. Brander,” continued Olivia, beginning to stammer and hesitate. -“I--I have something to tell you about Mr. Mitchell; something he -said--to me, this afternoon.” - -“Well, what was it?” - -“They were talking--he and old Mr. Williams--this afternoon, about the -restoration of--of--” - -“----Of St. Cuthbert’s tower?” - -“Yes. Mr. Mitchell was persuading him to build a new tower----” - -“Persuading him! Clever old fox! There’s a proverb about cheating -the devil, but I think it would be stronger to talk of cheating Ned -Mitchell.” - -Olivia was surprised by the coolness with which he said this. However, -she hastened to add-- - -“But I don’t think it will be rebuilt after all.” - -It seemed to her that something very like a shade of disappointment -crossed his face at these words. - -“How is that?” was all he said. - -“I spoke to Mr. Mitchell afterwards, and he promised me never to do -anything to harm you,” said Olivia, in a gentle, earnest voice, quite -ignoring, in the excitement of this announcement, how much of her own -feelings she was betraying. - -“Then you think,” said he, very quietly, “that the building of a new -tower at St. Cuthbert’s would do me harm?” - -“I--I thought,” said Olivia, much confused, “from what I had heard, -that you did not wish it to be rebuilt.” - -“And I suppose you must have some idea why?” - -“No,” answered Olivia, quickly. - -“Quite sure?” - -“Of course I have heard what people say.” - -“If I were a wholly innocent man, how could any discoveries which might -be made hurt me?” - -“I don’t know; I should have thought perhaps they might.” - -“I can see that your mind is not free from doubts?” - -No answer. He was leaning against her, and speaking with difficulty. - -“And yet you love me all the same?” - -The question burst from his lips in a low, husky, passionate whisper, -while his eyes sought hers, and his hand trembled at the contact with -her fingers. For answer she flung her right arm round his neck, and -pressed her lips tenderly, fervently on his pale forehead. He shivered -in her arms as if seized by a strong convulsion of feeling; then, by a -feverish effort tearing himself from her embrace, he leaned against the -mantelpiece and buried his face in his hands, murmuring, in a hoarse -and broken voice-- - -“God bless you! And God forgive me!” - -Olivia’s whole heart went out to him in the deep distress from which he -was evidently suffering. She rose, and coming to within a few paces of -where he stood, said, most winningly-- - -“Come and lie down on the sofa. I will read to you, sing to you, do -anything you would like done; but you must not stand; you are not well -enough.” - -He held out his hand to her with a smile that made his haggard face for -moment handsome. - -“I will do whatever you wish,” he said, “if you will in return do -something I am going to command.” - -“What is that?” she asked with a smile. - -“Go back home at once. You are here against your father’s wishes, and I -am bound in honor to forbid your presence here.” - -He had already withdrawn his hand from hers; he dared not trust it to -remain there. There was a yearning in his eyes which stirred all the -pity, all the tenderness, in her nature for this outcast from love -and home and happiness. She tried to take his pathetic command with a -laugh, as he had tried to give it. But she failed, as he had done. And -so they stood, with only a yard of faded and worn old carpet between -them, reading in each other’s eyes the longing, she to comfort and he -to caress, while the sunset faded slowly outside, and the old clock -ticked on the mantelpiece, and faint sounds of the clattering of cups -and spoons came from the kitchen. - -“There is some one at the gate,” said he at last. And he crossed to the -window and looked out: “Ned Mitchell!” - -Olivia started. She was glad Ned had come while she was there, being -anxious to note how he met Vernon. - -“Come straight in,” called out Vernon from the window. - -And Ned came in, with his ponderous walk and keen glance. He nodded to -Olivia, and walking straight up to Vernon, examined him attentively. - -“So you’re on the sick list, I hear,” he said, not unkindly. “By the -look of you I should say you’ll be on the burial list soon if you don’t -take care of yourself.” - -Olivia uttered a low cry of horror. - -“You want a wife to look after you. Some men can get on best without -a woman; I’m one: that’s why I’m married. Some can’t get on without -one; you’re one of that sort: that’s why you’re a bachelor. One of the -dodges of Providence to keep us from growing too fond of this precious -world, I suppose.” - -“Well, as I choose to mortify the flesh by remaining a bachelor, it’s -unkind of you to throw my misfortune in my face, isn’t it?” said -Vernon, not succeeding very well in the effort to speak in his usual -manner. - -“Sit down, man,” said Ned, peremptorily. “You ought to be in bed. On -the other hand, if you knock off your work, who’s to do it for you?” - -“Nobody; there is nobody; therefore I must not knock off,” said Vernon, -feverishly. - -“Oh, yes, you must. Health’s everything,” said Ned, with his small, -sharp eyes fixed on the floor. “Now I’ve a proposal to make to you. -There’s not much of a parson’s work a rough man like me can do, but -there’s some, taking messages and seeing people and things like that. -Now it’s precious dull up at my hole of a cottage. So I’m coming -to stay a day or two with you, and your old woman can put me up -in the little room that’s next to your bedroom. It’s all settled, -you understand,” he added, lifting his hand and raising his voice -peremptorily at the same time. - -“It’s awfully good of you,” said Vernon, though his tone betrayed more -curiosity than gratitude. “But, at any rate, if you choose to stay -here, you shall have the best bedroom we can offer you. The little box -next to mine is filled with nothing but lumber.” - -“That’s the room I mean to have, though,” said Ned, stubbornly. “I’m of -a romantic and melancholy disposition, and I like the view. It looks -out into the churchyard.” - -The curiosity died out suddenly from Vernon’s face. - -“And if I am compelled to assure you that it is impossible that room -should be used?” - -“Then I shall have to come and encamp in the neighborhood; that’s all.” - -The men looked straight at each other, and Vernon shrugged his -shoulders. - -“You can come if you like,” said he, indifferently. - -Olivia, who had listened with much interest to this discussion, -now came forward to bid Vernon good-bye. Ned, with ostentatious -discreetness, tramped heavily to the window, and looked out. But he -might have spared himself the trouble; for before he got there the -ceremony of farewell was over. Olivia had put her hand in Vernon’s, and -they had given a brief look each into the face of the other. Ned, as he -stared into the bare enclosure outside, suddenly felt a light touch on -his arm. - -“Good-bye, Mr. Mitchell,” said Olivia. “Don’t forget--your promise.” - -“I never forget anything,” said Ned, drily. - -The next minute she was hurrying up the lane, with the eye of both men -fixed on her retreating figure. - -“That’s a good sort,” said Ned, approvingly. - -To this Vernon Brander assented very shortly. - -Olivia had forbidden Mat to wait for her, but she was not to go home -unescorted. At the top of the hill, where the lane joined the high -road, she found the irrepressible Fred Williams sitting on the bank, -making passes at a white butterfly with his walking stick. Olivia -uttered an “Oh!” full of impatience and disgust. Fred got up, grinning -at her in obtuse admiration. - -“I knew where you’d gone,” he said, nodding with a knowing air. “So I -came to see you home.” - -He was still rather nervous, which was perhaps the reason why he failed -to perceive the full extent of her annoyance at this second meeting. He -had, besides, primed himself for a speech, and that speech he meant to -make. - -“We were interrupted just now in the hayfield,” he began--“just when I -was on the point of--” - -“Oh, never mind now,” broke in Olivia, impatiently, “I have something -to think about.” - -“Well, what I am going to say to you don’t require thinking about; I -want you to marry me. Yes or No.” - -“No!” said Olivia promptly. - -“Of course I knew you’d say that first go off. But let me reason with -you a little. You must get married some time. You like another fellow -better than me--” - -“I do--a great many other fellows!” - -“Well, but one in particular. Now you can’t have him, and you can have -me. And if you do have me, you can do a good turn to the other fellow.” - -“What do you mean?” asked the girl, turning white at the young man’s -tone. - -“If you’ll promise to marry me--seriously, mind--I’ll persuade my -father not to build the new tower to St. Cuthbert’s. Nobody but me can -stop him. That chap Mitchell is egging him on to it with all his might.” - -“He’s changed his mind,” said Olivia, quietly. - -“Oh, has he? Since when, I should like to know? He met me sitting here -five minutes ago, on his way down to St. Cuthbert’s, where you’ve just -come from” (with another knowing nod), “and he gave me this note for my -father. I opened it. Won’t you read it? All right; but you shall hear -what it says.” - -Fred was holding a part of the old envelope, which had been scribbled -on in pencil and folded. He read it aloud:-- - - “DEAR MR. WILLIAMS--Hurry on the rebuilding of St. Cuthbert’s Tower as - fast as you can. I hear there is a proposal afloat to be beforehand - with you, and to deprive you of all the credit of the thing by getting - it up by subscription.--Yours, E. MITCHELL.” - -Poor Olivia was aghast at Ned’s breach of faith, but she affected -unconcern. - -“I don’t see how the rebuilding of St. Cuthbert’s tower can affect -either me or Mr. Vernon Brander.” - -“Nor do I. But I can see it does. Anyhow, I’ll give you till to-morrow -morning to consider the thing, and I’ll meet you in the poultry run -when you feed the chickens--if I can get up early enough. And as I see -you want to think over it by yourself, I’ll take myself off for the -present. Good-evening, Miss Denison.” - -He sauntered away in the opposite direction to Rishton, his mischievous -good humor perfectly undisturbed; while Olivia, more concerned for Mr. -Vernon Brander than ever, hurried home, and sneaked up to her room to -consider the new position of affairs, and to write a pleading note to -Ned Mitchell. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -Olivia Denison’s thoughts on the morning after the haymaking, were -entirely occupied with Vernon Brander, his illness, the possibility of -his innocence, and the chances of his escape if guilty; so that when, -on entering the poultry yard with her basket on her arm, she found Fred -Williams, amusing himself by setting two cocks to fight each other, she -uttered a cry of unmistakable annoyance and astonishment. - -“You look as if you hadn’t expected to see me, and as if, by Jove, you -hadn’t wanted to!” said he, frankly. As she made no answer, but only -raised her eyebrows he went on--“Don’t you remember I said I should be -here this morning?” - -“I had forgotten it, or only remembered it as a kind of nightmare.” - -“Do you mean me to take your rudeness seriously?” asked Fred, after -a pause in which he had at last struggled with the amazing fact -that he had met a girl to whom his admiration, and all the glorious -possibilities it conveyed, meant absolutely nothing. - -“As seriously as I have always taken yours.” - -Fred was silent again for some moments, during which Olivia went -on throwing handfuls of grain to the chickens, and calling softly -“Coop-coop-coop-coop!” in a most persuasive and unconcerned manner. - -“And you really mean that this is your last answer? I can tell you, -it’s your last chance with me?” - -Olivia turned, making the most of her majestic height, and looked down -on him with the loftiest disdain. - -“I assure you that if it were my ‘last chance,’ as you call it, not -only with you, but with anybody, I should say just the same.” - -Fred Williams leaned against the wall of the yard, turned out the -heterogeneous contents of one of his pockets, and began turning them -over with shaking fingers to hide his mortification. - -Still Olivia went on with her occupation, without paying the slightest -attention to him. Suddenly the rejected suitor shovelled all the things -he had taken out back into his pockets, and with a monkey-like spring -placed himself right in front of her. - -“I wish there was somebody about to tell you what a jolly fool you’re -making of yourself,” he said, looking up at her rather viciously. - -“You may go and fetch somebody to do so if you like,” said she, -serenely. - -“And leave you in peace for a little while, I suppose you mean?” - -“Perhaps some such thought may have crossed my mind.” - -Mr. Fred Williams had not a high opinion of himself, but experience -had taught him that his “expectations” gave him an adventitious value; -to find neither his modesty nor his money of any avail was a discovery -which destroyed for once his habitual good humor, and showed a side of -his character which he should by all means have kept concealed from a -lady he wished to charm. - -“Very well,” he snarled, while an ugly blush spread over his face, -and his fingers twitched with anger; “very well. You may think it -very smart to snub me, and high-spirited and all that. I’ve stood a -good deal of it--a good deal more than I’d have stood from anybody -else--because you’re handsome. I know I’m not handsome, or refined -either; but I don’t pretend to be. And I’m a lot handsomer than the -hatchet-faced parson, anyhow. And as for refinement, you can get a lot -more for twenty-five thousand a year than for a couple of hundred, -which is quite a decent screw for one of your preaching fellows. But -now I’ve done with you, I tell you, I’ve done with you.” - -“Isn’t that rather a singular expression, considering that I’ve never -given you the slightest encouragement?” asked Olivia, coldly. - -“Encouragement! I don’t expect encouragement; but I expect a girl like -you to know a good thing when she sees it.” - -“I am afraid we differ as to what constitutes a good thing.” - -“Very likely; but we shan’t ‘differ as to what constitutes’ a bad thing -for Vernon Brander; and if you don’t see all those twopenny geraniums -pulled up out of St. Cuthbert’s churchyard, and every stone grubbed up, -and every brick of that old tower pulled down, before another week’s -up, my name’s not Fred Williams. There, Miss Denison; now, what do you -say to that?” - -“I say that you have fully justified your low opinion of yourself.” - -“And I’ll justify my low opinion of Vernon Brander. If he’s got any -secrets buried in those old stones, we’ll have them dragged out, and -make you jolly well ashamed of your friend.” - -“Oh, no, you won’t do that,” said Olivia, who had turned pale to the -lips, and grown very majestic and stern; “though you have succeeded in -making me ashamed of having called you even an acquaintance.” - -“Perhaps you have a weakness for--” - -Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself seized by the -shoulders, and saw towering over him a beautiful countenance, so aglow -with passionate indignation that it looked like the face of a Fury. - -“If you dare to say that word I’ll shake you like a rat!” hissed out -Olivia, giving him an earnest of her promise with great good will. - -“Stop! stop! unless you--want--to--kill somebody--to be -more--like--your--precious--friend,” panted Fred, who was not a coward. - -Olivia let him go with a movement which sent him spinning among the -chickens. - -“Well, that’s cool,” panted he, as he picked up his hat and looked at -it ruefully. “You talk about refinement one minute and the next you -treat me in this unladylike way!” - -“Oh, I apologize for my vulgar manners,” laughed Olivia, who was -already rather ashamed of her outbreak. “I’m only a farmer’s daughter, -you know.” - -“Yes, and you couldn’t give yourself more airs if you were a duchess. -Your father isn’t so proud by a long way, I can tell you,” he added -with meaning. - -Olivia became in an instant very quiet. - -“What do you mean?” she asked sternly. - -“Oh, nothing but that he’s been in the habit of borrowing money of me -for some time; only trifling sums, but still they seemed to come in -handy, judging by the way he thanked me.” - -He was disappointed to see that Olivia took this information without -any of the tragic airs he had expected. - -“I daresay they did,” said she. “We are not too well off, as everybody -knows.” - -The simplicity with which she uttered these words made the young man -feel at last rather ashamed of himself. - -“Of course, I know he’ll pay me back,” he said hastily. - -Olivia opened great proud eyes, full of astonishment and disdain, and -said, superbly, “Of course he will.” - -“And you don’t feel annoyed at the obligation, eh?” asked Fred, rather -bewildered. - -“I don’t see any obligation,” said she quietly. - -“Oh, don’t you? Well, most people would consider it one.” - -“How much does he owe you?” - -“Oh, only a matter of forty or fifty pounds.” - -He thought the amount would astonish and distress her; but as, -apparently, it failed to do either, he hastened to add-- - -“Of course, that’s a mere nothing; but he let me know, a day or two -ago, that he should want a much larger loan, and of course, I informed -him he could have it for the asking.” - -She did wince at that; but the manner in which she resented his -impertinence was scarcely to his taste. - -“And you think the obligation is on our side?” she said, sweetly, but -with a tremor of subdued anger in her voice. “What have you done except -to lend my father a few pounds, which you would never have missed, even -if you had thrown them into a well instead of lent them to an honorable -man! While he, by accepting the loan, has given you a chance of putting -on patronizing airs towards a man in every respect your superior.” - -“All right--all right! Go on! Vernon Brander shall pay for this!” -snarled Fred, at last rendered thoroughly savage by her contempt. - -“Vernon Brander will never be the worse for having you for an enemy. I -should be sorry for him if you were his friend,” she said, defiantly. - -“Oh, all right, I’m glad to hear it,” said Fred, glad at last to beat -a retreat, and delivering his parting words at the gate of the poultry -yard, with one foot in the new-laid egg basket. “Then if anything -unpleasant happens to your father or your parson through me, you’ll be -able to make light of it!” - -Olivia felt rather frightened when she saw how discolored and distorted -with rage his little weasel’s face had become. But she bore a brave -front, and only said, for all reply to his threats-- - -“Won’t you find it more convenient to stand on the ground, Mr. -Williams? To walk about among eggs without accident requires a great -deal of skill and experience.” - -But when, with an impatient exclamation, he left the poultry yard, -Olivia’s heart gave way, and she began to reproach herself bitterly -for not having kept a bridle upon her tongue. On the other hand, she -was glad that her words had provoked the mean little fellow to confess -his loans to her father; for she thought she had influence enough with -the latter to prevent any more such transactions, and as for the money -already owing, means must somehow be found to repay it. - -It was late in the afternoon before she was able to start on the way to -St. Cuthbert’s. She felt, as usual, some self-reproach at the thought -that she was acting contrary to her father’s wishes; but, as usual, she -was too self-willed to give up her own in deference to his. The sun was -still glowing on the fields, and pouring its hot rays on the roads, -which were parched and cracked for want of rain. The cart-tracks made -faint lines in a thick layer of white dust, which the lightest breeze -from the hills blew up in clouds, coating the leaves on the hedges and -swirling into heaps by the well-worn foot path. The wood that bordered -the road for some distance between Rishton and Matherham was as silent -as if the birds had all left it; oak and beech and dusty pine looked -dry and brown in the glare. It was a long, hot, weary walk; but at last -she came near the lonely Vicarage, and slipping down the final few -yards of the steep lane, in a cloud of dust which was raised by her -own feet at each step, Olivia heard the faint sound of voices coming -from the house, and stopped short, fancying she could detect Vernon’s -voice, and wondering who was with him. But the sounds ceased, and she -went slowly on, thinking she had perhaps been mistaken. She entered the -garden gate, and walked up the stone pathway, still without hearing -anything more, until, suddenly, just as she was within a few paces of -the door, she heard a woman’s voice, low, but clear and strong, utter -these words-- - -“Remember, you swore it. Ten years ago you swore it to me, and it is -still as binding on you as it was then.” - -“Why should I forget it?” - -Olivia knew that it was Mrs. Brander’s voice that answered, in a tone -full of contempt and dislike-- - -“Why, this Denison girl, this----” - -Neither she nor Vernon had paid any heed to the footsteps on the stone -flags. - -Now Olivia hastened to ring the bell sharply, and there was silence -immediately. - -“How is Mr. Brander to-day?” asked she of Mrs. Warmington when the -housekeeper opened the door. - -“He’s not much better, and not likely to be while that uncivilized -creature from the Antipodes continues to make his abode here, and worry -my master morning, noon, and night,” said the housekeeper, tartly. - -“Mr. Mitchell? Where is he now?” asked Olivia, eagerly. - -“He’s out in the churchyard there, poking about among the gravestones. -I’ve been watching him from the window of the little room he sleeps -in. I don’t know how he got hold of the key. I have a duplicate, for -cleaning the church. I don’t know myself where my master keeps his.” - -“I think I’ll go and speak to Mr. Mitchell, and come back when Mr. -Brander is disengaged.” - -“Disengaged! He’s disengaged now, as far as I know----” - -“I think I heard Mrs. Brander’s voice as I came up the path.” - -The housekeeper’s lips tightened, and she drew herself up in evident -disapproval. - -“Indeed! I was not aware she was here.” - -“Well, I’ll be back in about a quarter of an hour, as I should like to -see Mr. Brander,” said Olivia, hastily. - -Mrs. Warmington raised her eyebrows. She was longing to tell Miss -Denison that she thought, under the circumstances, it would be more -modest to stay away; but she did not dare. So Olivia tripped down the -stone path, and was in the churchyard before the housekeeper had had -time to make up her mind how much of her suspicions it would be proper -to communicate to a young girl. - -It was some minutes before Olivia succeeded in finding Ned Mitchell. -The sun was setting by this time, and there were dark shadows among the -ruined portions of the church. It seemed to her as she walked between -the newly laid out flower beds with their bright array of geranium, -calceolaria, and verbena, that this innovation was out of place, and -only showed up, in a more striking manner, the havoc time and tempest -had made among the old stones, just as the mowing of the grass upon -them had accentuated the irregular mounds and hillocks which filled -the ruined south aisle. Olivia stepped in and out and over the mounds, -calling softly, “Mr. Mitchell!” At last, in the corner where the old -crypt was, she heard a sound coming, as it were, from the ground under -her feet. She stopped and listened, holding her breath. The sounds -continued, a soft, muffled “thud, thud,” as of some heavy instrument -brought again and again down on the earth. She advanced, step by step, -always listening, fancying that she felt the ground tremble under her -feet at the force of the blows. At last she came close to the place -where the rugged steps leading down into the crypt had been blocked -up years before. With her senses keenly on the alert, Olivia noticed -that some of the stones and earth which blocked the entrance had been -recently moved; and prying more closely, she found, behind a bramble -and a tuft of rank grass, a small hole, low down in the ground, which -looked scarcely large enough for the passage of a man’s body. However, -this seemed to be the only outlet from the vault, so Olivia sat down on -a broken gravestone, and waited. - -It seemed to Olivia to be growing quite cold and dark before a -scraping and rumbling noise, as of falling stones and earth, drew her -attention to the concealed hole in the ground. She got up, and the -noise almost ceased. - -“It is I, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, without being able to see him; “I’ve -been waiting for you.” - -For answer, Mr. Mitchell’s unmistakable, gruff voice murmured a string -of sullen imprecations, of which, luckily, nothing was distinctly -audible. However, he put his head out of the hole, and then proceeded -to extricate the whole of his person with such exceeding neatness and -cleverness that the hole was scarcely enlarged, and the bramble and -grass remained intact. He presented a strange appearance, however, for -he was in his shirt sleeves; a colored silk handkerchief was bound -round his head down to his eyes; in his right hand he held a common -kitchen poker; while he was so covered with mould and dust from head -to foot that but for his peculiarly heavy movements and rough voice he -would have been unrecognizable. - -“Well, what are you doing here?” he asked, very ill-humoredly, as -he shook himself free from some of the dust he had collected in his -subterranean exploration. “I thought I heard somebody messing about up -here. How did you get in?” - -“In the same way that you did, except that I asked for a key instead of -taking one without asking.” - -She was alarmed to see, when he had wiped some of the dirt off his face -with his handkerchief, that he looked savagely self-satisfied, and -quite beyond all reasoning. This was proved clearly by his next words. -He nodded his head quietly while she spoke, and then said-- - -“All right. That’s so. Now you had better run home, and be careful not -to say anything about what you’ve just seen. For I tell you, little -girl, if you do anything to interfere with me and my actions just now, -it’ll be the worst day’s work for your little parson up yonder that -ever was done. So now you know.” - -Olivia shivered, but she did not answer or contradict him. She only -said, in a subdued and tremulous voice, “Good-evening, Mr. Mitchell,” -and walked away towards the gate, stumbling over the chips of stone -that lay hidden in the grass, which had been allowed to remain long and -rank in this the south side of the graveyard. She unlocked the gate, -passed out, and was relocking it when she heard rapid footsteps behind -her. - -“Give me that key!” said Mrs. Brander’s voice, so hoarse, so agitated -that Olivia looked round before she could be sure that it was really -the vicar’s calm, cold wife. - -Her large eyes had deep black semicircles under them; her usually firm -lips were trembling; her whole appearance showed a disorder, a lack -of that dainty preciseness in little things which was so strongly -characteristic of her. - -“This key!” said Olivia, doubtfully. “Do you know who is in there?” - -Mrs. Brander examined the girl from head to foot with passionate -mistrust, while at the same time she struggled to regain a calmer -manner. - -“Who is it?” she asked, with an attempt at an indifferent tone. - -“Mr. Mitchell.” - -The vicar’s wife drew back from the gate. - -“You mean this? You are not playing me a trick?” - -“A trick? No. Why should I?” - -There was a pause, during which Mrs. Brander stood looking at her -fixedly. As she did not speak, Olivia presently asked-- - -“Do you still wish to go in?” - -Mrs. Brander hesitated, and then drew back with a shudder. - -“No,” she murmured, scarcely above her breath, “I--I won’t go in.” - -As, however, she did not attempt to go away, Olivia bade her -“good-night,” without getting any answer, and went up the lane towards -the house. She did not wish to call at the Vicarage now; she wanted -first to have time to think over what she had seen and heard in the -churchyard, as well as her interview with Mrs. Brander. A new idea, -which promised to throw light on the whole mystery, had come into her -mind. But there was the key to be returned to Mrs. Warmington. After a -moment’s thought, she decided that she would leave it at the back door, -and thus escape the risk of a meeting with Vernon. - -But when she had reached the gate of the yard behind the house, she -heard Vernon’s voice calling her. - -“Miss Denison, Miss Denison, wait one moment!” - -He had caught sight of her from a side window, and in another minute he -had come down to her. - -“Why did you come round this way?” he asked, taking her hand in one of -his, which was hot, and dry, and feverish. - -“I--I have the key of the churchyard to return to Mrs. Warmington.” - -“And you wanted to escape the chance of seeing me. But I was watching -for you, you know,” said he, looking at her tenderly. Then he suddenly -changed his manner. “I thought you would come and see me to-day,” he -said. “It would be like your usual kindness when any one is ill.” - -“I did call and inquire,” said Olivia, demurely. “But Mrs. Brander was -with you.” - -Vernon looked at her earnestly. - -“Ah!” he exclaimed; “then I know when you came. I heard your -footsteps.” Then he looked at her curiously, and asked, “Didn’t you -hear voices? Didn’t you hear us talking?” - -“Yes,” answered Olivia, simply. “And I heard something of what you were -saying.” - -“You will tell me what you heard?” - -Olivia answered, looking down-- - -“I heard her remind you to keep an oath that you had made to her, and I -heard her mention--me!” - -“And didn’t you want to know what she meant?” - -“I suppose I did.” - -“And will you be content not to know?” - -“Perhaps I shall. For I think I have guessed something of the truth -already.” - -Vernon’s eyes glowed with passionate yearning as they met hers. - -“Impossible!” said he, below his breath. “And yet--you women have such -quick perception. If it is true that you know,” he went on, in a firmer -and sterner voice, “I shall never dare to speak to you again.” - -Olivia was trembling with excitement. It was not true that she was -mistress of the secret, but there a dim intuition in her mind which -bewildered, sometimes almost maddened, her. She did not attempt to -answer Vernon Brander; but drawing sharply away from him the hand he -still held, she abruptly wished him “good-night,” and putting the -church keys on the wall beside him, ran away up the lane as fast as her -active feet could carry her. - -When Olivia reached home she was greeted by severe silence on the part -of her step-mother; while her father, who was usually so careful to try -to make amends for any unkindness of his wife’s by little unobtrusive -attentions, carefully avoided her. The girl learned the reason of this -treatment by remarks which Mrs. Denison, apropos of nothing, addressed -from time to time to the children, warning them not to spoil their -clothes, as they were the last they would have; telling them not to -disturb their father, as he was writing to a gentleman to whom he owed -money, asking for time in which to repay it; and finally admonishing -them to be courteous to Olivia, as she could have the place sold up -in a moment by insulting her father’s creditors; from which Olivia -gathered that Fred Williams had already vented his spite on her father, -and thereby prepared a most uncomfortable domestic life for her for -some time to come. - -She affected to take no notice of this treatment however, and did not -even go in search of her father, thinking it would be better to let -the first effects both of Fred’s and of his wife’s ill temper pass off -before she spoke to him on the subject of the former’s addresses. - -Telling Lucy to bring her supper up to her rooms, Olivia left the -inharmonious family circle without bidding good-night to any one, and -shut herself up in the east wing, where she could always draw the bolt -of the outer door and be free from molestation. This she did, and being -in a restless and excited state of mind, passed the next two hours -in wandering from one room to the other, considering the mystery of -Nellie Mitchell’s disappearance by the light of all the facts which, -one by one, had come to her knowledge. She had become so accustomed to -these rooms that it was only now and then that she remembered their -connection with the murdered girl. To-night, however, the recollection -startled her at every turn she took in her walks up and down. She -seemed again to see the bedroom as it had looked on her first entrance, -nearly six months ago, the rat scurrying down the curtains, the carpet -lying in damp strings upon the floor, the mouldy books, and the dust -lying thickly on chairs and mantelpiece. Everything had been changed -since then; fresh hangings put to the bed; bright cretonne coverings -to the old furniture; a new carpet, soft and warm, had replaced the -damp rags. But on this particular evening her imagination seemed -stronger than reality; as she walked from the one room to the other, -she pictured to herself always that the chamber she was not in at the -moment was in the state in which she had first seen it. These fancies -grew so strong that they drove more serious thoughts out of her -head; just when she wanted to be able to analyze the ideas which the -day’s occurrences had suggested, she had lost all power of thinking -connectedly; nothing but bewildering recollections of the words she -had heard and the scenes she had witnessed could be got to occupy her -excited mind. - -She ran at last to one of her bedroom windows, threw it open, and -looked out. It was dark now, for it was past nine o’clock, and the -evening had turned wet. A light, drizzling summer rain was falling, and -the sky was heavy with clouds. The outlook was so dreary that after a -few minutes she shut the window, shivering, lit the candles, and tried -to read. But she was in such a nervous state that she uttered a little -scream when Lucy, bringing her supper, knocked at the outer door. Very -much disgusted with herself for this display of feminine weakness, she -would not even allow Lucy, who loved to linger about when she had any -little service to perform for “Miss Olivia,” to stay for a few minutes’ -chat. When the supper had been laid on the table in the outer room, and -the bright little maid had run down stairs, Olivia did not, as usual, -lock the outer door after her. She felt so unaccountably lonely and -restless that she went into the little passage outside her two rooms, -and set the outer door open, so as to feel that her connection with -the rest of the human life in the house was not altogether severed. -She even walked to the end of the corridor and glanced out through the -large square window at the end, listening all the while for some sounds -of household life downstairs. But in this east wing very little could -be heard, and this evening everything seemed to Olivia to be unusually -quiet. - -The corridor window looked out over fields, showing the farm garden, -with its fruit trees and vegetable beds on the right, and barns -and various other outbuildings on the left. Right underneath was a -neglected patch of land--a corner of the garden not considered worth -cultivation. Lying among the rank grass were an old ladder and a pile -of boards, which had been there when the Denisons took the farm, and -had remained undisturbed ever since. It suddenly occurred to Olivia, -for the first time, how alarmingly easy it would be for an evilly -disposed person to place the ladder against the wall, and to effect -an entrance through the window, the fastening of which she noticed -was broken, and had evidently been so a long time. Not that such a -thing was likely to happen, burglaries being unheard-of things in this -neighborhood. Still, the idea got such firm hold of her excited fancy -that, two hours later, when all the household had retired to rest, she -came out of her apartments in her dressing-gown, to give a final glance -outside, and to make sure that her absurd fears were as groundless as -she told herself they were. - -Opening the window and putting her head out into the drizzling rain, -Olivia saw, in the gloom of the misty night, a dark object creeping -stealthily along outside the garden wall. Just as it reached that part -of the wall which was immediately opposite the window, a watery gleam -of moonlight showed through the clouds, and enabled her to see that -the object was a man. The next moment she saw him climb over into the -garden beneath. Still keeping close to the wall, he crept rapidly along -until he was close under the window. Holding her breath, Olivia watched -him as he stooped and lifted the ladder from the ground. Her blood -suddenly seemed to rush to her brain, and then to trickle slowly back -through her veins as cold as ice. - -For she recognized him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -Like all persons of strong nature, Olivia Denison grew bolder as danger -came nearer. When she recognized the man in the garden, underneath the -corridor window, it did not occur to her to call for help; but all her -energies were instantly concentrated on learning the meaning of this -intrusion. She was sure that she had not been seen. As noiselessly as -she could she shut the window, and retreated into the private passage -which led to her own apartments. There she waited, peeping cautiously -out under cover of the black shadows of the corridor, into which the -faint moonlight could not penetrate. - -She heard the grinding sound made by the ladder as it was set against -the wall, and presently she saw a man’s head appear just above the -ledge outside. He raised his hand, gave three taps on the glass, and -disappeared. A minute later he mounted a step higher than before, and -tapped again. Then, with scarcely an instant’s more delay, he pushed up -the window slowly and noiselessly, and, as soon as it was wide enough, -put one leg over the sill and stood in the corridor. - -Olivia, brave as she was by nature, was transfixed with alarm. What did -he want with her? What shocking confession, what horrible entreaties, -had he come to make to her like this, in the middle of the night? If -she could have shrieked aloud, if she could have run out and alarmed -the household, she would have done so now. But horror had paralyzed -her. The voice she tried to use gave only a hoarse, almost inaudible -rattle. Her limbs were rigid; her breath came and went in gasps, like -that of a person dying of asthma. She could only stand and stare at -the advancing figure, hoping desperately that the first words he -uttered would break this spell, and restore her to herself. Why did he -choose the night time to come and make her the victim of his guilty -confidences? Were they too ghastly to make by day? That this man was -the murderer of Nellie Mitchell she could not now doubt; the demeanor -of his every-day life was utterly changed; there was guilt expressed -in every furtive movement. All her respect and liking were transformed -into loathing and fear; she almost crouched against the wall as he -approached. - -He reached the entrance to the corridor, and paused. If she could only -keep still enough for him to pass her! Then she could escape into the -main building of the house, and have time to think what she should do. -But he stopped short, and stretched out his hand to knock at the door. -In the darkness he could not see that it was open. But how, Olivia -suddenly asked herself, did he know there was a door there at all? -Although he moved slowly, too, it was with the manner of a man who knew -his way about the place. Part of the truth flashed suddenly into her -mind: he had been there before. By this time he had discovered that -the door was open. Passing into the corridor, he shut the door, turned -the key, and put it in his pocket. As he did so he touched Olivia, -but did not appear to know it. Now thoroughly alarmed, she flew along -the passage into her bedroom, and was in time to lock the door before -she heard his footsteps in the outer apartment. There was no lock to -the door between the two rooms. No one was likely to hear her if she -shrieked at one of the windows. Before many minutes were over she felt -that she should have to face him. - -She flew across the bedroom floor to blow out the candle, thinking that -in the darkness she would have a better chance of escape. As she did -so she stumbled against a chair, which fell down with a loud noise. -A moment later there was a knock at the inner door. The girl’s heart -stood still. She remained motionless, and gave no answer. The knock was -repeated. Still she was silent. A third time came the knock, and then -a low, hoarse whisper, of one word only, startled her, and came as a -revelation-- - -“Nellie!” - -This was the manner in which, years ago, he had visited the girl -whose love had ended by wearying him so fatally. By what means he had -forgotten the intervening years she did not know, but Olivia recognized -at once that it was not she of whom he was in search. The knowledge -restored in a moment all her courage. If, as she supposed, fear of -discovery had turned his brain, his was a madness with which she felt -she could cope. After only one moment’s hesitation, she snatched up one -of the candles, and unlocking the door she had secured, passed through -the passage into the adjoining room. - -“Mr. Brander!” said she, in a voice which scarcely trembled. - -She had to repeat her words three or four times before he moved from -the other door. At last he turned very slowly, and Olivia, raising the -candle high, looked curiously, and not wholly without fear, into his -face. - -His eyes were closed; his breathing was heavy. He was asleep! - -There flashed through her mind the remembrance of what the Vicar of -Rishton had said about somnambulism, and the strange instances of -it which had occurred in his family. It was clear to her that the -excitement occasioned by Ned Mitchell’s obstinate determination had -preyed upon the mind of the murderer, and led him at last to perform in -sleep an action which had been an habitual one with him eleven years -before. - -In spite of the horror of this weird discovery, Olivia’s fears -disappeared at once. She thought she might, without waking him, -persuade him to go back as he had come. If he did wake, she knew he -would not hurt her. She began in a low, intentionally monotonous voice. - -“I think you had better go back to-night. It is getting very late; it -is almost daylight.” - -As before, she had to repeat her words before he grasped the sense of -them. - -Then he repeated in a whisper, and as if there were something soothing -in the sound of her voice-- - -“Go back. Yes, go back.” - -“I’ll give you a light. Come along,” she went on, coaxingly. - -And without a moment’s delay she led the way out into the passage. Much -to her relief, he followed, at the same slow, heavy pace. - -“Now,” she said, when they had reached the outer door, “give me the -key, please.” - -He felt in his pocket obediently, and produced the key, which she, -overjoyed, almost snatched from his hand. The noise she made in her -excitement, as she opened the door, seemed to disturb him, for he began -to move restlessly, like a person on the point of waking. Once in the -corridor, however, Olivia was bold; she passed her hands several times -slowly down his arms, murmuring in a low, soothing tone, injunctions to -him to get home quickly. This treatment succeeded perfectly. His manner -lost its momentary restlessness, and it was in the same stolid way as -he came that he got out on the ladder, descended, replaced the ladder -in the long grass, and climbed over the wall. - -Olivia watched his retreating figure as long as it was in sight, and -then, feeling sick and cold slunk back into her rooms, not forgetting -to lock the outer door of the passage safely behind her. Like most -women, however brave, when they have been through an exciting crisis, -she felt exhausted, limp, almost hysterical. She staggered as she -entered the bedroom, and it was with a reeling brain that she walked up -and down, up and down, unable to sleep, unable even to rest. She knew -the mystery now, and she felt that the knowledge was almost more than -she could bear. - -Next morning her appearance, when she came down late to breakfast, -was so much affected by the awful night she had passed that even the -children wondered what was the matter with her. Mr. Denison, believing -it to be the result of his avoidance of her the evening before, was cut -to the heart with remorse, while his wife, alarmed at the change in -the girl, altered her tone, and did her best to be kind to her. Olivia -could not eat. Her cheeks were almost livid; her great eyes seemed to -fill her face; the hand she held out to be shaken was cold, clammy, and -trembling. Her amiable little half sister, Beatrix, saw an opening for -a disagreeable remark, and made use of it. - -“Mr. Williams wouldn’t say you were pretty if he could see you now,” -said she. “Would he, mamma?” - -Like most children, she was quick enough to detect how inharmonious -were the relations between her mother and her step-sister. She was -surprised to find, however, that for once she received no sympathy from -the quarter whence she expected it. - -“Be quiet, Beatrix, and don’t be rude,” said Mrs. Denison, sharply, -with a glance at Olivia, on whom she thought that the reference to -the supposed cause of her distress would have some sudden and violent -effect. - -“Can’t you keep those children in better order, Susan?” asked Mr. -Denison, peevishly. “Their rudeness is getting quite intolerable.” - -However, Olivia scarcely heard this little discussion, and was in no -way moved by it. But when the talk turned to the proposed restoration -of St. Cuthbert’s and from that to the persons interested in it, she -grew suddenly very still, and sat looking down at her plate, listening -to each word with fear of what the next would be. - -“I wonder how the vicar likes to see his wife about so constantly with -another man, if it is his own brother,” said Mrs. Denison, who, in -spite of her experience as a governess, was one of those people who -think it doesn’t matter what subjects you discuss before children, -because “they don’t understand.” “I’m sure the last week or so I’ve -scarcely seen one without the other.” - -“Well, now, do you know, I thought it was awfully good-natured of her. -You know the stories that have been flying about lately. I’m sure I -don’t pretend to say whether there’s any truth in them or not; still -they have been flying about.” - -“And not without some ground, you may depend,” said Mrs. Denison, -tartly. - -While avoiding the subject which she supposed to be the cause of -Olivia’s present distress, her step-mother could not resist the -opportunity of giving that headstrong young lady a few gentle thrusts -on the subject of her “fancy for murderers.” Mr. Denison glanced from -his wife to his daughter, who by putting strong constraint on herself, -appeared not to notice what was being said. - -“Well, and as she must know the rights of the story, it seems to me all -the kinder in Mrs. Brander to take any notice of him now, when he’s -under a cloud, as it were.” - -Mrs. Denison uttered a little sound significant of doubt and scorn. - -“It is to be hoped that everybody else will put as kind an -interpretation upon her conduct,” she said, drily. “Only last Tuesday -I met them as I walked back from the Towers. They were sitting in that -little cart sort of thing Mrs. Brander drives--not at all the right -kind of turnout for a clergyman’s wife, in my opinion--and talking -together so--well, so confidentially--that they took no notice of me -whatever.” - -“Didn’t see you, of course,” said Mr. Denison, shortly. - -“It may have been that, certainly,” assented his wife, incredulously. -“Or it may be that they are not too much lost to shame to avoid the eye -of a lady whom they respect when they feel they are not behaving quite -correctly.” - -“Rubbish!” said Mr. Denison, shortly. - -It was so seldom that the so-called head of the house ventured so near -to an expression of adverse opinion that there was a short silence, -which his wife broke in a dangerously dignified manner. - -“Perhaps,” she began, with strong emphasis, “when the whole truth comes -to light concerning his relations with other ladies, my opinion on the -matter will not be considered ‘rubbish’ after all.” - -Reginald, with the delightful relish of an innocent child for -conversation not intended for his ears, had left off making patterns -on the tablecloth with the mustard spoon, in order to listen and watch -with his mouth open. He now broke in with a happy sense that he was -making mischief. - -“Oh, look, mamma, what a funny color Olivia’s face has gone!” cried he, -pointing to her with the mustard spoon. - -The girl got up and left the room. Her father, who could not bear to -see any one unhappy, was miserable at the thought that he himself was -partly the cause of his darling daughter’s grief. - -“Olivia, my dear child, come down--come here,” he called after her from -the hall as she fled upstairs. - -She never could resist any appeal from him, so she crept down again, -unwillingly enough. - -“Oh, that woman, that woman! Papa, I must go away, I can’t live with -her,” she whispered as she laid her head on his shoulder and received -his caress and incoherent attempts at comfort. - -“Well, dear, what can I do?” he whispered, apologetically, back. “You -see, you were such a little thing when your mother died, and I hate a -household without a woman in it, so that even--” - -“Even an objectionable woman is better than none,” suggested Olivia, -mischievously. - -“Oh, no, my dear, I didn’t say that,” whispered he, hurriedly. - -“No, papa, you don’t dare,” said Olivia, with a touch of her old -archness. “I really think that when a man with children marries a -second time, he ought to drown the first lot in mercy to them.” - -Poor Mr. Denison looked down at her ruefully. - -“My dear, I hope you didn’t mean that,” was all he ventured to say. - -“Yes, I did.” - -Here Mr. Denison perceived an opening for a suggestion which his wife, -of late, had been constantly urging him to make. Not being quite sure -how his daughter would take it, he hurried it out in a shamefaced -manner without looking at her. - -“Since you don’t get on very well together, I wonder you don’t take the -chance of getting a nice home of your own; you know you could if you -like.” - -“What; by wearing little Freddie Williams for ever on my watch chain?” -cried Olivia, turning off the suggestion as a joke to avoid paining her -father by expressing the disgust she felt. - -“Well, my child, you know I shouldn’t press upon you anything that -wouldn’t make you happy; but if you wait for a husband worthy of you, -you’ll die an old maid.” - -“And if you’ll go on living till you’re about a hundred and five to -keep me company, papa, I’ll be the oldest old maid in England with -pleasure,” said she, affectionately, as she kissed his cheek and ran -away upstairs. - -She had some work to do this morning; work for which she must drive -all thought of last night’s adventure out of her head. As soon as she -reached her own room she unlocked the drawer in which she kept her -trinkets, and spreading them out before her on the dressing-table, she -mentally passed them in review to decide which were the most likely -to be saleable. Not a bad collection for a young girl, they formed; -though Olivia, ignorant as she was about the value of jewellery, -thought how poor they looked from the point of view at which she was -now considering them. A pair of turquoise and pearl earrings and brooch -to match, a heavy gold bracelet, a set of garnets and pearls of quaint, -old-fashioned design, a handsome silver chatelaine watch, a quantity -of silver bangles, a few very modest-looking rings, a diamond arrow -brooch, and a massive gold necklet. Everything but the arrow, which had -been a present from her father on her eighteenth birthday, looked, in -a strictly commercial light, clumsy or out of date. The arrow must be -sacrificed, she told herself with a sigh; so must the gold necklet and -bracelet, which she rightly judged to be next in value. If she could -only sell these things, and get ten or twelve pounds for them, she -could pay off a fair instalment of her father’s debt to Fred Williams -immediately, and she must trust to luck and her own determination for -the rest. So she made a parcel of the trinkets she had chosen, and, -at the last moment, packed also the turquoise and pearl set; then, -dressing hastily, she slipped out of the house, and started at a rapid -pace on her way to Matherham. - -Before she reached the high road, however, she was met by Fred -Williams, who was sauntering about, pipe in mouth, at the point where -the roads met, on the chance of meeting her. He surveyed her with a -sidelong look of unwilling admiration. - -“Good-morning, Miss Denison,” he said, curtly, pulling off his cap in a -sort of grudging manner. “I suppose you have nothing fresh to say to me -this morning?” - -“Not at present, though I may have by-and-by,” said she, lightly. - -“Oh, well, er--do you know whether your father is likely to be about -this morning? I want to see him on business.” - -Olivia looked at him with great contempt from under her sweeping black -eyelashes. - -“He is about, of course; but I don’t think you need trouble yourself -to see him, for I have a message to you from him. It is this: the -first instalment of the money he owes you will be paid to-day, and the -remainder very shortly. And he is very sorry to have put you to any -inconvenience by accepting the loan.” - -With which speech, and a low bow, Olivia left Mr. Williams to the -enjoyment of his own society. - -Then on she sped towards Matherham, not by way of the wood and St. -Cuthbert’s, but by the shorter road that went past the Towers. A great -bare building it was, standing ostentatiously on very high ground, -with a spire here, a minaret there, and various irregular erections -springing up from the roof to make good its name. Olivia laughed to -herself, and wished the lady who might ultimately obtain the hand of -her mean-spirited admirer joy of her bargain. She was not unhappy; -the fearful nature of her discovery of the night before had shaken -her out of the depression from which she had lately been suffering. -She was excited, full of indignation and of energy: her head full of -wild surmises, of fears connected with the approaching crisis. As if -trying to keep pace with her fantastic thoughts, her feet seemed to fly -along the ground. The few persons she passed stared at or curtseyed to -her without any acknowledgment; she saw no one but the people in her -thoughts. - -Suddenly she was roused out of her wild reverie by hearing her own -name called in sharp tones. She looked down from the high pathway -alongside the hedge into the road, which at this point was some five -feet below. There she saw the vicarage pony carriage, containing Mrs. -Brander, who was driving, with Vernon sitting by her side. It was the -lady who had called to Olivia. Having pulled up the ponies to the side -of the road, she now beckoned to the girl in an impatient, imperious -manner, to come down. - -“Good-morning,” said Olivia, coldly, without attempting to leave the -pathway. Her cheeks had grown in an instant deadly white on seeing who -was the lady’s companion; but she did not glance at him. - -“I can’t stop this morning, Mrs. Brander: I’m in a great hurry,” she -said, in an unsteady voice, while her heart beat violently, and she -felt that if the interview lasted a minute longer she should not be -able to stand without support. - -“But I have something important to say to you--very important. I really -must beg you to give me a moment; and, if you like, I will drive you -into Matherham myself.” - -“No, thank you,” said Olivia, hastily. - -“One minute, then, I beg, Miss Denison.” - -The imperious lady’s voice had suddenly broken and become imploring. -Olivia, with downcast eyes, and feet that tottered under her, found a -convenient place for a descent into the road, and the next minute stood -by the pony carriage, on the side where Mrs. Brander was sitting. She -neither looked up nor spoke, but left the opening of the conversation -to the vicar’s wife, whose hands, as she held the reins, shook with a -nervousness altogether unusual with her. With strange diffidence, too, -Mrs. Brander hesitated before she spoke. - -“You are walking into Matherham?” she asked, at last. - -“Yes, Mrs. Brander.” - -“You are sure you won’t let me drive you in?” - -“Quite sure, thank you.” - -“Vernon, you know, would get down; he’d rather walk I’m certain.” - -Olivia’s face became suddenly crimson. - -“I couldn’t think of turning Mr. Brander out,” she said coldly. - -“I should be delighted,” murmured Vernon in a low tone. - -In spite of all her efforts to retain her self-command, Olivia shivered -at the sound of his voice. She felt, although she never once looked at -the face of either, that both the man and the woman were watching her -intently. They had some suspicion of the knowledge she had so strangely -obtained, she was sure. There was a pause, and then Mrs. Brander spoke -again. - -“You don’t look so well as usual this morning, Miss Denison,” she said, -not quite able to keep curiosity and anxiety out of her tone. “You are -quite pale. We miss your lovely roses.” - -“I have had a bad night,” said Olivia, shortly, and with a sudden -determination that it would be better to let them know all she had -discovered. - -The effort Mrs. Brander made to retain her usual calmness and coldness -was piteous to see. Her beautiful features quivered; her great black -eyes were dilated with apprehension. - -“A bad night?” she repeated, inquiringly. - -“Yes. I was frightened. A man got into my sitting-room.” - -Neither of her hearers made any but the faintest attempt to affect -astonishment. - -“It must have alarmed you horribly,” said Mrs. Brander with blanched -lips. “Did you call any one?” - -“No.” - -Over the face of the vicar’s wife came an expression of great relief. - -“Have you told any one?” - -“This is the first time I have mentioned it.” - -There was a pause. - -“Have you any idea--who--the man--was?” - -“I recognized him at once, before he got in at the window. He spoke to -me, but he did not know who I was. He was asleep.” - -“He spoke to you?” - -“Yes. He addressed me as ‘Nellie.’” - -Olivia had dropped her eyes, but she heard Mrs. Brander’s breath, -coming quickly, as if she was choking. The girl put her hand out -impulsively on the arm of the elder lady, and whispered, without -looking up-- - -“You made me tell you. And, after all, what does it matter? I think you -know.” - -She felt her hand seized with a convulsive pressure. - -“You will say nothing?” Then Mrs. Brander snatched her hand away. “No, -no; it is asking too much, of course. And perhaps, after all, it would -be of no use.” - -“At any rate, Mrs. Brander, nobody but you will ever hear the story -from me.” - -She ignored Vernon, as she had ignored him throughout the whole of the -interview. Mrs. Brander drew a labored sigh. - -“I trust you,” she said in a hoarse voice. “A woman can keep a secret -as well as a man, I know.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Olivia, simply. “Now you will let me go, will you not?” - -She was frank, honest; but she was not cordial; scarcely even kind. -When Mrs. Brander pressed her hand again, however, she returned the -pressure with a firm clasp. Then, still without a glance at Vernon, she -bowed and wished the vicar’s wife “good-morning,” and, turning, resumed -her walk towards Matherham. She had not gone many yards before she -quickened her pace still more, hearing footsteps she recognized behind, -and then beside her. - -It was Vernon Brander. - -For some time he walked on in silence by her side, not daring to -address her. At last he said, humbly, imploringly-- - -“Won’t you speak to me?” - -No answer. - -“Have you forgotten all you once said to me about friendship?” - -“No,” she answered in a frightened, constrained voice, still without -looking at him. - -“Remember, what you saw last night was no worse than what you already -believed.” - -“Yes it was!” panted Olivia. “It was worse; much worse--to see--to -hear. It was something I shall never forget. But don’t let us speak of -it.” - -“But is it to make this difference, that you will never speak to me -again?” - -“It is to make no difference; you heard me say so. You wish it; she -wishes it. I have promised.” - -“I take you at your word. If you had discovered nothing you would have -let me go into Matherham with you, and you would have told me the -object of your going. Will you now?” - -“Yes, if you like, Mr. Brander.” In spite of herself, her tone was more -formal than usual. “I am going to get some money to repay a loan from -that wretched little Fred Williams.” - -“To your father, of course. And I suppose,” he added, glancing at the -little parcel she carried in her hand, “you are going to sell some -trinkets of your own to do so.” - -“To help to do so,” answered Olivia, with a blush and a look of -surprise at his perspicacity. “The whole sum is much more than anything -of mine could fetch.” - -“Will you tell me how much?” - -“Thirty pounds!” - -“And will you, as a pledge of what you said--that you will forget -everything--do for me what I know you would not do for any other man?” - -“What is that?” - -“Let me lend you the money. I spend nothing. I have a considerable -sum saved, and it will do me a pleasure--such a pleasure!” he added, -earnestly, below his breath. “It would be a mark of confidence which -would prove to me, whatever I may have done wrong--and my conscience -is not too clear, I know, you know--prove to me that you have a little -compassion, a little kindness, for me still.” - -Without answering in words, Olivia, who was trembling violently, took -his hand, pressed it quickly for one moment in hers, and let it drop -hastily, as if she had been too bold. - -Then, without the exchange of a single word more, they walked through -the narrow, hilly streets of Matherham, which they had now reached, -until they came to the bank where Vernon kept an account. Olivia walked -on while he went into the building; in a very few minutes he overtook -her and put an envelope into her hand. She did not thank him; he did -not give her time. - -“I am very grateful,” he said simply: “I--I can’t say any more now. -Good-bye.” - -Olivia looked up and spoke with a sob in her voice. - -“Good-bye,” she said. - -Then they looked into each other’s eyes with the long, sad look of a -farewell, and she was not surprised at his next words. - -“I daresay,” he said in a hoarse voice, “that I shall be going away -from here before long; I daresay I shall have to--when the tower is -built,” he added in a whisper, looking down. “No, don’t say anything--I -couldn’t bear it.” - -But Olivia, though she tried, could utter no word. She wrung his hand -and looked straight into his face with an expression of passionate -sympathy and despair. Then, without another word, they parted. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -Olivia hurried back towards the farm with the little packet in her hand -which was to release her father from his hateful indebtedness to Fred -Williams. It was true it rendered her herself indebted to somebody -else; but, with a woman’s perversity, she preferred the greater evil -to the less. It was rather an awkward matter, however, to acquaint -her father with what she had done, especially as she found him in the -lowest depths of despondency. - -“Don’t speak to me, my dear; don’t speak to me,” was his greeting to -his daughter when she pounced upon him, with a light-hearted laugh, -from behind the hedge of one of his own cornfields. - -He was contemplating the ripening crop with a most rueful face. - -“Why not, papa? Perhaps I may have some good news for you.” - -“Good news! Oh, no,” he answered, dolefully, shaking his head. “It must -be for somebody else if you have any good news. So go away, or I may be -cross; and I don’t want to speak crossly to you, my darling.” - -There was not much fear of such a thing, evidently; for when she -persisted in coming to him, and giving him a hearty kiss, the wrinkles -in his forehead began immediately to clear away. - -“It’s all your fault, you minx,” said he, looking affectionately at the -girl’s bonny face. “You’ve turned the heads of all the lads about here, -and then it’s your poor old father that they ‘wreak their vengeance -on,’ as the melodramas say.” - -“Why, papa,” said the girl, blushing, “who’s been teasing you now? -Produce him, and let me whither him up with a glance.” - -“Well, the first thing I heard this morning is that the old brute, -John Oldshaw, has been making all sorts of mischief about me to Lord -Stannington’s agent--says I’m ruining the land, and all that; and it’s -all because he’s angry at poor Mat’s humble admiration for you, I know. -He says I’m not fit to be a farmer. Now what do you think of that?” - -The enormity of this allegation made Mr. Denison quite unable to -proceed. But Olivia shook her head and laughed. - -“I think, papa, that if all Mr. Oldshaw’s statements were as veracious -as that, he would be a much honester man than he is.” - -“Why, what do you mean, child?” - -“That, if the whole world had been thoroughly scoured to find the one -man most unsuitable for the occupation of farming, they could not have -done better than light on you.” - -“Olivia, I’m surprised at you!” said her father, assuming a tone of -great dignity, mingled with indignation. - -“Ah, you may well be surprised to find a girl with as much common -sense as a man,” retorted she, merrily. For since her return from -Matherham her spirits had risen in an extraordinary manner. “Now, papa, -look at John Oldshaw. He’s a perfect type of a successful farmer. And -he’s mean, and he’s vulgar, and he’s industrious, and he’s economical; -while you, pardon me, are none of those things. I don’t say that all -good farmers are like John Oldshaw, but I’m certain none of them are a -bit like you. And if he can persuade you that you’ll never do anything -at farming but lose your money, and catch cold looking at oats that -won’t ripen and turnips that won’t come up, he’ll do you a very great -service.” - -“But, my dear,” remonstrated her father, not quite certain whether -to be amused or offended by her wicked plain speaking, “you don’t -understand these things. Women never do, of course. It’s not their -province and we don’t expect it of them.” The poor old fellow’s tone -grew more confident when he got into these mild platitudes. “John -Oldshaw has always shown himself jealous of me: firstly, because I’m -a gentleman; and, secondly, because I conduct my farming on different -principles from his.” - -“Yes, papa,” said Olivia, demurely, “on very different principles. He -gets large crops and you get small ones. And John Oldshaw wants to turn -you out, and apply his principles to your land. And I wish you would -let him.” - -Mr. Denison sighed. He could not quite hide from himself that there -were grains of truth and good sense in his daughter’s suggestions. But -the secret admission made him impatient and irritable. - -“Of course,” he said turning upon her, “I’m not likely to get on here -or anywhere while my people insult the friends who would help me to -tide over the bad time.” - -“Do you mean that I’ve insulted Fred Williams, papa?” asked Olivia -who was too straightforward to allow the talk to be carried on by -innuendoes. - -“Well, and what if I do?” asked Mr. Denison, taken aback. For he was -one of those persons who would walk round about a fact for ever without -facing it. - -“Has the little reptile been worrying you about the money he lent you?” - -“Reptile!” echoed Mr. Denison, trying to evade the question. “That is -a strong word for a young lady to use, my dear. Not but what I have -been disappointed in that young fellow. He seemed such a generous, -open-hearted lad that I own he induced me to break my rule and allow -him to accommodate me in a little difficulty I was in--” - -“And are you out of the difficulty, papa?” - -“Well, my dear, I am, in a sense out of that one. But difficulties have -such a way of clinging together; where they’ve been once they come -again.” - -“And this wretched creature has been worrying you, then?” - -“Well, he spoke to me about you in such a way that I was mad with -myself for having allowed him to oblige me.” - -“I think I can free you from that obligation, papa,” said she, gently. -“Only you mustn’t ask where the money came from.” - -“What?” cried he in astonishment. “My dear child, you are dreaming. I -owe him thirty pounds.” - -“Look here.” - -She opened her little packet, and unfolded before him six five pound -notes. - -“But, Olivia, I can’t take these from you without knowing how you got -them,” said her father, trying to assume a rather severe paternal air. - -“It’s very simple; I went into Matherham, followed a rich-looking old -gentleman into a quiet street, knocked him down, and robbed him,” she -answered, laughing. “But you needn’t have any qualms of conscience -about the proceeds of the deed, for I’m going to hand them over to Fred -Williams myself, with a message from you--which I shall make up.” - -“But, Olivia, I really cannot permit--” - -“It’s too late now; the power of permission is denied you. But, -remember, when you next meet that miserable little goose, you can -hold up your head and snap your fingers at him, for there will be no -obligation between you any longer.” - -She nodded good-bye to him very brightly, checked his expostulations -with a kiss, and ran off over the fields in the direction of the Towers. - -For Olivia was feverishly anxious to pay off the debt, and she had -little doubt that she would find Fred lounging on his father’s lawn, -softening what brains he had by the help of some fluid or other, and -a strong cigar. She met him, however, before she reached the gate -of the Towers. He had just come from Matherham in a hansom, and was -quarrelling with the cabman about his fare; but when he caught sight -of Olivia he changed his tone, and threw the man a handful of silver -with an ostentatious air. Then he came up to her with a manner full -of exaggerated respect, and an expression of face in which the girl -instantly detected a good deal of malice. - -“Delighted to see you, Miss Denison; it isn’t often you do us the honor -of a visit up here. You wish to see my sister, I suppose.” - -“No, I came to see you, and I won’t detain you long. I am commissioned -by my father to bring you the money you so kindly lent him, and to say -how deeply obliged he is for the graceful generosity you have shown him -in this matter.” - -Fred Williams was annoyed, but he did not seem surprised. - -“Oh, all right,” he said, gruffly. “You needn’t sneer. Your guv’nor -was precious glad to take it at the time: that’s all I know. And you -haven’t got me on toast as you think, for I saw you pass here this -morning, and I followed you into Matherham, and I know what you did -there,” he added, triumphantly. - -“Nothing that I am ashamed of,” said the girl, quietly. - -“Oh, no, you’ve too much cheek to be ashamed of anything. You’ve paid -me back to-day, and I’ll pay you back to-morrow. For to-morrow the -workmen begin to dig in St. Cuthbert’s churchyard, and if they should -come across anything that’ll upset your friend’s apple-cart, remember -you had the chance to stop it. And perhaps you won’t feel so proud then -of having got clear of debt to me by running into debt with a murderer. -Yes, a murderer, Miss High-and-Mighty,” he continued, with a little -dance of delight on the garden path. “And if you don’t feel jolly well -ashamed of yourself and your friend by about this time next week, why, -I’m a polished gentleman, that I am!” - -“You couldn’t say anything stronger than that, Mr. Williams,” said -Olivia, ingenuously. “I suppose I shall have the pleasure of meeting -you to-morrow at St. Cuthbert’s. Good-morning.” - -And, quite unaffected by his threats, she bowed to him with great -ceremony, and tripped away down the road as if greatly pleased with her -interview. - -But Olivia was not at ease: she only appeared so because she was -excited to the pitch of recklessness. As the day drew on, and the time -for the commencement of the excavations at St. Cuthbert’s grew nearer, -she became restless, depressed, and so irritable that she had to pass -the time either out of doors or in her own rooms, to avoid the domestic -friction which she felt that to-day she could not bear. Next morning -she awoke with a deadening sense of being on the brink of some great -danger. At the breakfast table, at which she duly appeared to avoid -giving unnecessary alarm to her father, her looks again provoked much -comment, which she bore as patiently as she could, being particularly -anxious not to encourage a discussion which might lead to interference -with a project she had in view. She was so impatient to leave the house -that every trifling delay seemed to her to be part of a conspiracy to -keep her indoors. When her usual household duties were disposed of, -when Mrs. Denison’s request that she would make up a parcel for the -dyer’s had been complied with, she crept upstairs with a heart full -of anxiety, dressed, slipped out of the house, and sped away in the -direction of St. Cuthbert’s. - -For all her haste, she could not reach the churchyard much before -twelve o’clock, when the workingmen, their morning’s labor almost -over, were slackening their efforts in anticipation of the dinner -hour. Already their invasion had entirely changed the aspect of the -churchyard. Piles of scaffolding poles, ladders, and boards lay just -inside the walls. Planks placed across the broken gravestones, formed -bridges for the passage of wheelbarrows to and from the scene of -operations. This, Olivia saw, was the ground at the foot of the tower, -extending to the crypt, the entrance to which had been freed from the -stones and bricks which had blocked it up for so long. The men seemed -to be at work in all directions: some were erecting a scaffolding -against the old tower, the upper part of which was to be taken down; -some carting away stones and rubbish from the east end; some removing -that corner of the roof of the south aisle which, in a crumbling and -dangerous condition, still remained. But it was upon the corner where -the old crypt was that Olivia’s attention at once fixed. For here, -listening perfunctorily with one ear to old Mr. Williams, who had -a self-made man’s veneration for his own utterances, and keeping a -sharp lookout upon two workmen whose labors within the crypt he was -superintending, was Ned Mitchell. - -Nothing had happened so far, Olivia easily guessed; no discoveries had -been made; no alarm had been given. But to her fancy, there hung over -the whole place the hush of expectancy: the workmen scarcely spoke to -each other, the onlookers seemed to hold their breath. Another feature -of the scene was that these onlookers each seemed to have come by -stealth, and to wish to remain unnoticed by the rest. Olivia herself, -for instance, remained outside the churchyard wall, seeing only so much -of the operations as could be observed from the highest part of the -rough and broken ground. Then, lurking behind the hedge on the opposite -side of the lane, was the lame tramp, Abel Squires, who from this post -could see very little more than the scaffolding poles, but who had -remained there, nevertheless, since the moment, early that morning, -when the workmen from Sheffield first made their appearance. Vernon was -inside the church, keeping out of the way of everyone but the foreman, -to whom he was giving certain structural explanations, while Mrs. -Brander watched the proceedings from her pony carriage in the lane, -and Fred Williams from the church roof. A small crowd of the country -people, chiefly children and old pit women, filled up the spaces, and -made the isolation of the others less noticeable. Roaming about the -churchyard, in a somewhat impatient manner, was also a gentleman whom -Olivia did not immediately recognize as the doctor who had attended Ned -Mitchell in his illness. - -It was a sultry day; sunless and heavy. The smoke of the Sheffield -chimneys hung over the hills in a thick black cloud, and appeared, -Olivia thought, to be coming nearer and nearer. The air seemed to choke -instead of invigorate; the leaves of the trees hung parched and still. -The girl’s excitement had all evaporated; she waited there without -hope, without fear, in a dull state of expectancy, her clearest thought -being a faint wish that she might be able to get quietly home again -without having to speak to any one. Still she stood there, and watched -the workmen slowly putting on their coats, the doctor as he flitted -about the churchyard, without quite knowing whether she was asleep or -awake, whether the figures, moving silently about, were flesh-and-blood -creatures, or images seen in a dream. - -Suddenly a breath of air seemed to pass over every one, and the -stirring of a more active life was felt. It was a voice at the gate of -the churchyard which broke the hushed silence, and made every eye look -up, while the women and children curtseyed, and the workmen touched -their caps. The Vicar of Rishton, cheerful and smiling and bland, had -worked the change by his appearance alone. A certain listlessness, -which had begun to creep over watchers and workers at the end of an -eventless morning under a sullen sky, disappeared. There arose a hum of -talk; the workmen who had left off work hurried to their dinner cans; -the few who were still digging felt a spurt of fresh energy. It was -felt that the portly presence of the much-respected vicar gave _eclat_ -to the proceedings, and new interest to a monotonous occupation. Only -Ned Mitchell remained entirely unmoved. He gave the clergyman a glance -and a nod, and then turned again to the two men at work in the crypt. - -“Get on, you lazy devils!” he said, kicking a stone impatiently. “You -might be millionaires, both of you, not to think it worth while to work -harder for the chance of a ten-pound note.” - -“Why, we’ve turned the whole place out, master, and blest if there’s a -bloomin’ thing to be found there except earth and stones,” said one, in -a rather grumbling tone. - -“Hey, what?” asked Mr. Williams, in a surprised tone, “What’s that -they’re looking for, eh, Mitchell? Something lost? Something buried, -eh?” - -“Both lost and buried,” said Ned, briefly. “What do you think, parson?” - -And he turned quickly to the Reverend Meredith Brander, who had by -this time, after a triumphal progress between two lines of admiring -villagers, reached the group. - -“Well, the churchyard is the place for the lost and buried, certainly,” -replied the vicar, whose bright complexion and serene smile were a -charming thing to see after the anxious and gloomy faces the rest of -the assembly had been wearing. “But, as we know, a time will come when -we shall recover our lost ones,” he added, with gentle solemnity. - -“Some of us will recover ’em sooner than we bargain for, perhaps,” said -Ned, drily. - -The vicar did not answer; indeed he looked as if he did not understand. -He nodded pleasantly, and looked round, smiling on such members of -his family and of his congregation as were in sight. For a curious -thing had happened since his coming; all those before-mentioned -spectators, who had been watching as it were by stealth, now with one -accord drew near to the entrance of the crypt, and cast at the vicar -sidelong glances of deep interest. Thus Olivia, Mrs. Brander, Vernon, -the doctor, and Abel Squires found themselves, as if by preconcerted -arrangement, within a few feet of each other, and yet seemed to be -unaware of this fact. The vicar also seemed not to notice this, but Ned -Mitchell took in the curious situation with a keen glance, and read -the varied expressions of curiosity, anxiety, and despondency on the -several faces with cynical swiftness. - -The men in the crypt did not leave off work with the rest; on the -contrary, urged on by Ned Mitchell, whose tone grew sharper with every -order he gave, they used pickaxe and spade with renewed energy. - -“I don’t quite understand the necessity for all this delving in the -crypt,” said old Mr. Williams, at last, rather pompously. - -He was a man by habit too much occupied with himself to have troubled -his head about the stories and scandals of the neighborhood, and no -suggestion of any mystery connected with St. Cuthbert’s had ever -reached his ears. - -“You’ll see presently, perhaps,” answered Ned, who betrayed his -ever-increasing excitement only by the growing curtness of his tone. - -For he perceived, peering down into the gloom where the men were -working, that the digging and delving had suddenly ceased, and that, -in the remotest corner of the little crypt, both were kneeling down -examining the lower part of the wall. Then one of the men struck a -match, and a moment later his fellow workman came to the opening. - -“We’ve found something, sir!” said he, in a low voice. - -“Eh? What?” asked old Mr. Williams, who began to have an idea that he -was being made a fool of. - -There was a sort of a rustle and flutter among the bystanders; for -though all had not heard the workman’s words all knew that something -had happened. Ned Mitchell, who was now so much excited that he dared -not trust himself to speak, beckoned to the doctor. The latter, who was -on the alert, came up immediately. He was an active, brisk little man, -sparing of words. - -“I think we shall want you now, doctor, please,” said Ned, in a voice -which was getting hoarse and rasping. “What is it you have found, -mate?” he went on, turning to the workman. - -“It’s a body, we think, your honor--the body of a woman.” - -The vicar, on entering the churchyard, had locked the gate, to keep -out the swarm of unruly boys who always ooze out of the pores of the -earth when anything of an unusual nature is going on. So that few -people but those most interested in this discovery were present to -hear the announcement of it. These all pressed forward until they -stood--a silent, excited group--close to the crypt entrance. Mrs. -Brander, although she remained perfectly quiet, laid her hand, either -from sympathy or for support, on the arm of her brother-in-law. Vernon -himself looked if possible more pale and haggard than ever, but his -face wore its habitual expression when in repose, a look of grave -and somewhat cynical good humor. The only noticeable thing about his -demeanor was his careful avoidance of Olivia Denison; he would not -even meet her eyes. The girl herself was white to the lips and cold -from head to foot. Fred Williams, in a cheerful voice offered her the -support of his arm. - -“These are nasty scenes for a lady to be present at,” said he, with a -little compunction in his voice. “Won’t you let me take you away?” - -She shook her head, and signed for him to leave her, which he did -reluctantly and with some shame. In the meantime the gentlemen had -descended into the crypt, with the exception of Vernon, who was -detained by Mrs. Brander. By the light of a lantern and a torch, a -ghastly sight was soon disclosed to view. - -In the lower part of the wall of the crypt, in the corner nearest the -entrance, to which no daylight could ever pierce its way, was unearthed -between the bases of two of the pillars supporting the roof, the almost -fleshless skeleton of a woman, the damp rags of whose dress, still -recognizable, hung around the bones in shrunken folds. The flaring and -flickering of the lights on what had once been a beautiful face, on the -remains of the finery which every other girl in the village had once -envied, made an ever-changing, hideous picture, upon which the men all -gazed with feelings of pity, horror, and disgust. - -A savage exclamation burst from Ned’s lips. Old Mr. Williams was struck -dumb with horror; for to him the discovery was quite unforeseen. The -doctor bent over the skeleton, and taking a lantern into his own hand, -looked carefully at the horrible thing, touched it, removed part of -the ragged clothing, and muttered something the rest could not hear. -The Vicar of Rishton, accustomed to death in many forms, maintained -a demeanor of reverend gravity, tempered by amazement. As the doctor -stopped, however, he interposed with some haste, and, coming close -beside him, tried gently but firmly to thrust him aside. - -“There must be an inquiry into this, I suppose,” he said; “though, -for the sake of the unhappy man who committed this deed, and whom we -know to have repented long ago, I trust it may be made as quietly as -possible. In the meantime the remains must be laid decently in some -suitable place. I would suggest the church itself.” - -The doctor interrupted him brusquely. He, with the rest, had been -listening in dead silence to the clergyman’s words. - -“Where you like, vicar: but I must make an examination first. If I’m -not mistaken, I’ve seen something just now which will be a positive -means of identifying the murderer.” Still the vicar insisted, gently, -but with becoming determination. - -“I really think, in a matter touching the sanctity of the dead, that I, -as vicar, ought to have a voice.” - -“But you’re not the vicar of this church,” said the doctor, standing -his ground. “The Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s is your brother Vernon, -and if, as you seem to say, he has had anything to do with this -business----” - -There was a stir among the hearers, and old Mr. Williams burst out, -“What! What! Vernon Brander! Bless me! You don’t mean to say----” - -The vicar was protesting; Ned Mitchell was swearing and muttering; Fred -Williams, who had crept in during the last few minutes, was whistling -softly to himself, to keep off the horrors. - -Suddenly the doctor, who had again stooped over the skeleton, silenced -them all in imperious tones. - -“Stand back, gentlemen! In two moments I can satisfy your curiosity as -to who murdered this woman.” - -The vicar only attempted to resist this command; but the doctor, with a -skilful and most unceremonious thrust, forced him back into the rest of -the group; and the next moment the reverend arms were pinioned by Ned -Mitchell’s strong hands. - -“Keep back, can’t you?” hissed Ned, roughly into his ear; “murder will -out, you know! And people might say such ugly things if they thought -you wanted to hide the truth.” - -After this there was a sickening, death-like pause, while the doctor’s -hands moved rapidly about the horrible heap of human bones and tattered -finery. Then he sprang up, and made quickly for the light. The rest -followed, huddled together, panting, bewildered, like a flock of -frightened sheep. For the doctor’s face, old practitioner though he -was, was livid and tremulous with a great horror. Standing in the open -daylight they found him, looking at something he held half concealed in -his hand. Mrs. Brander, Vernon, and Olivia Denison stood a little way -off, watching him, but not daring to come near. He closed his hand as -the men gathered round him. - -“Gentlemen,” he began, gravely, in a very low voice, “there are -circumstances in this case so revolting that I think that no good can -come of making them public. But you shall judge. I have found, inside -the remains of that poor girl, a ring which, there can be no doubt, -was the property of the murderer. In spite of the decayed state of the -body, I can undertake to say that this ring was swallowed by the girl -just before her death. Here,” and he held up his closed hand, “is the -ring. Shall I show it you?” - -“No!” said the Vicar of Rishton, sharply. They all turned to look at -him. - -“Why not?” asked the doctor, quietly. - -Meredith Brander had recovered the composure which, indeed, he could -scarcely be said for a moment to have lost. - -“What good would it do?” he asked, gazing blandly in the doctor’s face. - -Doctor Harper returned his look with astonishment which became almost -admiration. - -“Well,” he answered, “it would show up the most remarkably perfect -specimen of a consummate humbug that I have ever had the honor of -meeting.” - -A curious thing had happened before this short colloquy was ended. -The rest of the group had gradually dispersed, and left the two men -alone together. As he uttered the last words, the doctor also turned -abruptly away, so that the vicar was left by himself. He did not -seem disconcerted, but walked, with a half smile on his face, in the -direction of the churchyard gate. His wife, whose handsome face was as -pale as that of a corpse, and whose limbs tottered under her, moved, -with faltering step, in the same direction. At the gate stood Abel -Squires, who stood back to allow the vicar to pass out first. But -Meredith Brander would not allow this. He turned to him with a kindly -nod. - -“Well, Abel,” said he, “I’m afraid this is a sad business for somebody.” - -“I’m afeard so too, sir,” replied Abel, with an immovable face. - -“We must hush it up. I’m sure you would not like any harm to come to my -brother.” - -“No fear o’ that, sir,” said Abel. “I could prevent that.” - -“Why, how so?” - -“Ah wur wi’ him all that evenin’. An’ if he hadn’t kept my tongue quiet -all these years hissen, truth would ha’ been aht long ago.” - -The vicar went through the gate without another word. But before he had -taken many steps in the lane outside, he felt an arm thrust through -his. It was his brother Vernon, who pressed his arm warmly two or three -times before he spoke. - -“Cheer up, old chap!” he whispered, huskily. “For Evelyn’s sake and the -children’s we can get it kept quiet still.” - -Then, for the first time, Meredith threatened to break down. He wrung -his brother’s hand with a force which made Vernon turn white, and when -he answered, it was with sobs in his voice. - -“I’m a scoundrel, Vernie,” he almost gasped. “But if you save me again, -on my soul I’ll be better to them than many an honest man.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Ned Mitchell, although he had let Meredith Brander off easily at -the moment of the discovery of the body, had no intention of letting -his sister’s murderer escape the just punishment of his crime. The -discovery of the vicar’s ring inside the poor girl’s remains had not -been altogether unexpected by Ned and by the doctor, whom he had taken -into his confidence. He had had the wit to connect the vicar’s loss -of his ring, which the girl must have stolen and secreted unnoticed -by him in the course of their last fatal interview, with the strange -threat Nellie Mitchell had uttered to Martha Lowndes. He had confided -his suspicions to the doctor, who had thus been on the alert to prevent -Meredith from touching the remains of the murdered girl before he -himself had examined them. - -After a few words of explanation to old Mr. Williams, and a little -substantial advice to the two workmen who had dug out the skeleton, Ned -marched off with Abel Squires in the direction of Rishton Vicarage. On -the way they passed Vernon Brander, who wished to stop Ned. But the -latter hurried on, and to all the entreaties he tried to utter, turned -a deaf ear. - -“If you’ve been fool enough to hold your tongue for ten years, and bear -the blame of somebody else’s crime, that’s nothing to do with me. You -may talk till you’re tired, but my sister’s murderer shall get what he -deserves.” - -And he walked on stubbornly with the tramp. - -When they reached the Vicarage, and asked to see the vicar, they were -shown into the drawing-room, and left waiting there for some minutes. -When the door opened, it was Mrs. Brander, instead of her husband, who -came in. - -“What, has he run away already?” asked Ned, in a hard, jeering tone. - -“No, my husband does not yet know you are here,” she answered, in a -very sad voice. “I knew you would come, and so I told the servant to -announce your arrival to me.” - -“What’s the good of that?” asked Ned, roughly. “You’ve done no harm, -and we’ve nothing to do with you, except that we’re going to set you -free from a rascal.” - -Abel Squires had withdrawn to the farthest window, and tried to hide -himself behind the curtain. Rough fellow as he was, to hear a man speak -in a bullying tone to that beautiful, dignified lady was too much for -him. - -Mrs. Brander had never in her life before looked so handsome as she -looked now, standing erect before this coarse man, with a flush of deep -humiliation in her cheeks, and passionate entreaty softening her proud -eyes. - -“But, my children, my poor children: they have done less harm in the -world than your sister did, and if you hurt my husband you sacrifice -them. Think of that. You have children of your own. You don’t dote on -them passionately any more than I do on mine; therefore you can enter -into my feelings. Is it fair, is it just, that they should suffer? -I don’t appeal for myself, for you don’t like me. But just think of -this: for ten years I have been a dutiful wife to this man, who was -unfaithful to me even in my fresh youth, when I was beautiful, so they -said, and loving, and devoted. Listen. I knew of the murder on the -night he committed it; for he came straight back with stained hands, -and a face I never shall forget. Do you not think that was something to -forgive? But I did it, and I implore you to do it too. I am not asking -you an impossible thing, for I have done it myself. And think under -what circumstances!” - -But Ned remained as hard as nails. - -“I suppose--no offence to you, madam--your motives were not entirely -unselfish; and even if they were, that’s no business of mine. If you -chose to put up with him, that was your lookout. I came back here to -punish my sister’s murderer, and I’m not going to be made a fool of by -a woman when the game’s in my own hands.” - -Ned spoke the more harshly, that he was really rather touched by -her beauty and her high spirit. There was something in her frank, -straightforward manner of pleading more to his taste than any amount of -tearful, hysterical incoherence would have been. But Mrs. Brander had -a most unexpected ally near at hand. Thumpety-thump came Abel Squires, -with his wooden leg, out of his hiding place. He did not look at the -lady, but going straight up to Ned, jerked his thumb over his shoulder -in the direction of where she was standing. - -“Hold hard, Mester Mitchell,” said he, without moving a muscle of his -dried-up face; “Ah didn’t bargain fur this when Ah coom here to-day. A -woman’s a woman. An’ t’ woman ye’re so soft abaht’s dead, but t’ woman -ye’re so hard on’s alive. Steady theer, Mester Mitchell, or Ah’ll hev -to swear Ah killed t’ lass mysen.” - -The poor woman broke down at these words from the rough tramp; she -turned away abruptly to hide the tears which sprang to her eyes. Ned, -who was hard, brusque, and determined, but not inhuman, moved uneasily -about the room. - -“Women have no business to interfere in these matters,” said he, -angrily. - -Mrs. Brander saw that there was hope. She moved nearer to him, clasping -her hands, not in supplication, but because they would twitch and -tremble, and so betray the anguish she was suffering. She tried to -speak, but couldn’t. But with one piteous look out of her proud eyes, -she turned away again. - -“Well,” said Ned, in very ill-tempered tones, “we’re wasting our time -here, Abel, and Mrs. Brander’s. So, please, madam, let us see your -husband, and have done with him.” - -But Mrs. Brander hastened to intercept him on his way to the door. - -“You will not be too hard,” she pleaded, in a breaking voice. “You are -not vindictive, I am sure.” - -“I beg your pardon, madam, that’s just what I am,” snarled Ned. “And if -I’m fool enough not to insist on the hanging he deserves, I’m not going -to let him off scot free, I can tell you.” - -“Of course not, of course not,” said she, in a tone of great relief. -“He has done wrong--great wrong; and he must suffer for it--we must -suffer for it. Only don’t expose him. Anything but that.” - -“Yes, anything but what he deserves, of course. Let us pass, madam, -please. He is in the library, I suppose?” - -“I suppose so,” she faltered. - -Ned turned round abruptly. - -“You suppose so! Well, if he’s given us the slip, and left you to bear -the brunt of it all, it’ll be the worse for him.” - -Mrs. Brander drew herself up in the old, proud way, and spoke with her -accustomed cold haughtiness in addressing a person she disliked. - -“You need not be afraid, Mr. Mitchell. I can stand by a criminal -husband: I would not by a cowardly one.” - -“Do you call it courageous, then, to kill a woman, and let another man -bear the blame for ten years?” asked Ned. - -Mrs. Brander did not answer. She led the way across the hall to the -study, and knocked. - -“Come in,” called out the vicar, in his usual voice. - -She opened the door, and signed to the two men to follow her in. Abel -would have slunk away, but Ned Mitchell kept a tight hold on his -arm. Both, however, kept in the background, near the door, while the -lady went up to her husband, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. He -leant back in his comfortable chair, pen still in hand. He had been -busy writing, and the table was covered with large sheets of MS. He -faced the two intruders with an air of mild annoyance, which would -have made an onlooker think that he was the injured person. Ned, with -astonishment, which he would not admit by word or look, examined the -bland, fair face, with its healthy complexion, frank blue eyes, broad -white forehead, and saw on it no trace of shame, guilt, or even of -anxiety. It was his wife’s face which bore all these signs. As she -stood, upright and daring, by her husband’s side, handsome, majestic, -and brave, Ned Mitchell felt that to deal with Meredith as he deserved, -while she remained there, was impossible. He half turned, as if anxious -to put off the interview. The vicar changed his position, wheeling his -chair round, so that he could face the two men. - -“Well,” he said, “you wish to speak to me, do you not?” - -His tone was mildly peremptory. - -“Yes, we do. But what we have to say we wish to say to you alone.” - -“Go, my dear,” said Meredith, turning kindly to his wife. - -She hesitated, and he pushed her gently away from him. Then she -stooped, kissed his forehead, and with an imploring, yet still -dignified, look into Ned’s reluctant eyes as she passed him, she slowly -left the room. - -“Now,” said Mitchell, in a louder, more assured tone, as if much -relieved, “we’ve got an account to settle with you.” - -“Well, sit down, and let us have it out.” - -Meredith was not in the least discomposed. He took up the pen he had -been using, wiped it carefully, and then crossing his legs and clasping -his hands over them, assumed the attitude in which he was accustomed to -give private advice or consolation to members of his flock. - -“I’m afraid we are interrupting you,” said Ned, ironically; so he -prepared to sit down, which Abel shyly refused to do. - -“Not at all. I was writing my sermon for next Sunday, but as I suppose -it lies with you whether I shall be allowed to preach it, I can’t -complain of your visit as an interruption.” - -“You take this business pretty coolly,” said Ned, losing patience. - -Meredith looked at him with a sudden flash of fire in his blue eyes, -a spark of the same fierce spirit which he had revealed to Ned on the -night when he conquered and controlled the bloodhounds at the cottage. - -“Do you suppose that I have kept my head for ten years to lose it now?” - -Ned was taken back. There was a pause before he said, in almost a -respectful voice-- - -“You admit everything, then.” - -“I admit everything you know, of course. This man here could prove -whatever I might deny. Besides, everybody knows that ring is mine; -I did not know until to-day how I lost it, as you may guess; else I -should have been prepared with some story.” - -Ned Mitchell, who had brought the ring with him and had just produced -it, thinking to confound the vicar, slipped it back into his pocket -with uncertain fingers. - -“And you are prepared for the consequences?” - -“As much prepared as a man ever is for a very unpleasant contingency.” - -“Even if the contingency is--what the law prescribes for discovered -murderers?” - -“You mean hanging?” - -Ned Mitchell nodded, and the vicar paused. - -“I won’t say that I am prepared for that; I can’t say that I ever -contemplated such a possibility seriously. It would be a terrible -precedent to hang a vicar. I should probably get off as of ‘unsound -mind,’ and be confined ‘during her Majesty’s pleasure.’” - -“And if they shouldn’t be so lenient?” - -“Then I should go through with it as well as a man may.” - -“And if I let you off the full penalty,” said Ned, wondering if it were -possible to disturb this stolid serenity, “what would you feel towards -me?” - -“Nothing,” answered the vicar, promptly. “You would do it, not for my -sake, but out of admiration for my wife, pity for my children, and -because my arrest would involve my brother’s, as an accessory after the -fact. He saw me immediately after the--the deed: the crime, in fact: -and he concurred, if he did not assist, in the concealment of the body, -as Abel here probably knows.” - -“Ay,” said Abel Squires, who was standing, awkwardly, as near the door -as possible. “Mester Vernon and me had walked nigh all t’ way from -Sheffield together, and we heerd cries o’ ‘Murder!’ An’ Mester Vernon -he left me, an’ he jumped o’er t’ wall into t’ churchyard, an’ when -he coom back he looked skeered loike, and his reight hond wur stained -red, as if he’d held another hond that wur redder still. An’ somehow Ah -guessed whose hond it wur as he’d been holdin’.” - -Abel, after delivering this speech in a mumbling, shamefaced manner, -ended abruptly, and looked at the door, as if he felt that his -unpleasant mission was over. The vicar listened with interest, and -nodded assent to the latter portion of the tramp’s words. Ned Mitchell -continued to gaze at Meredith like a bear baulked of his prey. - -“I don’t believe you’ve even felt much remorse all these years,” he -said, savagely. - -The vicar faced him frankly. - -“To tell the truth, I haven’t,” he said. “That’s not in my -temperament. I suppose this sounds especially remarkable because I -am a clergyman. But my profession was forced upon me; I had to put -an unnatural curb upon myself, and succeeded in attaining a pitch of -outward decorum such as none of my family had ever reached before. But -the strain was too great, for I am not by temperament virtuous; none of -my family are. Vernon has an accident, and not his nature, to thank for -his superiority. That is all I have to say.” - -The vicar leaned back in his chair, as if weary of the discussion. - -“Then you don’t seem to have any conscience,” said Ned, regarding him -in bewilderment. - -“Not much, I suppose,” answered the vicar; “though indeed lately -I have had troubled nights, and shown the family tendency towards -somnambulism; so my wife tells me. And in rather an unfortunate way,” -he added, with a half smile. - -As the vicar finished speaking, Ned came forward with his ponderous -tread, laid his hand heavily on the writing-table, and looked down -at the clergyman’s bland face with the air of a strong man who has -definitely made up his mind. - -“Now then, parson, I’ll tell you what you’ll have to do. You take that -pen that you’ve just been writing your precious sermons with, and you -write a detailed confession of your intrigue with my sister, your -visits to her at night, your correspondence with her, the way in which -you murdered her, and the way in which you disposed of her body. Then -sign your name and put the date in full, and me and Abel here will -oblige you by putting our signatures as witnesses.” - -“And if I do this, what follows?” asked the vicar, taking up the pen -and examining the nib. - -“Then you get my permission to leave this country for any other you -choose with your wife and children. And as long as you keep away, this -paper will never go out of my possession.” - -“And if I don’t do this?” - -“What’s the good of going into that?” - -The eyes of the two men met, and they understood each other. Without -wasting more words, Meredith turned to the table, invited Ned with -a gesture to sit down, and proceeded to draw up the prescribed -confession. This he did fully and frankly, adding at the end certain -graceful expressions of contrition which Ned, reading the document -over carefully, took for what they were worth. The main body of the -composition satisfied him, however; and after appending his own -signature to the confession as a witness, and insisting on Abel’s -adding his, he sealed up the paper with great solemnity. Then, -intimating to Meredith Brander that the sooner he carried out the -remaining part of the compact and left the country, the better it -would be for him, he left the room with the curtest of farewells, and -hastened out of the house to avoid what he called “another scene with -the woman.” - -Once outside he looked back at the vicarage with great interest. - -“If one had to be a rascal,” said he, with some irrepressible -admiration, “that’s the sort of rascal one would choose to be.” - -Then Abel Squires left him and hobbled off, and Ned was left to his -pipe and his reflections, both which he chose to enjoy, not at his -garden gate as usual, but at the bottom of the hill, outside Rishton -Hall farmyard. - -Before he had been there more than a few minutes, the event he was -prepared for took place. Olivia Denison, pale, excited, tearful, yet -radiant, came to the gate, looking out anxiously. Seeing Ned, she ran -out to him with a cry. - -“Oh, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, almost in a whisper, “I must ask you to -forgive me. I had such unjust thoughts of you. I thought, until the -night before last, that you meant to ruin Vernon, in spite of your -promise.” - -“Um,” said Ned; “you hadn’t much faith in your lover, now, had you, to -think him capable of----” - -“Hush! never mind that. You see, I must have felt at the bottom of my -heart that he was really good. For I loved him all the time just the -same.” - -“That doesn’t follow at all. Women always go by contraries. The more -of a villain a man is, the more a woman likes him. Look at the vicar -here, and the way his wife sticks to him. And look at me, as honest a -fellow as ever lived, and what do you think my wife cares for me or my -affections? Not a single straw, I tell you.” - -“Well,” said Olivia, smiling, “considering the small amount of -affection you seem to waste on her, I think it’s just as well for her -happiness that she is not dying for love of you.” - -“Ah, you’re full of these new fangled notions about the equality of the -sexes. Now, I say, men and women are different. The man does all the -hard work, and even if he goes a little bit off the straight sometimes, -it’s no more than he has a right to, provided he fills the mouths at -home. The woman has nothing to do but look after the home and children, -and mend their clothes and her husband’s. And if she can’t find time -besides to be devoted to her husband, and to think him the finest -fellow on earth in return for what he does for her, why, she ain’t -worth her salt; that’s all. Now that’s my marriage code, Miss Denison, -though I can see by your face it isn’t yours.” - -“I really haven’t considered the subject much,” replied Olivia, -demurely, but with a bright blush. - -“You might do worse, though, than consider it, now that things have -shaped themselves a bit,” said Ned, in a dry tone. “Our dear friend -the vicar here is going to leave this country, in consideration of a -certain little matter being hushed up--” - -“Oh, I’m so glad!” interrupted Olivia, with a deep-drawn breath -of relief; “that is good of you, Mr. Mitchell. For it would have -been--dreadful--dreadful!” - -Ned was looking away over the cornfields, where his sharp eyes detected -a figure he recognized, wandering about in an aimless manner. - -“I think you’d better take a walk out into the meadows there,” he said, -after a minute’s pause, turning again to the young lady, with a kindly -look on his hard face. “It will do you good after all the excitement -and botherment of this morning.” - -Olivia blushed again. - -“Thank you,” she said, with a proud turn of her head. “I don’t care to -go out again this afternoon. The air is much too oppressive.” - -“Oh, all right,” said Ned with a dry nod; “then I musn’t keep you -out here talking in the ‘oppressive’ air, I suppose. Good-day, Miss -Denison.” - -“Good-bye,” she said, gently, holding out her hand, which he shook with -a firm pressure. - -Then he walked up the hill, talking to himself. - -“These old-country lasses are fine creatures,” he meditated. “There’s -Mrs. B., whom I didn’t care for, and Miss D. whom I did, and I’m blest -if they haven’t both got too good a spirit to be married at all. Yet -one wouldn’t care to see them old maids, either--nor yet men--nor -yet angels. These high-spirited ladies, who can think and act for -themselves, don’t seem to fit in somehow. One would feel they were kind -of too good for one. Give me a nice, comfortable lass, whom you needn’t -study any more than a potato. You know what to be at with one of them. -By-the-bye, now I suppose I must take ship and see how my own potato is -getting on.” - -Nevertheless, from the top of the hill he looked down rather -sentimentally in the direction of the old farm. As he did so, he caught -sight of a girl’s tall figure in the meadows. He laughed maliciously. - -“She’s gone to meet him. I thought she would. I’d have let off half a -dozen scoundrels to give that lass her heart’s desire; that I would!” - -And he watched her till a rising in the meadow ground, and a thick, -flowering hedge, hid her from sight. - -After a few minutes’ arguing with herself, Olivia, who guessed the -reason of Ned Mitchell’s suggestion of a walk in the fields, decided -that she ought without delay to let Vernon Brander know the result -of the interview between his brother and the colonist. So she darted -through the gate and across the road with the agility of a deer, in -spite of the oppressive air. So excited was she, so full of joy at the -turn affairs had taken, that she almost ran along the footpath, beside -the sweet-scented hedges, with an occasional little leap or bound -of most undignified happiness. Thus it happened that when she came -unexpectedly face to face with Vernon Brander on rounding a thicket of -bushes and small trees, she was springing into the air with her face -radiant with delight, and a soft song--something about “birds” and -“love”--upon her lips. Vernon, on his side, looked, if anything, even -more haggard and woebegone than usual. Both stopped short, and Olivia, -who had become on the instant very subdued, drew a deep breath of -confusion. - -“Mr. Brander,” she began, in a cool, almost cold, voice, “I--I--er, I -have just met Ned Mitchell, and I think you ought to know what he says.” - -“For Heaven’s sake, yes: tell me!” - -“He is going to hush it all up, on condition that your brother leaves -the country altogether.” - -Vernon drew a deep breath of relief, and almost reeled against the -fence which protected the thicket on one side. - -“Thank God!” he whispered. - -And he put one hand to his face as if to shut out the fearful picture -his imagination and his fears had been conjuring up. Olivia waited -impatiently as long as she could. At last when she could bear this -neglect no longer, she said, rather tartly-- - -“Mrs. Brander will have to go too.” - -“Of course, of course; she will go with her husband.” - -Vernon was still in a dazed state, not yet understanding what a great -change in his prospects of happiness the day’s events had made. - -“I think it was very silly of you to keep silence all these years -just to please her. It was she who made you, I suppose--came to -you, and wheedled you. Men are so easily coaxed,” continued Olivia, -disdainfully, with her head in the air. - -She had never been curt and dictatorial, like this, with him before. -Poor Vernon, quite unskilled in the wiles of her sex, was abashed and -bewildered. - -“Yes,” he admitted, humbly. “She came to me and begged me not to say -anything if people suspected me. And, you see, I had been so fond of -her, and she was in delicate health, and I had no wife or children to -be hurt by what people might think of me. And so I promised.” - -“And she made you promise not to marry, didn’t she?” - -“Well, yes. Poor thing, she had to do the best she could for her -husband and children; and, of course, she thought if I married, I -should let out the secret to my wife, and my wife would insist on -having things explained.” - -“I should think so,” said Olivia. - -“And now,” said Vernon, who was getting more and more downcast under -the influence of this surprising change in her, “I’m too old and too -sour to marry, and I think I shall go away with them, and have my -little Kitty to console me.” - -“Yes,” said Olivia, quietly, her voice losing suddenly all its buoyancy -as well as all its momentary sharpness; “I think that will be a very -good plan. You will let us know when you intend to start, won’t you, -for my father and mother owe you an apology first? Now, I must be -getting back. Good-evening.” - -Dull Vernon began at last to have a glimmer of insight into the girl’s -secret feelings. He shook hands with her, let her walk as far as the -very end of the field, noticing with admiration which had suddenly, -after the strain of the morning, again grown passionate, her springing -walk and graceful, erect carriage. Then he ran after her on the wings -of the wind, and placed himself, panting, with his back to the gate she -was approaching. - -“I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said, as he looked with sparkling eyes -into her face. “But you seem to forget I’ve lent you thirty pounds. I -shall want it back to pay my passage.” - -Olivia caught her breath, and her face, which was wet with tears, grew -happy again. - -“I’d forgotten all about it,” said she, in a tremulous voice, half -saucily, half demurely. “But anyhow, you can’t have it.” - -“And why not, Miss Denison?” asked Vernon, coming a step nearer. - -“Because I--I don’t want you to go away,” answered she. - -And she fell into his arms without further invitation, and gave him -a tender woman’s kiss, an earnest of the love and sympathy he had -hungered for these ten years! - -The true story of the murder at St. Cuthbert’s never became commonly -known. At the inquest which was opened on the remains found in the -crypt, nobody who had anything to tell told anything worth hearing. -But, then, nobody was very anxious to discover the truth, for rumors -too dreadful for investigation began to fly about; and nobody was -astonished when, the health of his children requiring a change to a -warmer climate, the Reverend Meredith Brander got, by the interest of -his uncle, Lord Stannington, an appointment at Malta, for which place -he started, with his wife and family, without delay. - -The vacant living of Rishton was given by Lord Stannington to his other -nephew, Vernon; and Olivia, though lamentably unlike the popular ideal -of a clergyman’s wife, became as much idolized by the poor of the -parish as her husband was already. - -John Oldshaw got Rishton Hall Farm; for Mr. Denison’s friends persuaded -him to give up farming while he had still something left to lose. But -the farmer did not long survive his coveted happiness. Dying in a fit -of apoplexy, he left his broad acres in the care of his son Mat, who, -instead of setting up as a country gentleman, as his sisters declared -he would do if he had any spirit, married little Lucy, made her a good -husband, and remained for ever, in common with his wife, the idolatrous -slave of her late mistress. - -“Theer bean’t more’n one woman in t’ world,” he would say, “too good -for Parson Brander. Boot theer be one, and thot’s his wife.” - -But though “Parson Brander” himself agreed with this, he was mistaken; -for, like every other good woman, she was the better, and the little -world around her was the better, for the fact that she was the noble -and true mate of a noble and true man. - - - THE END. - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -In this file, text in _italics_ is indicated by underscores. - -Printer’s errors were corrected where they could be clearly identified. -Otherwise, original spelling and punctuation were preserved wherever -possible. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: St. Cuthbert's tower</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Florence Warden</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 17, 2022 [eBook #68544]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: MWS, Thomas Frost 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.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST. CUTHBERT'S TOWER ***</div> - - - - - - - - - -<div class="bbox" style="max-width:45em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto"> -<p class="ph"><span class="p150">Lovell’s International Series</span><br /> -<span class="p120">OF</span><br /> -<span class="p130">MODERN NOVELS.</span></p> - -<hr class="r10" /> - - -<table class="autotable shrink"> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl nowrap">No. 1.</td> -<td>MISS EYON OF EYON COURT. By Katharine S. Macquoid.</td> -<td class="tdr nowrap">30 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 2.</td> -<td>HARTAS MATURIN. By H. F. Lester.</td> -<td class="tdr">50 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 3.</td> -<td>TALES OF TO-DAY. By George R. Sims, author of “Mary Jane’s Memoirs.”</td> -<td class="tdr">30 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 4.</td> -<td>ENGLISH LIFE SEEN THROUGH YANKEE EYES. By T. C. Crawford.</td> -<td class="tdr">50 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 5.</td> -<td>PENNY LANCASTER, FARMER. By Mrs. Bellamy, author of “Old Man Gilbert.”</td> -<td class="tdr">50 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 6.</td> -<td>UNDER FALSE PRETENCES. By Adeline Sergeant.</td> -<td class="tdr">50 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 7.</td> -<td>IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL. By Mary Linskill.</td> -<td class="tdr">30 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 8.</td> -<td>GUILDEROY. By Ouida.</td> -<td class="tdr">30 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 9.</td> -<td>ST. CUTHBERT’S TOWER. By Florence Warden.</td> -<td class="tdr">30 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl nowrap">No. 10.</td> -<td>ELIZABETH MORLEY. By Katharine S. Macquoid.</td> -<td class="tdr">30 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 11.</td> -<td>DIVORCE; OR FAITHFUL AND UNFAITHFUL. By Margaret Lee.</td> -<td class="tdr">50 Cents.</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">No. 12.</td> -<td>LONG ODDS. By Hawley Smart.</td> -<td class="tdr">30 Cents.</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<p class="center p1_5">Other books by well-known authors are in course of -preparation, and will be published at regular intervals.</p> - -<p class="center">⁂ <span class="italic">The above published in cloth; price per volume</span>, $1.00.</p> - - -<p class="center p1_5"> -<span class="p120">FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY,</span><br /> -<span class="smcap p110">142 and 144 Worth Street, New York</span>. -</p> -</div> - - - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> - - -<div class="b"> -<h1 class="break">St. Cuthbert’s Tower</h1> - -<p class="p4 center">BY</p> - -<p class="p120 center">FLORENCE WARDEN</p> - -<p class="center ml20 mr20"> -<span class="smcap">Author of “The House on the Marsh,” “Scheherazade,” -“A Witch of the Hills,” Etc., Etc.</span></p> - - -<hr class="r20 p4" /> - - -<p class="center p4"><span class="p105">NEW YORK</span><br /> -<span class="p110">FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY</span><br /> -<span class="smcap p105">142 and 144 Worth Street</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span> - -<p class="center break"><span class="p80"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1889,<br /> -BY</span><br /> -JOHN W. LOVELL. -</p> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - -<h2>Contents</h2> - -<table class="autotable shrink" style="width:15em"> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">3</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">9</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">16</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">23</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">30</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">37</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">44</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">51</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">57</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Chapter X.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">65</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Chapter XI.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">72</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Chapter XII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">80</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Chapter XIII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">89</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Chapter XIV.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">97</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Chapter XV.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">105</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Chapter XVI.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">113</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Chapter XVII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">122</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Chapter XVIII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">130</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Chapter XIX.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">139</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Chapter XX.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">148</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Chapter XXI.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">156</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">Chapter XXII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">165</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">Chapter XXIII.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">175</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">Chapter XXIV.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">184</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">Chapter XXV.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">193</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Chapter XXVI.</a></td> -<td class="tdr">201</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="full x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</h2> -</div> - - - -<p><span class="smcap">Rishton Hall Farm</span> was let at last. Lord Stannington had had -it on his hands a long time, and had offered it at a lower and ever -lower rent. It was an open secret that John Oldshaw, who had a -long lease of Lower Rishton Farm at the other end of the village, -had expected the Rishton Hall lease to drop into his hands at last -for a very trifling rent indeed. He was a careful man; the property -under his hands throve; and he was fond of saying that his lordship -would make a better bargain by letting him have the land at -£10 an acre than by letting another man have it at £15. However, -Lord Stannington had apparently thought otherwise; at any -rate, when a stranger appeared upon the scene and offered him a fair -rent for the land without any haggling, they came to terms without -delay, and John Oldshaw found that his hoped-for bargain had escaped -him.</p> - -<p>This West Riding farmer was not a nice person to deal with when -he was disappointed. He drove over to Sheffield to the agent’s office, -and stamped into that gentleman’s presence, his square, heavy face -purple with ill-suppressed rage.</p> - -<p>“Na then, Maister Garrett, be pleased to tell mah if yender’s true -as Ah hear, that Rishton Hall Farm’s let to a stranger?” he bellowed, -thumping the table with his broad fist, and glaring at the agent with -the unreasoning fierceness of an angry bull.</p> - -<p>Mr. Garrett was a slight, fair man of uncertain age, whose -light eyes were accustomed, by long practice, to read men pretty -accurately.</p> - -<p>“Quite true, Mr. Oldshaw,” he answered, civilly, with imperturbable -coolness. “It was let a fortnight ago; and the new tenant -comes in—let me see—” referring to his papers—“on the 16th; this -day week in fact.”</p> - -<p>“And dost tha’ knaw, Maister Garrett, that Ah’re had ma mahnd -set on Rishton Hall Farm for this twelvemonth and mair?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p> - -<p>“How could we know it, Mr. Oldshaw, since the farm’s been in -the market more than twice that time, and we have never had any -intimation from you of a wish for it?”</p> - -<p>“We Yarkshiremen doan’t do thing’s in a hurry. But every mon -in t’ village knawed Ah’d set ma heeart on t’ farm, and noo Ah’m to -be t’ laughin’-stock o’ a’ t’ feeals i’ t’ coontry, and Rishton Farm let -ower ma yead to a stranger as nawbody’s ever heeard on!”</p> - -<p>And the farmer gave an apoplectic snort of malignant anger.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but that is not the case, Mr. Oldshaw,” said the agent as -quietly as ever; “Mr. Denison, the gentleman who has taken the -farm, is a friend of friends of his lordship, and in every way a tenant -of the most desirable kind.”</p> - -<p>John Oldshaw calmed down suddenly, and into his small, bloodshot -blue eyes there came a satisfied twinkle.</p> - -<p>“A gentleman, ye say. A gentleman’s got the farm!” in a tone -of the deepest contempt. “Thank ye, Maister Garrett, Ah’m quite -satisfied. It’s not for me to grumble at his lordship, then. Ah can -pity him. The’ never was t’ gentleman barn could do any good at -farming, and if a gentleman barn’s got Rishton Hall Farm, all t’ ill -I wish his lordship is—may t’ gentleman barn stick to’s bargain.”</p> - -<p>And with these words, uttered in a tone of fierce triumph, the -farmer, who had not removed his hat on entering the office, turned -and stalked out with every appearance of enjoying, as he had intimated, -a complete revenge.</p> - -<p>The village of Rishton boasted two inns, both of the most unpretending -kind. The larger and more important of these was the -Chequers, a stone building of the simplest kind of architecture, to -which were attached numerous small outbuildings, forming three -sides of a quadrangle for Mr. Tew’s gig and Mrs. Tew’s hens. The -Chequers stood just outside the gate of Rishton Hall Farm, and its -windows commanded the approach from Matherham, the nearest -market town, which was three miles away. On the 16th of January, -the day of the expected arrival of the new tenant of Rishton Hall, -John Oldshaw took up his stand at one of the inn windows, watching -with malevolent eyes for the approach of his rival. It was a bitterly -cold day, grey overhead and black under foot; and the frost, which -had held for three days, was growing harder as the afternoon wore -on. John Oldshaw, with a sense of keen disappointment, had at -last to acquiesce in the general belief that the new tenant would not -come to-day.</p> - -<p>“If he’s coom as far as Matherham he’ll stop there t’ night, Maister -Oldshaw,” said Tew, the landlord, a small man, ruled by his wife. -“T’ ground’s too slaippery for e’er a horse to stand on, lettin’ alone -t’ road’s all hill and dale ’tween this and Matherham. Besides, t’ -awd house is as bare as a barn; he’d never coom till he’d sent some -stuff to put in it, and a coople o’ servants to set it to rights a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it ain’t ma way o’ doin’ things, to neame wan day for -coomin’ and then to coom another,” said Oldshaw, contemptuously. -“But, then, Ah’m naw gentleman, and my lord Stannington ’ll -mighty soon wish as he could say same o’ t’ new tenant, Maister -Tew.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Tew could not afford to have an independent opinion in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -presence of the great man of the village, with that miserable Cock -and Bottle, not five hundred yards away, gaping for first place as -the hostelry of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">elite</i>.</p> - -<p>“It’s ta mooch to expect to get another tenant like you, Maister -Oldshaw,” he said, discreetly.</p> - -<p>It was by this time nearly four o’clock, and the grey day was already -beginning to darken towards a black evening when Mat Oldshaw, -the farmer’s oldest son, who had been sent by his father to the -top of the hill on the look-out, re-entered the inn at a pace somewhat -faster than his usual shambling gait. He was a tall, round-shouldered -lad of about twenty, with fair hair and a weather-tanned face, -whose heavy dulness was for the moment lightened by a passing -gleam of great excitement.</p> - -<p>“Weel, Mat, hast seean a ghoost?” asked his father.</p> - -<p>“Naw, feyther; but there’s a cab coomin’ down t’ hill——”</p> - -<p>“So Maister Gentleman’s coom, has he?” shouted the farmer, -triumphantly; and he had seized his stout ash stick, and was -making with ponderous strides for the door, as if with the intention -of inflicting bodily chastisement on the insolent new comer, when -his son interposed, blushing a deep brick-red to the roots of his hair.</p> - -<p>“Eh, but feyther,” he stammered, turning the door handle uneasily, -and dividing his glances between the floor, the window, and -his father’s boorish face, “it’s na t’ gentleman; it’s nobbut twea -lasses.”</p> - -<p>After which admission, he fell to blushing more violently than before.</p> - -<p>“Twea lasses?” echoed Oldshaw, incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Hey, feyther. An’ wan o’ them’s got a feace lik’ a rose.”</p> - -<p>“Feace lik’ a rose?” thundered the farmer. “Doan’t thee daze -tha dull wits lookin’ at wenches’ faces, for Ah tell tha Ah’ll have na -son o’ mine hangin’ aboot t’ Hall noo.”</p> - -<p>“She bain’t na lass for t’ likes o’ mea, feyther; yon lass is a leady,” -said the lad, simply.</p> - -<p>If the stranger’s fair face had not, as his father suggested, dazed -his dull wits already, the young man would surely have had the tact -to restrain these rash words, which fanned the flame of his father’s -coarse malevolence.</p> - -<p>“A leady! A foine leady! ta foine for any son o’ mine? Ah tell -thee, feeal, t’ day’ll coom when tha foine leady’ll wish she wur good -enoo for t’ loikes o’ thee; and good enoo she shall never be—tha -heears?”</p> - -<p>Though the young man’s head was bent in a listening attitude, -and he assented in the meekest of gruff voices, the father guessed -that this deep attention was not all for his discourse, when the sound -of hoofs and wheels on the hard ground outside attracted him to the -outer door, which he reached in time to see a luggage-laden cab -slowly descend the hill and pass the inn door, giving time for a look -at the two young faces inside. Mistress and maid evidently; both -bright, eager, and rather anxious. The former met full the surly -stare of the farmer, and she drew back her head as if a blast of chilling -wind had met her on her approach to her new home. The little -maid, who had rosy cheeks and what one may call retrousse features,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> -was less sensitive, and she looked out to resent this cold unwelcome -with a contemptuous toss of the head.</p> - -<p>“They’re reg’lar savages in these parts, Miss Olivia,” she said, in a -slightly raised tone. “I only hope we may be uneaten by the time -the master comes!”</p> - -<p>The cab had passed the front of the inn, and was rounding the -sharp turn which led up a slight ascent through the open farmyard -gate, when suddenly, without any warning except a few rough jolts -over the uneven ground, it turned over on its side, to the accompaniment -of shrill screams from one female throat, and a less loud but -more plaintive cry from the other. Mat Oldshaw, who was standing -on the inn doorstep behind his father, made a spring forward to help -them. But the elder man, with a movement quicker than one would -have expected from his clumsy form and ponderous gait, grasped his -arm with a violence which made the lad reel, and giving him a -push back against the wall of the house, said, in a low, thick -voice—</p> - -<p>“Doan’t thoo meddle with what darn’t concern thee. Wheer -there’s so mooch cry, there ain’t mooch hurt, tak’ ma word -for’t.”</p> - -<p>“Feyther!” said Mat, indignantly, entreatingly. Then he was -dumb, for even through his not over-bright brains came a suspicion -that this accident was perhaps not wholly unexpected by one of its -witnesses.</p> - -<p>As this brief scene passed between father and son, a man in a short -frieze coat, knickerbockers, gaiters, and deer-stalker cap, who had -quickened his pace down the hill into a run on seeing the accident, -looked full into the faces of both men with a keen, shrewd expression -as he dashed by.</p> - -<p>“It’s parson Brander, o’ S’ Cuthbert’s, feyther. He heeard thee,” -said the young man in a husky, awed whisper.</p> - -<p>“An’ wha not? Ah’d loike to see sik as him say a word to me!” -said the farmer, in a loud voice of boastful contempt.</p> - -<p>And the attitudes respectively of father and son, the one of contemptuous -disgust, the other of awestruck respect, represented the -two views most commonly taken in the country-side of the Reverend -Vernon Brander, vicar of Saint Cuthbert’s.</p> - -<p>Before the last disdainful word was out of John Oldshaw’s mouth, -the new comer had opened the cab door, and extricated the two girls -from their unpleasant position. The maid was uppermost, but she -was a little creature, and had probably inflicted far less inconvenience -on her more massively built mistress than that young lady would -have inflicted on her had their positions been reversed. Her rosy -cheeks had lost their color, and from her forehead, which had been -cut by the broken glass of the carriage window, blood was trickling -down.</p> - -<p>In answer to the gentleman’s inquiries as to whether she was hurt, -she said in a trembling voice that she didn’t know yet, and begged -him to get her mistress out. This he at once proceeded to do, and -was rewarded by the thanks of a young lady whom he at once decided -to be one of the handsomest girls that this or any other country ever -produced.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> - -<p>Olivia Denison was indeed an unchallenged beauty, and had -occupied that proud position almost ever since, twenty years ago, -she had been pronounced to be “a lovely baby.” She was tall—of -that cruel height which forces short admirers, on pain of looking -ridiculous, to keep their distance; of figure rather massive than -slender, with a fair skin, a fresh color, dark hair, blue eyes, and a -winning expression of energy and honesty which gave to the whole -face its greatest charm. For the moment, however, the rose color -had left her cheeks, too, and her lips were drawn tightly together.</p> - -<p>“You are hurt, I am afraid,” said the stranger, with concern.</p> - -<p>“I’ve only—pinched—my finger,” she answered, trying to laugh.</p> - -<p>But the effort of speaking brought the tears to her eyes, much to -her indignation. For she was brave, and she liked to have the -credit of it.</p> - -<p>“Let me see,” said he, with kindly authority.</p> - -<p>She presented her right hand, from which he drew the glove very -gently, disclosing bruised and slightly discolored finger tips.</p> - -<p>“They do hurt a little, but it’s nothing very dreadful. I don’t -know how I did it,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Lucky it’s no worse,” said the stranger, kindly. “Now for the -lad.”</p> - -<p>The young driver was looking ruefully at the overturned vehicle. -He proved to have escaped with no worse damage than a battered -hat. Lucy, the maid, who had ascertained that her head was still -on her shoulders, had bound up her cut forehead with her handkerchief, -and was scolding the driver for his carelessness as she pointed -to the scattered luggage. The traces having broken as the cab fell, -the horse had sustained very little hurt, so that, on the whole, the -accident had been without tragic consequences. The rescuer took -hold of the girl, and shook her by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Now, don’t you think, considering all things, you might find -some better use for your tongue than scolding. You might have -been upset a mile away on the road, instead of which you are turned -out comfortably at your own door. For, I suppose, you are coming -to the Hall?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Lucy, abashed, but still rather mutinous, -not having the least idea that she was speaking to a clergyman.</p> - -<p>“So that the real sufferer by this spill is neither you nor your -mistress, but the poor lad who has driven you safely more than three -miles over a very dangerously slippery road, and who will perhaps -get discharged by his master for having injured the cab. Your -mistress does not scold you for half an hour if you break a plate.”</p> - -<p>“Yes she does, sir,” fired up Lucy, so unexpectedly that Mr. -Brander involuntarily glanced with surprise at the young lady. -“Oh, not Miss Olivia,” added the little maid almost indignantly; -“it’s Mrs. Denison I mean.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, if you find the habit so unamiable in Mrs. Denison, -as I see you do, you should take the greatest care not to fall into it -yourself,” said the vicar, suppressing a smile.</p> - -<p>Then he turned again to the lady.</p> - -<p>“Is everything ready for your coming?” he asked, doubtfully.</p> - -<p>For he had passed the house that morning, and found it deserted, -mildewed, and shuttered-up as usual.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> - -<p>“No, nothing,” said the girl. “We’ve come on in advance to -prepare things for papa and mamma and the rest,” she added rather -tremulously.</p> - -<p>The frightful immensity of the undertaking perhaps struck her -now for the first time, as she stood, still shaking from the shock of -the accident, staring at the smokeless chimneys and shuttered windows -of the new home. Mr. Brander looked from one girl to the -other, very sorry for both, wondering what kind of idiots the parents -could be to send two inexperienced young lasses to grapple with all -the difficulties of installation.</p> - -<p>“And the furniture? I suppose that has come?” he suggested, -dubiously.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I hope so,” said the girl, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“I’ll ask at the inn here. If it has come they will have seen it -pass. And Mrs. Tew will give you both a cup of tea. You don’t -mind going into an inn, do you? It’s a very respectable place.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; of course we don’t,” said Miss Denison. “Indeed, it is -very, very kind of you to take so much trouble for us.”</p> - -<p>“Trouble! Nonsense. It’s a splendid excitement. As far as I -am concerned, I should like a pair of travellers overturned here once -a week.”</p> - -<p>He beckoned to Lucy, and led them the few steps back to the inn -door. John Oldshaw was still standing in a defiant attitude on the -doorstep, whence he had watched the proceedings with malicious interest. -His son was still peeping out, sheepish and ashamed, from -behind him.</p> - -<p>“Here, Mat, will you run round to Mrs. Wall’s—tell her that Miss -Denison has come, and ask for the key of the Hall?” said he. “And -then you might lend me a hand to take some of the lady’s trunks -into the house.”</p> - -<p>Mat’s face brightened and flushed.</p> - -<p>“All right, sir,” he said, and tried to push past his father.</p> - -<p>But the elder man blocked the doorway with his arms, and stood -like a rock.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” he said, obstinately; “Mat doesna’ stir at tha’ bidding. -Help the wenches thasel’; thoo’s used to ’t.”</p> - -<p>Olivia drew back; she was shocked, frightened, by the dogged -ferocity of the farmer’s face and by the sudden expression of some -strong feelings—whether anger or anguish she could not quite tell—which -for a moment convulsed the features of her unknown companion. -As for Oldshaw’s coarse words, the strong Yorkshire dialect -rendered them unintelligible to her. They, however, roused the -spirit of the phlegmatic Mat.</p> - -<p>“For shame, feyther!” cried he, in a voice which was a new terror -for the young lady whose champion he thus declared himself to -be. “Maister Brander, Ah’ll go loike a reace horse.”</p> - -<p>And ducking his long body under his father’s left arm with an unceremonious -roughness which shook that mighty man from his -dignity, he touched his cap to Olivia with oafish respect, and ran off -down the lane past the Hall barns with the best speed of his long legs.</p> - -<p>“We won’t go in there, thank you very much,” said Olivia, when -Mr. Brander had come back to the spot to which she had retreated. -“I could not pass that man; I would rather not go near him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> - -<p>“Will you wait here while I find out about the furniture, then?”</p> - -<p>“Please promise not to quarrel with that horrid man about his -rudeness to us. I can see he is one of those people who can’t help -being rude and horrid, just as some other people can’t help being -unselfish and kind,” said the girl, shyly, but with much warmth. -“Will you please promise?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said he, simply, looking into her face with a grave, -straightforward expression of interest and, as it seemed to her, of -gratitude which surprised and touched her.</p> - -<p>Then he turned without another word, almost as if afraid to say -another word, and going back rapidly to the inn, passed the farmer, -who sullenly made way for him, and disappeared into the house. -When he came back, his face was full of deep concern of a different -kind.</p> - -<p>“I bring bad news,” he said to the girls, who, mistress and maid, -were shrinking together in their desolation. “I am afraid your -furniture has not come, and—they say they haven’t a room to spare -in the inn for to-night. But if Mrs. Tew could see you and speak to -you herself——”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t stay in the house,” burst out Olivia, indignantly. -“If we can only get into the Hall, Lucy and I can manage very -well indeed.”</p> - -<p>“But the place is sure to be hideously damp, and there are no -carpets; in fact, there’s nothing,” said Mr. Brander, in dismay.</p> - -<p>“The resources of the feminine mind are infinite,” said Olivia, -who was again blinking behind her veil. “Here comes the old -woman who has the keys, I suppose. I shall get her to take us in -for a little while—at least, she’ll have a cottage and a fire somewhere -or other. And perhaps while we are waiting there the furniture -will come.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander looked at her with renewed compassion. He thought -this last a forlorn hope.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t come yet,” he said, encouragingly. -“Old Sarah Wall will do her best for you, I’m sure, and all -the better if she doesn’t see me talking to you. For you won’t hear -any good of me from her.”</p> - -<p>And before Olivia could detain him to pour out again the thanks -for his kindness with which her heart was overflowing, he had raised -his hat with a sudden cold withdrawal into himself, and turning with -the rapidity of the most accomplished athlete, disappeared along the -road which led through Lower Rishton, leaving her overwhelmed -with surprise at the abrupt change in his manner and with desolation -at this unexpectedly sudden loss of their only friend.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Old Sarah</span> Wall, the key-bearer, who now came ambling up at a -very slow pace, holding her hand to her side, and muttering feebly -as she moved, was a poor exchange, Olivia thought, for the masculine -friend who had ended his kindly services so abruptly. He had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> -not even waited, as he had intimated an intention of doing, to see the -luggage safely moved into the house. Mrs. Wall looked very cross -and not too clean. Scarcely deigning to glance at the strangers, -she muttered, “This way!” and then fell to groaning as she led the -way through the farmyard up to the house.</p> - -<p>Olivia paused to look despairingly at her scattered trunks, and to -give a kindly word of comfort to the unlucky cab driver, who was -still occupied in estimating the damage done to his vehicle, and his -chances of getting it back to Matherham that night. As she did so -she heard a footstep on the hard ground beside her, and found the -shamefaced and blushing Mat at her side.</p> - -<p>“Ah’ll get t’ luggage in seefe, never fear,” said he, in a voice so -gruff with excessive bashfulness that poor Olivia thought him -surly, and shrank back with a cold refusal of his services rising to -her lips.</p> - -<p>Mat thought she identified him with his father and so hastened to -offer a neat apology for that gentleman’s conduct.</p> - -<p>“Feyther’s a pig,” said he. “Boot he wunna harm ye! an’ Ah’ll -do what Ah can to mak’ oop for him being so rough.”</p> - -<p>And he shouldered one trunk and caught up another, and strode -along towards the house, whistling to himself with the defiant carelessness -of one who feels he has done a bold stroke. The lady and -her attendant followed, somewhat soothed by this little show of friendliness.</p> - -<p>Even in the midst of her feelings of desolation and disappointment, -in spite of the keen cold and of the forlorn, blind look which shuttered -and shut-up windows, broken chimney pots, and untrimmed ivy -gave to the house, Olivia could not look quite without admiration -and a youthful sense of delight in the picturesque at the old Hall. -The body of the house was a long, plain, two-storeyed building, with -a flagged roof and a curious wide, flat portico, supported by two -spindleshank wooden windows, beneath which three stone steps, -deeply hollowed out and worn by generations of feet, led to the front -door. At the west end a gabled wing, flag-roofed like the rest, -ran back from the body of the house; and at right angles to this -there jutted out westwards a second small wing of the same shape. -In these, the oldest portions of the house, traces of former architectural -beauties remained in stately Tudor chimneys and two mullioned -windows, round which the ivy clustered in huge bushes, long -left neglected and untrimmed. At this end of the building a little -garden ran underneath the walls, protected from the incursions of -intrusive cows by a wall which began towards the back of the house -by being very high and ended towards the front by being very low. -From the wall to the house the garden had been shut in by palings -and a little gate; but these were now much broken and decayed, -and afforded small protection to the yews and holly bushes, the little -leafless barberry tree and the shabby straggling evergreens, which -grew thickly against the weather-stained walls of the old house, -choking the broken panes of the lower windows as the ivy did those -of the upper ones. It was this western end that was visible from the -road, the view of the front being obscured by a long stone-built -barn, very old, and erected on foundations older still, about which -hung traditions of monkish days.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> - -<p>If she had seen it at any other time, Olivia would have been crazy -with delight at the thought of living in such a place; and even now, -cheerless as the immediate prospect was, it gave her a gleam of comfort -to reflect that, if she did have to pass the night without any bed -amongst the rats, the ancestors of those rats had scampered over the -place in the time of Queen Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>With some difficulty, Mrs. Wall turned the key in the rusty lock -and admitted them. It seemed that she had a grievance in the fact -that she had not known on what day they were to arrive. As a -matter of fact, she was one of those persons who are never prepared -for anything, but Olivia had had no means of learning her peculiarities, -and so she met the old woman’s complaints in a humble and -apologetic spirit which increased Mrs. Wall’s arrogance.</p> - -<p>The entrance hall was low-roofed and square; the walls were -covered with a cheap and commonplace paper, the wainscoting and -the banisters of the broad staircase were of painted wood. This -was the portion of the house which had suffered most during its decadence. -Olivia, examining everything with an eye keen to discover -the good points to be made the most of in her new home, found -that where the paint had worn off the staircase and wainscot dark oak -was revealed underneath, and she rashly uttered an exclamation of -horror at the vandalism of the farm’s late occupants.</p> - -<p>“The idea of spoiling beautiful dark oak with this horrid paint! -Why, the people who did it ought to be sent to penal servitude!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wall was scandalized.</p> - -<p>“T’ fowk ’as lived here last liked t’ place clean,” she said, severely. -“It’ll nivver look t’ same again as it did, wi’ a clean white antimacassar -stitched on to ivery cheer, an’ wax flowers under glass sheades -in a’ t’ parlor windows. An’ t’ parlor a’ways as neat as a new pin, -so ye wur afreaid a’most to coom into ’t. Ah, ye meen talk o’ yer -gentlefowk, but they’ll nivver mak’ it look t’ same again!”</p> - -<p>Olivia had opened the door to the right, and throwing wide the -shutters of one of the three large windows, revealed a long, low-ceilinged -room, used as the living room by the late farmer’s family, and -having at the further end a wide, high, old-fashioned fireplace, the -mouldings of which had been carefully covered with whitewash, -now smoked-begrimed and worn into dark streaks. The shutters -and the wainscoting, which in this room was breast high upon the -walls, had been treated in the same way. Olivia uttered a groan, -and turned to the door, afraid of uttering more offensive remarks. -Then they went upstairs, and opened the doors of a lot of little -meanly papered bedrooms which formed the upper storey of this part -of the house. Having allowed the new comers to examine these, -while she remained sniffing in the passage, Mrs. Wall shuttled hastily -back to the staircase.</p> - -<p>“Stop!” cried Olivia, as the old woman placed one downtrodden -shoe on the second step; “we haven’t seen the other part of the -house at all. Where does this lead to?”</p> - -<p>And she peered into a crooked passage which led into the first of -the two older wings.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wall paused with evident reluctance.</p> - -<p>“There’s nowt yonder but t’ worst o’ t’ bedrooms; ye’ve seen t’ -best,” she grumbled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> - -<p>But Olivia was already exploring, followed by Lucy; and the old -woman, with much reluctance, brought up the rear. The passage -was quite dark, and very cold. The tallow dip which Mrs. Wall -carried gave only just enough light to enable the explorers to find -the handles of the doors on the left. One of these Olivia opened, not -without difficulty; for the floor was strewn with lumber of all sorts, -which the last occupier of the farm had not thought worth carrying -away. The walls of this room, which was very small, were panelled -right up to the low ceiling; and the panelling had been whitewashed. -A second chamber in this passage was in a similar condition, except -that the panelling had been torn down from two of the four walls, -and its place supplied by a layer of plaster. Holding up her skirts -very carefully, Olivia stepped across the dusty piles of broken boxes, -damaged fireirons, and odds and ends of torn carpet with which the -floor of this room also was covered, and looked through the dusty -panes of the little window.</p> - -<p>“Now you’ve seen a’,” said Mrs. Wall, rather querulously. “An’ -t’ lad downstairs ’ll be wanting to know wheer to put t’ things.”</p> - -<p>She was retreating with her candle, when Olivia stopped her again.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, eagerly, “we’ve not seen all. There’s a wing of -the house we have not been into at all; and I can see through the -little window, on this side of it, some curtains and a flower vase with -something still in it. It doesn’t look empty and deserted like the -rest. I must get in there before I go down.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Wall’s old face had wrinkled up with superstitious terror, -and it was only by force of muscle that the young girl succeeded in -cutting off her retreat.</p> - -<p>“Na’,” she said, her voice sinking to a croaking whisper. “I -canna tak’ ye in theer. An’—an’ t’ doors are locked, ye see,” she -added, eagerly, as Olivia, still grasping her conductress’ arm, in -vain tried the door at the end of the passage, and one on the left-hand -side, at right angles with it.</p> - -<p>“Well, but why are they locked?” asked the young girl, impatiently, -her rich-toned, youthful voice ringing sonorously through -the long-disused passage. “The whole place is ours now, and I -have a right to see into every corner of it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Olivia, perhaps we’d better go back—go downstairs—for -to-day,” suggested the little maid Lucy, rather timorously behind -her.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wall’s nervous tremors were beginning to infect the poor -girl, who was, moreover, very cold, and was longing for some tea. -But her young mistress had at least her fair share of an immovable -British obstinacy. Finding that both doors were firmly locked and -that there was no key to either forthcoming, she flung the whole -weight of her massive and muscular young body against the door on -the left, until the old wood cracked and the rusty nails rattled in the -disused hinges.</p> - -<p>“Mercy on us!” exclaimed Sarah Wall, petrified by the audacity -of the young amazon. “Shoo ’ll have t’ owd place aboot our ears!”</p> - -<p>“Take the candle, Lucy,” said Olivia, imperiously, perceiving -that the dip was flaring and wobbling in an ominous manner in the -old woman’s trembling fingers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> - -<p>Lucy obeyed, frightened but curious. Her mistress made two -more vigorous onslaughts upon the door; the first produced a great -creaking and straining; at the second the door gave way on its -upper hinge, so that the girl’s strong hands were able to force the -lock with ease. She turned to the guide in some triumph.</p> - -<p>“Now, Mrs. Wall, we’ll unearth your ghost, if there is one. At -any rate, we’ll get to the bottom of your mystery in five minutes.”</p> - -<p>But she did not. Pressing on to the end of a very narrow, unlighted -passage in which she now found herself, Olivia came to a -second door; this opened easily and admitted her into a large chamber, -the aspect of which, dimly seen by the fading light which came -through a small square window on her left, filled her brave young -spirit with a sudden sense of dreariness and desolation.</p> - -<p>For it was not empty and lumber-strewn, like the rest of the rooms -she had entered. The dark forms of cumbrous, old-fashioned furniture -were discernible in the dusk; the heavy hangings of a huge -four-post mahogany bedstead shook, as a rat, disturbed by the unwonted -intrusion, slid down the curtain and scurried across the floor. -As she stepped slowly forward on the carpet, which was damp to the -tread, and peered to the right and left in the gloom, Olivia could see -strange relics of the room’s last occupant; the withered remains of -what had been a bunch of flowers on a table in front of the little -window; an assortment of Christmas cards and valentines, all of -design now out of date, and all thickly covered with brown dust, -fastened with pins on to the wall on each side of the high mantle-piece; -even a book, a railway novel, with its yellow boards gnawed -by the rats, which she picked up rather timorously from the floor, -where, by this time, it seemed to have acquired a consecrated right -to lie.</p> - -<p>Still advancing very slowly, Olivia reached the opposite side of -the room, where her quick eyes had perceived the barred shutters of -a second and much larger window. With some difficulty she removed -the bar, which had grown stiff and rusty, and, drawing back -the heavy shutters, revealed the long, stone-mullioned window, -with diamond panes, which had been such a picturesque feature of -the house from the outside. The thick, untrained ivy obscured one -end of it, but enough light glimmered through the dirt-encrusted -panes for Olivia to be now quite sure of two things of which she felt -nearly sure before—namely, that this was the best bedroom in the -house, and that, for some mysterious reason, this chamber, instead -of being dismantled like the rest, had been allowed to remain for a -period of years almost as its last occupant had left it. Almost, but -not quite; for the bedding had been removed, the covers to the -dressing-table and the gigantic chest of drawers, and the white curtains -which had once hung before the shuttered window.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, a host of knicknacks remained to testify to the -sex, the approximate age, and the measure of refinement of the late -owner. More railway novels, all well-worn; flower vases of an inexpensive -kind; two hand mirrors, one broken; a dream book; a -bow of bright ribbon; a handsome cut-glass scent bottle; these -things, among others, were as suggestive as a photograph; while -the fact that this room alone had been studiously left in its original<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> -state, and even furnished in accordance with it, threw a new and -more favorable light on the taste of that mysteriously interesting -somebody whose individuality made itself felt across a lapse of years -to the wondering new comer.</p> - -<p>Olivia Denison was not by any means a fanciful girl. She had -been brought up by a step-mother—a mode of education little likely -to produce an unwholesome forcing of the sentimental tendencies. -She was besides too athletic and vigorously healthy to be prone to -superstitious or morbid imaginings. But as she stood straining her -eyes in the fading daylight to take in every detail of the mysterious -room, the panelling, which in this apartment alone was left its own -dark color, seemed to take strange moving patterns as she looked; -the musty, close air seemed to choke her; and faint creakings and -moanings, either in the ancient woodwork or the loose-hanging ivy -outside, grew in her listening ears to a murmur as of a voice trying -to speak, and miserably failing to make itself understood. She was -roused by a shrill cry, and found Lucy, whose fear for her mistress -had overcome her fear of this desolate room, shaking her by the -arm and pulling her towards the door.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Olivia, do come out—do come out! You’re going to -faint; I’m sure you are. It’s all this horrid room—this horrid house. -Oh, do come and write, and tell master it’s not a fit place for Christians -to come to, and he’d never prosper if he was to come here, and -nor wouldn’t none of us, I’m positive. Do come, Miss Olivia, there’s -a dear. It’s fit to choke one in here, what with the rats and the -damp, that it is. And if we was to stay here long enough we’d see -ghosts, I know.”</p> - -<p>Olivia laughed. No phantom had terrors for her, however strong -an impression half-guessed realities might make upon her youthful -imagination.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be afraid, Lucy,” she said, encouragingly. “We’ll soon -frighten the ghosts away by letting a little fresh air into these musty -rooms. Here, help me.”</p> - -<p>Half reassured by her resonant voice, the maid accompanied her -to the larger window, still clinging to her arm, but more for companionship -than with the idea of affording support to her mistress, -who had recovered her self-command. Together they succeeded in -throwing open both windows to their full extent, not, however, accomplishing -this without a shriek from Lucy as a great bird flew -out of the hanging ivy and almost flapped against their faces in his -confusion at this unusual disturbance. They both felt a sense of -relief as the keen but fresh outside air blew into the long-closed -room, dispersing the mouldy, musty smell of damp hangings and -decaying wood. Even the old woman, who had stood all this time -in the doorway, apparently engaged in muttering incantations over -her tallow dip, but really transfixed by this audacity of young blood, -drew a long breath as the rush of fresh air reached her, and gathered -courage to ask “what they were after doin’ now?”</p> - -<p>“Were ‘after’ ransacking every corner of this old ghost run, -turning it upside down and inside out, and chasing away the last -shadow of a bogey,” answered Olivia, cheerily. “Here’s another -room to look into.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> - -<p>Crossing the room with a light step, she opened the door of the -second of the closed-up apartments. This chamber also had escaped -the dismantling of the rest of the house, but it contained very little -that would have been worth taking away. It was lighted by three -small windows, all much broken, and all hung with limp rags which -had once been muslin curtains, gaily tied up with blue ribbons, -which were now almost colorless with dust and damp. The floor was -covered with matting, which smelt like damp straw, and had evidently -afforded many a meal to the rats now scurrying behind the -woodwork, which in this room was much decayed and in far from -good repair. A plain deal table, from which the cover had been removed; -two limp wicker chairs with ragged cushions; an empty -birdcage; a fanciful wicker kennel for a lapdog; these were nearly -all that were left of the furniture. Olivia inspected everything with -eager but silent interest, and then turned suddenly to Sarah Wall, -who had again followed them as far as the door, preferring even the -eerie passage of the bedroom to solitude outside.</p> - -<p>“Who lived in these rooms last?” she asked.</p> - -<p>But the candle nearly fell from Mrs. Wall’s hand as, for all answer, -she withdrew into the desolation of the deserted bedroom rather than -face the eager questioner again.</p> - -<p>Olivia was not to be put off so easily. She followed precipitately, -and, changing the form of her attack, said—</p> - -<p>“How long is it since these rooms were shut up, Mrs. Wall?”</p> - -<p>The guide’s eyes shifted about, refusing to meet those of the young -girl.</p> - -<p>“Twea year’; same as rest o’ t’ house,” she answered, in a grumbling -tone.</p> - -<p>“Only two years! It wasn’t shut up long before the family went -away, then?” said Olivia, incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Not as Ah knaws on,” answered Sarah Wall.</p> - -<p>Miss Denison hated an untruth with the impetuous loathing of an -honest nature. She would have liked to shake this wretched old -woman, who would not be candid on a subject which could not be of -the slightest importance to her. Perhaps her companion got an -inkling of this inclination, for she turned and beat a hasty retreat -along the narrow passage which led from the bedroom to the body of -the house. Olivia did not at once follow her. With a curious reluctance, -whether reverence for a dead past whose relics she was -disturbing, or fear of some shock which its revelations might bring -her, she scarcely knew, the girl picked up one of the dust-begrimed -novels, and looked at the title page. But there was nothing written -on it. She opened three or four more of the novels with the same -result. By this time it was growing so dark that she had to hasten -her movements for fear that when at last a clue was found she might -be unable to distinguish the letters. Having in vain examined -every book upon the table, she continued to explore until she found, -on a small hanging bookshelf in an obscure corner of the room, a -little pile of devotional works—Bible, hymn book, Bogatsky’s -“Golden Treasury,” a tiny “Daily Portion,” and a prayer book. -This last was on the top of all. As Olivia opened it, there fell to the -floor tiny dried scraps of flowers and fern. Turning to the flyleaf,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> -and carrying the book in haste to the window, she found these words, -written in a round, school-boy hand—</p> - -<p>“Ellen Mitchell, from her affectionate brother Ned.” And a date -of eighteen years back.</p> - -<p>Olivia replaced the prayer book on the shelf, and left the old room -without further delay, followed by Lucy, who had remained close at -hand, but discreetly silent, during these investigations.</p> - -<p>When they reached the outer end of the passage, Olivia glanced -with some curiosity at the old door she had so roughly broken down, -and as she did so, some letters written in pencil high on the upper -panel caught her eye. With difficulty she made out a date in July -ten years before.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” she thought, “whether that is the date on which the -rooms were locked up. If so, it was eight years before the last -people left the house, I know. And their name was Mitchell. Who -can I ask to tell me the story?”</p> - -<p>And, having forgotten cold, fatigue, and hunger in the interest of -her discoveries, Olivia Denison made her way slowly down to the -ground floor again, where she caught Mrs. Wall in the act of slipping -out of the front door.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> estimable Sarah Wall was, as she herself would have said, -“not in the best of tempers” at being intercepted in her proposed -flight.</p> - -<p>“Ah thowt ye’d got all ye wanted,” she grumbled, as Olivia Denison -followed her out on to the doorstep and asked her where she -was going. “Ah wur goin’ whoam to get a coop o’ tea, for Ah’m -fair clemmed.”</p> - -<p>“You thought we’d got all we wanted!” said Olivia, ironically. -“Why, we’ve got nothing at all—not even a chair to sit on. I think, -if you have tea going at your cottage, you might ask us to come and -have some.”</p> - -<p>“Hey, that ye might, Sally,” said a gruff voice, which Olivia had -now learnt to recognize as that of a friend.</p> - -<p>Turning, she saw Mat Oldshaw, his blushes, if he were still blushing, -invisible in the darkness, standing at the foot of the steps, -mounting guard over the luggage, which he had piled together.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried the girl, with a sudden change to melting gratitude, -“you haven’t been waiting out here in the cold all this time for us, -have you?”</p> - -<p>“Weel, miss,” said Mat, laughing uneasily, and shifting from -one heavy foot to the other, “t’ door was shut, an’ Ah couldn’t get -in.”</p> - -<p>And, to put an end to conversation, which was an art in which he -felt he did not shine, the young fellow seized the two smallest trunks -and carried them straight into the big farm living room, whistling a -lively tune as he did so. Olivia stood back quite silently while he -fetched in the rest of the luggage in the same way, and then stood -looking at it dubiously by the light of Mrs. Wall’s candle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> - -<p>“It bean’t naw good onfastenin’ t’ cords,” he said at last, “for they -won’t stay in here. An’ Ah dunno reightly what to be doin’ for ye -if yer goods bean’t coom.”</p> - -<p>He went back again to the front door and looked out. Not that he -could see anything of the road, for the huge barn opposite, completely -blocked the view from this point. But he was a good deal -affected by the predicament in which this beautiful lady and her -attendant found themselves, and he was shy of meeting the lady’s -eyes, being without means of comforting her. Suddenly a figure -darted out from the gloom under the barn walls, a strong hand was -laid upon the lad’s arm, and, willy-nilly, he was dragged down the -steps and heartily cuffed before he had recovered from his first -surprise.</p> - -<p>“Eh, feyther, what art doin’ now?” he asked, as soon as he had -recovered breath, having speedily recognized the touch of his parent’s -loving hand.</p> - -<p>“Eh, thou feaul, thoo teastrill; Ah’ve got tha! Ah know’d wheer -thoo’d got to. This cooms o’ followin’ fowk wha can’t keep off t’ -lasses. Coom whoam; coom tha whoam, and if ivver Ah catch tha -again a-slitherin’ about yon house, Ah’ll turn ye oot o’ ma house, and -oot o’ ma farm, as if ye wur nobbut a ploughboy, thet Ah will!”</p> - -<p>Mat wriggled and writhed till he got loose from his father’s grasp, -and slinking back a step or two, he called out, not loudly or defiantly, -but with the same rough kindliness which he had shown from the -first towards the friendly girls—</p> - -<p>“Now mind, Sally, thou maun mash t’ best coop o’ tea thoo can -for t’ leddies.”</p> - -<p>John Oldshaw turned round at these words, and addressed the old -woman in a thick and angry voice.</p> - -<p>“Sarah Wall, get back to tha whoam an’ tha own business. An’ -if thoo canna keep tha owd fingers oot o’ other fowks’ affairs, tha -needna coom oop oor way o’ Soondays for t’ broaken meat. So now -thoo knaws.”</p> - -<p>And, with a jerk of the head to his son to intimate that Mat could -go on in front and he would follow, the farmer stamped slowly and -heavily away down the yard.</p> - -<p>His coarse unkindness affected the three women differently. Little -Lucy began to whimper and to sob out indignant maledictions upon -“the ol-ol-old brute;” Mrs. Wall, after dropping half a dozen frightened -curtseys, manifested a great eagerness to go; Olivia drew herself -up and became very stern and grave.</p> - -<p>“You need not mind what that man says, Mrs. Wall,” she said, in -a firm quiet voice. “You may be very sure that any kindness you -do us will be amply repaid. And as for the broken meat he talks about, -if you will really lose that by letting us rest a little while in your -cottage and giving us a cup of tea, I can promise you a good dinner -every Sunday while my father lives here.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Wall was too far timorous and cautious a person to risk -the substantial reality of broken meat on Sundays from the great -man of the village for the flimsy vision of a good dinner from a total -stranger. She thrust her flickering tallow candle into Lucy’s hands, -and began to tie her wispy bonnet strings with a resolute air.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> - -<p>“I’ll leave t’ candle,” she said, as if making a great and generous -concession; “an’ that’s a’ I can do for ye. For I’ve nowt in my -place I could set afore a leddy; an’ as for tea, the bit fire I left will -be out by this time.”</p> - -<p>“But I can light your fire again for you, and boil your kettle in -two twos,” burst in Lucy. “And we’ve brought some tea with us.”</p> - -<p>Her young mistress put a light hand on her arm.</p> - -<p>“Never mind, Lucy,” she said, quietly. “If Mrs. Wall doesn’t -care for us to go to her cottage we will not trouble her.”</p> - -<p>As she spoke her eyes brightened, for at the end of the long barn -she descried in the dusk the figure of the gentleman who had come -to their aid that afternoon and then left them with such unaccountable -suddenness. Lucy saw him too, and being more demonstrative -than her mistress, she gave vent to her delight in words.</p> - -<p>“No, Mrs. Wall, ma’am; you needn’t go for to put yourself out, -for there’s better folks than you coming along, that are a deal more -obliging than ever you’d be, and that have some Christian kindness -in them, which is more than can be said for you. Ugh, you grumpy -old woman, you!”</p> - -<p>“Hush, Lucy,” said her mistress in gentle rebuke; “the gentleman -will hear you. And I don’t suppose he is coming here at all,” -she added, reluctantly, as the figure they had both so quickly recognized -disappeared again in the gloom.</p> - -<p>“What gentleman? What gentleman?” asked the old woman, -shrilly.</p> - -<p>“How should we know, when we’re strangers here?” retorted -Lucy, who, now, that her tongue was once loosened, was delighted to -have what she afterwards called “a go-in” at their disobliging guide. -“But he was a real gentleman; not like your pig-faced friend in the -corduroy trousers that you’re so mighty civil to; and he wears knickerbockers -and gaiters and a cap over his eyes, if that is anything you -can tell him by.”</p> - -<p>Apparently it was, for Sarah gave a step back in horror, and ejaculated -“Mercy on us!” two or three times, as if too much shocked for -further speech.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Olivia, rather sharply, remembering -the stranger’s warning that she would hear no good of him from -Sarah Wall, and curious to learn the reason. “If you know who -the gentleman is, tell me his name. And what do you know against -him?” she added, indiscreetly.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wall, though not brilliantly intelligent, had the splendid gift -of reticence where she thought that things might “go round.” She -only shook her head, therefore, and muttered something about getting -herself into trouble and desiring to be allowed to go home.</p> - -<p>“Well, just tell me first who he is, then, and you shall go at once,” -said Olivia, persuasively.</p> - -<p>The old woman, writhing nervously under the clasp of Miss Denison’s -hand, evidently cast about in her mind for a means of getting -free while committing herself as little as possible. The reluctant -words which at last came out were not very well chosen, however.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell ye this, then,” she croaked, in a broken whisper, peering -round with her sunken eyes as if to be sure the treasonable communication<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> -she was making was not overheard by the person concerned. -“Yon gentleman, as ye call him, is not fit company for -young ladies. And others have found it oot to their cost—so fowk -say,” she added, hastily. Then, as Olivia released her arm and -she tottered away over the hard ground, she looked back to add, in -a querulous and anxious tone, “But don’t ye tak’ it frae me, mind. -I nobbut told ye what I’ve heerd say.”</p> - -<p>Olivia turned back towards the open door of the dreary house, -feeling beyond measure miserable and disconsolate. The dimly seen -figure of her friend of the afternoon had disappeared; the disobliging -old woman who was at least a fellow-creature, was rapidly hobbling -out of sight; while the words which had just, with so much -difficulty, been forced out of her, seemed in the hag’s mouth to have -acquired the chilling significance of a curse. Lucy felt this too, for -coming closer to her mistress she half whispered—</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Olivia, if there was really such things as witches, I -should believe that old crone was one.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! Come inside, and let us see what’s to be done.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re not going in again—all by ourselves! Oh, miss, just -think of that upstairs room!” wailed the poor girl.</p> - -<p>“Now, look here, Lucy, you mustn’t be ridiculous. We’re in a -dreadful plight, and we’ve got to make the best of it. If you give -way to silly fancies instead of doing your best to help me, I shall -have to take you to that inn at the corner and leave you there while -I come back and shift for myself as best I can.”</p> - -<p>Lucy, who loved her young mistress, grew sober and good immediately.</p> - -<p>“You know I’ll do what I can, Miss Olivia,” she said, suppressing -a sob of alarm as a dull sound, apparently from the barn opposite, -reached their ears.</p> - -<p>Olivia listened. The sound was repeated.</p> - -<p>“It sounds like some person chopping wood,” she said, after a -moment’s pause. “I daresay, now the place is uninhabited, the -villagers take what liberties they like with it, and use the barns and -sheds to store their own wood and hay and things in. Now, come in, -and let us undo some of the trunks before the candle goes out.”</p> - -<p>With most reluctant feet, but without another word of remonstrance, -Lucy followed her young mistress. Olivia, with resolute -steps and a mouth set with an expression which said to the phantoms -of the old house, “Come on if you dare!” re-entered the hall, and -kneeling down before a trunk which had been placed there, attacked -the cord round it with inexpert but strong fingers. They had got it -open, and were congratulating themselves that in this, the first trunk -unpacked, were candles, tea, and a little spirit lamp, when, suddenly, -there fell upon their ears a noise which even to the brave spirited -Olivia was, in a lonely, empty house, undeniably alarming. It -came from the long living room where most of their luggage lay, -and was as of some heavy body falling with a crash on to the floor.</p> - -<p>Olivia sprang to her feet.</p> - -<p>“I opened one of the windows,” she said, “and forgot to shut it. -Some one has got in! No, don’t scream!”</p> - -<p>She clapped her hand on Lucy’s mouth and reduced the threatened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> -shriek to a moan; then, the noise having by this time ceased, she -turned, heedless of the maid’s whispered supplications, to the door of -the long room. The lock was stiff with rust and the handle difficult -to turn; so that, perhaps not much against her will, she left the intruder, -if intruder it was, time to escape. But there was no fresh -sound, and the young girl’s brave heart fluttered a little with the -fear that perhaps, on opening the door, she would come face to face -with a defiant marauder. At last the door opened. It was dark by -this time; through the opened shutters of the four windows came -only just enough light to show that the trunks, piled up on the bare -floor, had at least not been removed. The air blew in, very keen and -cold, through the one open window, which was at the other end of -the room, nearest to the fireplace.</p> - -<p>“Is anybody there?” asked Olivia, scarcely without a tremor.</p> - -<p>Her voice echoed without reply in the desolate department.</p> - -<p>She held up the candle and advanced slowly, examining every -gloomy corner. No one was there; no trace of any one having been -there until, as she reached the other end, her glance fell on some dark -object lying close under the open window. At this sight Lucy could -not suppress the long-stifled scream, and it was not until her mistress -pouncing down upon the mysterious thing, revealed the fact that -it was only a couple of logs and a bundle of sticks, neatly tied together -with a piece of string, that she found enough relief from terror -to burst into tears.</p> - -<p>“Who’s the benevolent burglar, I wonder,” cried Olivia, her spirits -rising instantly at the discovery of the little anonymous act of -kindness.</p> - -<p>She ran to the window and looked out. There was no one to be -seen; but on the window-ledge lay a box of cigar lights.</p> - -<p>“The mysterious stranger again!” she said to herself. Then -turning to the maid, said, “Now, Lucy, make a fire as fast as you -can. There are some newspapers with the rugs. Here are sticks -and logs and matches. We shall feel different creatures when we -are once warm.”</p> - -<p>She shut down the window and boiled some water with her little -spirit lamp; while Lucy, with cunning hands, made in the huge -rusty grate a fire which was soon roaring up the chimney, and pouring -its bright warm light on floor and wall and ceiling. The spirits -both of mistress and maid began to rise a little as they drew up one -of the smaller trunks to the fire, and made a frugal meal of biscuits -and milkless tea.</p> - -<p>“It is a horrid place, though, Miss Olivia,” said Lucy, who had -been chilled to the heart by Sarah Wall’s utterances, and did not feel -wholly sure that she herself had not been bewitched by that uncanny -person.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I suppose it might have been worse. They might have -thrown bricks at us,” said her mistress; “and remember that two -people have already been very kind to us.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps the young farmer-man only took to us just out of aggravation -because his father didn’t,” suggested Lucy, who was a -well-brought-up girl, and affected to take cynical views of young -men. “And as for the gentleman, why, the old woman as good as -said decent folk had better have nothing to do with him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> - -<p>“But you surely wouldn’t take that miserable old woman’s word -for it?”</p> - -<p>“No, but I’d take his own face, miss. I watched him when the -old farmer was going on so; and, my gracious! I never see such a -black look on any one’s face before. He seemed to grow all dark -and purple-looking, and his eyes were quite red-like. It was just -like as if he’d have knocked the other man down, miss, that it was.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t think I should have thought any the worse of him -if he had.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, miss, it’s an evil face. And I’m never deceived about faces. -I said, first time I saw her, that nursery-maid Mrs. Denison sent -away without a character was no good. And then that under-gardener——”</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t let your prejudices run away with you. Judge -people by their actions; not their looks. Now, I saw something -quite different in that gentleman’s face, and we can’t both be right. -It seemed to me that he looked like a man who had had a very hard -life and a great deal of trouble; as if he had done nothing but struggle, -struggle with—I don’t know exactly with what; poverty, perhaps, -or perhaps with a violent temper, or——”</p> - -<p>She stopped, and stared into the fire, having ceased to remember -that she was carrying on a conversation. Her wandering thoughts, -however, soon took a practical turn again. “The cabman!” she -cried, starting up tragically; “I never paid him.”</p> - -<p>She was instinctively turning towards the door, haunted by an -alarming sum in addition of innumerable hours at sixpence every -quarter of an hour, when Lucy’s voice, in tones of great shrewdness, -stopped her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Olivia,” she said, shaking her head knowingly; “he’s -gone away long ago. If this was a place where cabmen would wait -for their fares for two hours without so much as knocking at the -door, we might think ourselves in heaven, which the other people -shows us we’re not.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but who paid his fare, then?”</p> - -<p>Lucy began to look not only mysterious, but rather alarmed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Olivia, perhaps it’s a plot to get us into his power!”</p> - -<p>They had both come to the same conclusion as to the person who -paid the fare, but at this point their reflections branched off into -widely different channels.</p> - -<p>“You’re a little goose, Lucy, and you’ve been filling your head -with penny novels, I can see,” said she.</p> - -<p>But the obligation to a stranger, which she could scarcely doubt -she was under, troubled her.</p> - -<p>“It is very, very awkward to be thrown out like this in a strange -place with nobody to go to for help or advice,” she began; when -suddenly a light came into her face, and she sprang up and ran to -fetch her travelling bag. “I’d forgotten all about it!” she cried, as -she drew out a closed letter directed in an old-fashioned, pointed, -feminine hand to “Mrs. Brander, the Vicarage, Rishton.” “The -wife of one of the curates at Streatham knows the wife of the vicar -here, and gave me a letter of introduction to her. I will go and call -upon her at once. If she is the least nice she will help us, and tell us -how to treat with these savages.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> - -<p>Olivia was fastening her mantle, which she had not taken off, and -putting on her gloves. Lucy’s round face had grown very long.</p> - -<p>“And must I stay here, miss, all by myself?” she asked, dolefully.</p> - -<p>Olivia looked at her dubiously.</p> - -<p>“I would rather you stayed here, certainly, because, you see, the -furniture might come while we were away,” she said at last. “On -the other hand, if you are going to frighten yourself into a fit at the -scraping of every mouse——”</p> - -<p>Lucy drew herself up. She was not really a coward, and this -speech put her upon her mettle.</p> - -<p>“I’ll stay, Miss Olivia,” she said, resolutely; adding, in a milder -voice, “You won’t be very long, will you?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed I won’t,” answered her mistress, promptly. “I don’t -suppose it takes more than five minutes to go from one end of the -village to the other. We saw the church from the cab windows; it’s -on the top of the hill. I shall make for that; the Vicarage is sure -not to be far off.”</p> - -<p>Without more delay Olivia left the house, taking the way to the -right by which they had approached the house, in the hope of meeting -some one belonging to the inn who would direct her. She was -fortunate enough to come upon a diminutive villager, who, after -lengthy interrogation and apparent ignorance as to where “the -Vicarage” was, acknowledged to knowing “where the parson lived.”</p> - -<p>“Will you take me to the house if I give you twopence?”</p> - -<p>“Hey,” replied the small boy, promptly.</p> - -<p>He did not start, however, until he had taken an exhaustive survey -of her, either for identification in case she should try to elude him at -the other end of the journey, or to satisfy himself whether she was a -person likely to possess twopence.</p> - -<p>“Theer’s two ways,” he said, at last. “Short way over t’ brook, -an’ oop t’ steps and through t’ churchyard; long way by t’ road an’ -oop t’ hill.”</p> - -<p>“Go the short way, then.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Midgley, t’ carpenter, fell an’ broak his leg goin’ oop theer -this afternoon. An’ t’ churchyard geate’s cloased by now.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, we’ll go the other way, of course.”</p> - -<p>The boy trudged along up the road, which was a continuation of -that by which they had come to the farm, and made no attempt at -conversation except in answer to Olivia’s questions. She made out, -after much persevering pumping, that the vicar, Mr. Brander, was -much liked, and that his wife was only a little less popular. After -this there was a pause, which was broken by the boy, as they passed -between a plain stone building, standing back from the road on the -right, and a group of hay and straw stacks, sheds, and farm buildings -on the left.</p> - -<p>“That’s Mester Oldshaw’s farm,” said the boy.</p> - -<p>“Ugh!” ejaculated Olivia below her breath, hurrying on with -angrily averted eyes.</p> - -<p>The whole place, seen by the weak light of the rising moon, seemed -to her to display the repulsive hideousness of its master.</p> - -<p>After this the road wound to the left up the hill, and they passed a -few scattered cottages, one of which was the primitive village post -office.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> - -<p>“That be t’ parson’s house,” said the boy, as they came in sight -of an irregularly built stone house standing high, on the left-hand -side of the road, in a well-wooded garden.</p> - -<p>They had to go round this garden, and turn sharply to the left into -a private road at the top of the hill. This brought them face to face -with the gates of the little churchyard, while on the left was the -front door of the Vicarage, a pretty building in the Tudor style, which, -seen even in the faint moonlight, had a pleasant, welcoming air of -comfort, peace, and plenty. Olivia gave the boy his twopence, and -rang the bell with a hopeful heart. Everything seemed to promise -well for the success of her errand. A neat maid soon came to the -door, but to Olivia’s inquiry whether Mrs. Brander were at home -came the dispiriting answer that she was away. Miss Denison reflected -a moment.</p> - -<p>“Is Mr. Brander at home?” she then asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am, Mr. Vernon Brander is in. Will you see him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, if I can.”</p> - -<p>She followed the servant across the wide, well-formed hall, to a -door at which the maid knocked.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” said a voice, which seemed familiar to Olivia.</p> - -<p>“A lady wishes to see you, sir,” said the servant.</p> - -<p>“Show her in at once,” said the man’s voice.</p> - -<p>Olivia drew back instead of advancing, as the servant made way -for her to enter.</p> - -<p>“It is Mr. Brander, the clergyman, I wish to see,” said Olivia, -hurriedly, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, ma’am, it’s all right. Mr. Brander is a clergyman,” -answered the maid, reassuringly.</p> - -<p>Before another word could pass, Mr. Brander himself, hearing a -discussion, came to the door. Olivia looked at him in some confusion. -It was her unknown friend of the afternoon!</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Olivia’s</span> momentary embarrassment was at once removed by the -kindness of Mr. Brander’s greeting.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mr. Brander is a clergyman. I hope you have no prejudice -against the cloth,” he said, holding out his hand with a welcoming -smile. “It’s not a proper clerical garment, I confess,” he went on, -as Olivia’s glance fell instinctively upon the old shooting coat he now -wore; “but I flatter myself the collar saves it.”</p> - -<p>And he pointed to his orthodox round collar.</p> - -<p>“I am not sure of that,” said the young girl, smiling in answer. -“For instance, if I had known this afternoon that you were a clergyman, -I should have felt much more at ease about accepting your -very kind services.”</p> - -<p>“Should you? Well, then, you are at ease about it now. Come -in, and tell me if there is anything more I can do for you.”</p> - -<p>Olivia followed him into the most charmingly luxurious study she -had ever seen. Everything in it was comfortable and handsome, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -the best modern taste. The doors, mantelpiece, and panelling were -of carved light oak, the furniture of the same, upholstered in dark-green -morocco. There were <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portieres</i> and curtains of dark tapestry, -harmonizing with the carpet. The books, which filled four large and -handsome bookcases, looked to the connoisseur too dainty to be touched -by common fingers. Evidences of a woman’s presiding eye and -hand were there too, Olivia fancied, in a certain graceful draping of -the curtains, which seemed to her to betray neither the upholsterer nor -the housemaid; in a tall bouquet of dried bulrushes and corn which -stood in one corner; and in a small conservatory, full of dark palms -and ferns, into which one of the windows opened. Everything was -well chosen, everything harmonized with everything else, except the -shabbily dressed figure in the centre, with his lean, dark, worn face, -and hungry black eyes, and the tattered volume he held in his hand. -Mr. Brander read the thought that flashed through his guest’s mind, -and asked—</p> - -<p>“Now, what is your first impression of this room?”</p> - -<p>“It is very, very pretty,” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“Well, and what else?”</p> - -<p>“Some one else had more to do with the arrangement of it than -you.”</p> - -<p>Olivia had never before felt so perfectly at ease with a stranger—so -able to speak her passing thoughts out frankly and freely.</p> - -<p>“Right; quite right. And now let me hear what sort of a guess -you can make as to the person who had the arrangement of it.”</p> - -<p>“It was a lady. Perhaps a lady who has had some art-school training; -but one who can think for herself a little too. Not an every-day -sort of lady, and yet not eccentric. One whom you would like -to know, but whom you might be a little afraid of.”</p> - -<p>By the interest and pleasure with which Mr. Brander followed her -as she proceeded slowly and cautiously with her conjectures, Olivia -felt sure that she was describing his wife, and also that she was getting -near the truth. But then a look of pain came into his dark face, -which set her wondering whether they had had a severe quarrel, -whether there was some serious estrangement between them, or -whether the trouble from which he was evidently suffering was caused -merely by the absence of the woman of his heart. This singular -clergyman, with his unconventional dress and manners, his worn -face, and his great kindness, was so different from any of the stiff -curates and unctuous vicars she had ever met, that he and his surroundings -awoke in her the liveliest interest, even apart from the -mysterious warning of Sarah Wall, and the surly insolence shown -towards him by Farmer Oldshaw. After a short pause, he said—</p> - -<p>“Right in every particular. Now we will see if you can find the -lady.”</p> - -<p>On the mantelpiece was a collection of photographs, most of them -of more or less beautiful women, all handsomely framed. Mr. Brander -invited Olivia to come up and inspect them. With another slight -feeling of surprise, which she would have found it hard to account -for, she stepped on to the soft fur hearthrug and made a careful review -of the whole gallery. But here she was quite at a loss.</p> - -<p>“I must lose my character for divination,” she said at last, shaking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> -her head as she stepped back. “I don’t see any face that I could point -out with any certainty.”</p> - -<p>“Try.”</p> - -<p>She chose one. Mr. Brander shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Wrong,” he said. “You have disappointed me. What made -you choose that one? Give me the nearest approach you can to a -reason.”</p> - -<p>“It looks a good, kind, sensible face.”</p> - -<p>“It belongs to a good, kind, sensible woman—a Miss Williams—a -striking contrast to the rest of her family,” he added as a comment -to himself. “But she is not the lady who chose the fittings of this -room. What do you say to this one?”</p> - -<p>It was Olivia’s turn to be disappointed, and her face showed her -surprise. The photograph was that of a woman who was very handsome, -and there your reflections concerning her portrait ended. Mr. -Brander laughed.</p> - -<p>“Say what you think of it quite frankly. I shan’t be offended,” -he said.</p> - -<p>“It is a beautiful face,” she answered.</p> - -<p>“Well, what else?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing else,” said Olivia in desperation. “Mrs. Brander may -have every great quality that ever adorned a woman; but her face, -like nearly all very beautiful ones, I think, is just beautiful and nothing -else.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see any feeling, imagination, passion?”</p> - -<p>“No—o, indeed I can’t.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s all right, because she hasn’t any.”</p> - -<p>Olivia listened rather awkwardly, for Mr. Brander had unconsciously -let a little feeling, a little bitterness sound in the tones of his -own voice.</p> - -<p>“Do you see great common sense, shrewdness, and a splendid -faculty for perceiving where the greatest advantage lies to her and -hers?”</p> - -<p>His tone was still a little bitter, but it was good-humored and playful -also.</p> - -<p>“Oh no!” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, you should see those qualities, for they are all there.”</p> - -<p>“And may I know who this is?” asked Miss Denison, to turn the -conversation from a point where she had no more to say.</p> - -<p>She was looking at the companion frame to that which contained -the lady’s portrait. It held the picture of a strikingly handsome man, -not far off middle age, plump, good-humored, and prosperous-looking, -dressed in correct clerical costume, with a beautiful child seated on -his knee.</p> - -<p>“That is my brother.”</p> - -<p>“Your brother!”</p> - -<p>All the rules of courtesy could not avail to hide her surprise then. -A greater contrast could not be imagined than that between this -worn, haggard, ascetic-looking, shabby man, with his unconventional -dress and manner, and the neat, smiling, comfortable-looking -gentleman, who seemed to beam from his morocco frame on a world -where tithe wars were not. Then a light flashed upon Olivia, and she -gave Mr. Brander a smile of triumphant shrewdness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span></p> - -<p>“Now I understand it all,” she said, eagerly. “This room is your -brother’s, and this lady is not your wife, but his.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander laughed rather sadly.</p> - -<p>“You think they all ‘match’ with him better than they would -with me.”</p> - -<p>Olivia grew very red, and in some confusion tried to explain away -this too obvious conclusion. But Mr. Brander stopped her.</p> - -<p>“You are quite, quite right,” he said, kindly. “You would be -blind if you couldn’t see it. My sister-in-law saw it, twelve years -ago, when she was wise enough to reject me and to take my brother.”</p> - -<p>“There, now you see why Mrs. Meridith Brander is destitute of -feeling, imagination, and passion, and resplendent only in the less -lovable qualities,” he went on mocking at himself good-humoredly. -“If she had only chosen me, I should have a very different tale to -tell, you may be sure.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was silent. The strange contrast between the two brothers -filled her with pity for the one who had been kind to her, and with a -sort of unreasonable antagonism towards the unknown one to whom -fortune had been so much more generous.</p> - -<p>“It seems very hard on you,” she said, glancing at him rather -shyly.</p> - -<p>But even as she spoke a violent change came over his face which -chilled and repelled her, and brought back to her mind with sudden -and startling vividness the vague warning of the old woman. A flush -of fierce and vindictive anger, a short, sharp struggle with himself, -and then Mr. Brander was subdued and kind and courteous as ever. -But this peep at the nature underneath had made an impression -upon Olivia which she could not readily forget; it destroyed the ease -she had felt with him, and woke a distrust which his instant return -to his old kindly manner failed to remove.</p> - -<p>“It is very good of you to think so,” he said, with a courteous -smile. “At one time I admit it seemed hard to me too. But I’ve -been forced to confess long ago that I could not have occupied the -position he fills either with credit to myself or satisfaction to anybody -else. While as for poor Evelyn, if she had had the misfortune to -take me with my bad temper and my inevitable hatred of order, instead -of being still handsome, amiable, and young, she would be a -haggard old woman.”</p> - -<p>Remembering, as she did, the bitterness which he had previously -shown in speaking of his sister-in-law, and the fierce animosity which -had blazed out of his black eyes a moment ago in recalling the contrast -between his brother and himself, Olivia could not help feeling -that there was a little hypocrisy in this ultra-modest speech, and she -made some civil answer in a tone which showed constraint in comparison -with her previous warm-hearted and simple frankness. Mr. -Brander looked scrutinizingly at her face, and reading the change in -its expression, hastened to open another and less dangerous subject.</p> - -<p>“And here I have been gossiping about my own idle affairs all -this time, without once asking you what you came to see me about, -and what I can do for you.”</p> - -<p>“I brought a letter of introduction to Mrs. Brander,” said Olivia<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -producing it. “The wife of one of the curates at Streatham, where I -live, or at least where I have been living,” she added, correcting -herself, “knew Mrs. Brander some years ago. And she thought, as -I was coming here all by myself, it would be pleasanter for me to -know some one.”</p> - -<p>“My sister-in-law would have helped you in a hundred ways,” -said Mr. Brander, regretfully. “She is a very energetic woman, and -loves to have some active work to do for anybody, if there is a little -occasion to show fight over it. And there is in your case; for that -unmannerly old ruffian, John Oldshaw, who made himself so offensive -just now at the inn, wanted to have the farm your father has -taken, and will annoy you all in every way he can for spite, if I’m -not mistaken.”</p> - -<p>“If he does, I shall get papa to complain to Lord Stannington,” -said Miss Denison, with a resolute expression about her mouth.</p> - -<p>“Well, we must hope there won’t be any need to do so. Perhaps -your father is a better farmer than John Oldshaw, and will be able -to make him sing small.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m afraid not,” said she, shaking her head dolefully; “papa -has never been a farmer before. He’s been a banker, but he never -did much banking, I think; and the other partners bought him out -of the bank a little while ago, and he did nothing at all for a little -while. But we are not rich enough to live like that, so he thought -he should like to try farming, especially as my step-mother had been -ordered to live in the country.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander looked grave. He could not help thinking that -things looked very black for his pretty visitor. A weak and idle -father, an invalid step-mother, such were the fancy portraits he instantly -drew of the pair, setting up as amateurs in a business which -even experience, industry, and capacity can scarcely nowadays -make remunerative! What would become of the bright girl in -these circumstances?</p> - -<p>“How came they to send you down here all by yourself?” he -asked, after a pause.</p> - -<p>“My step-mother—you know I told you I had a step-mother,” she -interpolated, with mischievous meaning—“has delicate health; -that is to say, her health is too delicate for her ever to do anything -she doesn’t wish to do, and she did not wish to come down to an -empty house, to have all the worry and trouble of filling it. So I -offered to do it. Home has been rather tiresome lately, and I -thought it would be fun, and besides that I really wanted to be useful, -and to make things as comfortable as I could for poor papa. But -I did think she would see that the furniture was sent in time.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s an awkward business, certainly. We must consider -what is best to be done. And while I’m thinking it over, you’ll have -a glass of wine and a biscuit, won’t you?” said he, as he touched the -bell.</p> - -<p>Olivia did not refuse. She thought her best chance of a happy -issue out of her difficulties lay in trusting to the clergyman, whose -persistent kindness was fast effacing the unpleasant impression of a -few minutes before. She even asked him ingenuously whether he -thought she ought to stay any longer away from the bare house<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> -where she had left poor little Lucy alone with the mice. Mr. Brander -quieted her conscience as, in obedience to his order, the maid -servant brought in wine and cake, with which he proceeded to serve -the hungry girl.</p> - -<p>“I shall let you go in two minutes now,” he said. “And we -won’t let Lucy starve either.”</p> - -<p>The servant was still waiting.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Hester?”</p> - -<p>“Young Mr. Williams has called, sir. He wishes to speak to you -for a minute. I believe he has a message.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander’s face clouded.</p> - -<p>“Where is he? I’ll go out and speak to him,” he said, shortly.</p> - -<p>But the words were scarcely out of his mouth when a voice, speaking -in coarse and familiar tones, was heard outside the door, heralding -the approach of the new comer.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right; it’s only me. Suppose I can come in, eh?”</p> - -<p>And, without waiting for permission, a young man elbowed his -way past the servant, and entered the room.</p> - -<p>The word which applied best to Mr. Frederick Williams, including -his face, voice, dress, and manner, was “cub.” He was short and -sandy; he had an expression of mingled dulness and cunning, in -which dulness predominated; his dress, his vocabulary, and a certain -roll in his walk smacked of the stable; and the only conspicuous -quality he showed to balance these disadvantages was a certain -coarse good humor which never failed him. He was even destitute -of that very common grace in young men of his type—an unsurmountable -shyness in the presence of women of refinement. On -catching sight of Olivia, seated by the fire, eating cake with unmistakable -enjoyment, his eyes opened wide with astonishment and -boorish admiration, which gave place the next moment to an expression -of intense shyness as, with a loud cough, he affected to retreat -to the door.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Brander; I didn’t mean to interrupt such -a pleasant <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tete-a-tete</i>, I’m sure.”</p> - -<p>But he had no intention of going, and Mr. Brander asked him -rather curtly what he came for.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my business is of no consequence; it will do any time,” answered -Mr. Williams, still with his light eyes fixed upon Olivia.</p> - -<p>“Very likely. But what is it?” asked Mr. Brander, still more -shortly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my father wants to see you about something. It’s about the -church, I believe; your church, St. Cuthbert’s. He wants to do -something for it, I fancy; says the condition it’s in is a disgrace to -the neighborhood.”</p> - -<p>Again Olivia saw on Mr. Brander’s face a glimpse of fierce anger, -with which, however, she this time heartily sympathized. Feeling -very uncomfortable, she rose and held out her hand to the clergyman. -His face cleared as he took it.</p> - -<p>“Now, don’t worry yourself too much about the wretched furniture,” -he said, with his old kindliness. “As you go down the hill, -mind you stop where the roads cross. There’s a wishing-cap hangs -on the hedge just there. If you see it, put it on; if you don’t, make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> -the motion of putting it on, and at the same time say these words -just under your breath, ‘I wish that within an hour I may be installed -very comfortably!’”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Olivia, laughing and returning the pressure of -his hand warmly; “if the wishing-cap could bring that to pass, I -should begin to look with respect on a broomstick.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Williams’ face had assumed during these two last speeches an -expression of mingled bewilderment and contempt. As the lady -moved towards the door, he followed without having once taken his -eyes off her.</p> - -<p>“Will you be able to find your way?” asked Mr. Brander, as he -opened the study door.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go with you; I’ll escort you. Which way are you going?” -asked Mr. Williams, eagerly. “To the Hall, eh? I go past it; -don’t I, Brander?”</p> - -<p>“I believe so,” said the clergyman, shortly.</p> - -<p>“So you see, you’re not putting me to any inconvenience at all,” -went on the young man.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” said Miss Denison, with a little laugh -and a pretty turn of the head. “In my part of the world it is never -an inconvenience to see a lady home.”</p> - -<p>In the meantime they had all crossed the hall and arrived at the -front door, where Mr. Brander, with a reluctant frown at his male -visitor, again shook hands warmly with Olivia, and told her not to -lose heart. He watched the ill-assorted pair as they went down the -lane until they turned into the high road. Until they reached this -point they proceeded in silence, but as soon as they began to descend -the hill, the young man found voice after his snub.</p> - -<p>“You’re deuced sharp on a fellow,” he said then in a conciliatory -tone. “It wasn’t my fault that I turned up when the parson was -making sheeps’ eyes at you.”</p> - -<p>“If I am to put up with your society until I reach the Hall gates, I -really must ask you to abstain from making offensive remarks,” said -Olivia, icily.</p> - -<p>“Offensive! Oh, all right. But I warn you that parson chap is a -deal more likely to be offensive than I am. By Jove!” he continued, -after a freezing pause; “if you weren’t such a pretty girl I’m -hanged if I’d go a step further with you, after your rudeness.”</p> - -<p>“In your own choice language, ‘I’m hanged if you shall,’” answered -Miss Denison, with spirit.</p> - -<p>Before the astonished young man could recover his speech, the girl -had flown down the hill like an arrow with the wind. He had admired -her before; for this display of spirit he felt that he adored her. -At this point the road made a circuitous bend which could be cut off -by one familiar with the place by crossing the fields. Fred Williams -was through a gap in the hedge in a moment, and on regaining the -road he was a few yards ahead of the still flying lady. Darting out -upon her as she passed, he seized her by the arm; and as the attack -was unexpected, she staggered for a second.</p> - -<p>“You’re a splendid runner, but you can’t beat me,” said the young -gentleman, with what was meant to be an alluring mixture of admiration -and manly condescension.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> - -<p>But it had quite a wrong effect upon the lady. Pausing one moment -to recover her breath and her balance, she extricated herself -from his insolent clutch with a sudden athletic movement which -flung him reeling into the hedge, where he lodged amid a great -crackling of branches.</p> - -<p>“I shall not require your escort further, thank you,” said Miss -Denison then imperturbably to the spluttering swain.</p> - -<p>And she walked on again with a perfect and defiant security. She -had not misjudged her effect, for Mr. Williams did not attempt to -molest her again. Just as she reached the farm gates, however, he -hurried after her, and without coming to close quarters, said, maliciously—</p> - -<p>“Very well, madam. Don’t be afraid that I shall interfere with -you again. But before you take up with Parson Brander, I’d just -ask him, if I were you, what has become of Nellie Mitchell.”</p> - -<p>But Miss Denison walked through the gates without a word.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">To</span> be able to inflict a severe physical defeat upon an obtrusive admirer -may be a highly convenient accomplishment, but the necessity -for its exercise cannot but be a humiliating experience. Olivia -Denison felt the hot tears rise to her eyes as she walked up through -the farmyard to the Hall. If only one of her own stalwart brothers, -Edward or Ernest, were here to give this insolent cad the thrashing he -deserved! But Edward was in India with his regiment, and Ernest -was tied to a desk in a solicitor’s office in London. She must depend -upon her own arm and own head for her protection now; fortunately, -neither was of the weakest, as she herself felt with some satisfaction. -In fact, she scarcely knew yet what measure of strength, both -mental and physical, was hers; for she had led hitherto an easy, -sheltered life, idle in the sense that all her energy had been spent in -amusing herself, happy but for certain uncongenial elements at -home.</p> - -<p>Now there was to be a difference. Without being expected to -know how it came to pass, Olivia knew that papa had grown poorer, -that he had become frightfully irritable about bills of late, and that -various violent and spasmodic efforts at retrenchment, and papa’s -reiterated declarations that he must “do something,” had culminated -in the sale of the beautiful house at Streatham, and in the -taking of Rishton Hall Farm. There was something not quite painful -in the feeling that she would have to “do something” too, and in -the knowledge that she might now be able to turn her quickness of -eye and hand to useful account in the service of the father whom she -adored. What would his sensitive nature do among these Oldshaws, -and these Williamses, and these Walls, with the most unpleasant -and disturbing rumors afloat about the very clergyman in charge? -This was the reflection which troubled Olivia’s mind as she approached -the Hall for the second time, and going up the worn steps, let -herself in without any need to knock at the door.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span></p> - -<p>“Lucy!” she called, as she opened the door of the big room on the -right.</p> - -<p>There was no answer. The room was deserted, and the fire had -burnt low. Olivia shivered as she went in. The run down the hill -had put her in a glow; the entrance into this mouldy old chamber -chilled her. She put more wood on the fire, and sat down to await -the return of Lucy, who, she did not doubt, had found the loneliness -of the place too much for her nerves, and had gone out to look for -her mistress. In a few minutes Olivia began to long even for the -patter of a mouse’s feet, for the song of a cricket, for any sign of life -in the desolate old house, if it were only the sight of the loathly -black beetle. The spirit of the unknown Nellie Mitchell seemed to -haunt her. That girl, who had lived in the house, gone about her -daily work in this room, whose mementoes still remained undisturbed -and undecayed in these deserted old walls, who was she? What -had become of her? “Ask Mr. Brander”: so the odious Fred Williams -has said with intensely malicious significance. Should she -dare to do this, and perhaps satisfy once for all those doubts of her -new friend which not only the conflicting opinions of the villagers, -but certain morose and repellent changes of expression on his own -face, had instilled into her? She could not decide. Between her -doubts, her loneliness, and her sense of the difficulties of her desolate -situation, the poor girl was growing so unhappy that when at last -she heard the sound of footsteps upon the ground outside, she sprang -up with a cry, and ran to the door, ready to force whoever it might -be to share her vigil.</p> - -<p>On the doorstep she found Sarah Wall, whom conscience or a -glimmering notion that it might be as well to be “in wi’ t’ new fowk,” -had brought back to make inquiries.</p> - -<p>“Hasna’ yer goods coom?” she asked, rather apologetically.</p> - -<p>“No; they won’t come to-night now,” answered Miss Denison with -a sigh.</p> - -<p>“There’s summat—a cart or a waggon or summat—at t’ gate -now.”</p> - -<p>The hope was too much. Olivia gave a little cry. But when, a -little later, there absolutely did drive up through the farmyard, and -draw up at the door, a small open cart closely packed with bedroom -furniture, she could scarcely keep from bursting into tears. For the -first few minutes she was too overjoyed to perceive anything very -singular in this arrival. In the front of the cart, beside the driver, -sat two neat and buxom country girls, who sprang down to the -ground with much suppressed excitement and half-hysterical laughter, -and without any explanation of their presence, proceeded, with -the help of the driver, to unpack the cart, and to carry the contents -indoors and upstairs. Olivia stood back bewildered. One had a -lantern and the other a broom; neither would advance a step towards -the old house or up the wide staircase without the comfort and support -of the other’s near presence. But up they did go at last, stifling -little screams at every other step, and returning the jibes of the -driver with prompt retorts. This young man looked like a stable -boy, or perhaps a groom in undress. As he came downstairs again, -after having taken up a folding bedstead, Olivia asked him where he -came from.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> - -<p>“From t’ Vicarage, miss,” he answered, with a stableman’s salute. -“Mr. Vernon sent us down and told us to put t’ thing’s in and coom -back as quick as we could. T’ lasses was to clean oot a room oop-stairs -for ye.”</p> - -<p>Sarah Wall was emitting a series of witchlike grunts in the background.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Vernon!” cried Olivia; “Mr. Vernon Brander! Oh, how -very kind of him! How very kind!”</p> - -<p>“He’ll be down hisself just now, miss, I think,” continued the lad; -“he said he’d coom wi’ t’ second lot.”</p> - -<p>Here Mrs. Wall broke in with a preliminary croaking cough—</p> - -<p>“Nea, nea! He wunna coom a-nigh this house. He coomed here -too often in t’ owd time. Nea, nea! He wunna coom inside noo.”</p> - -<p>“Howd tha tunge, Sal,” said the lad, quickly. “Thoo’d get thaself -int’ trouble wi’ t’ vicar if he heerd tha prattlin’ so o’ ’s brither.”</p> - -<p>Whereupon the old woman fell to incoherent mumbling, and the -lad having discharged his load, saluted the young lady again, and -drove away. With a pleasant sense upon her that help, ready and -efficient, was indeed come at last, Olivia went indoors again, and, -directed by the sounds of active sweeping, and at least as active chattering, -found her way to the best bedroom in this part of the house, -which the exertions of the two maids were quickly rendering habitable. -They had brought with them even a large scuttleful of coals, -and a supply of candles. In half an hour the room was swept, a fire -lighted, carpet laid down, and two little beds and a suite of bedroom -furniture disposed to the best advantage.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Vernon said we was only to fit up one bedroom, ma’am, as -you’d be sure to want your maid to sleep in the same room with you -in this big empty house, miss,” said the elder and more responsible -of the servants.</p> - -<p>“Yes, that is quite true,” answered Miss Denison promptly.</p> - -<p>“And as soon as we had done this room we was to sweep out the -big one downstairs.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Miss Denison, “you need not do that. One room is -plenty for us to go on with, and I don’t wish you to have the trouble -of doing any more.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s no trouble, ma’am. And those were Mr. Vernon’s orders. -And when the master and missus is away, we have orders to do just -as Mr. Vernon says, exactly as if he was master. You see, -master thinks such a deal of Mr. Vernon.”</p> - -<p>Here was another instance of the strange enthusiasm for Mr. Vernon -Brander which he seemed to excite equally with the most violent -antagonism.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t ha’ come here by myself though; not if Mr. -Vernon had ordered me ever so; no, and not if master and Mrs. -Brander hadn’t ordered me too, that I wouldn’t!” broke in the younger -maid with decision.</p> - -<p>Miss Denison caught sight of a severe frown and a bit of expressive -pantomime signifying that she was to hold her tongue, from her older -and more discreet companion.</p> - -<p>“How is that?” asked the young lady. “Do you think this house -is haunted?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> - -<p>“Of course not, ma’m,” broke in the elder. “Susan you ought -to be ashamed of yourself, telling such silly stuff. Of course, ma’am, -when a house lies empty some time there’s all sorts of tales gets -about, and I daresay if you hadn’t come and taken it, in another -year there’d ha’ been a whole lot of ghost stories and such-like about -it.”</p> - -<p>Miss Denison saw that there was nothing to be learnt here, so she -asked no more questions, but waited eagerly for the arrival of Mr. -Brander. At last, from the position she had taken up on the steps -outside the front door, she heard the clergyman’s voice and the sound -of wheels and hoofs at the same time; a few seconds later the cart, -again piled with furniture, stopped at the door, and Mr. Brander, -springing down from his place beside the driver, held out a helping -hand to the third person in the cart, who proved to be no other than -Lucy. Instead of jumping out with her usual activity, however, -the little maid hung back in the most nervous manner, and finally -had almost to be lifted out of the vehicle, uttering words of protest -in a hoarse whisper.</p> - -<p>“Lucy! Why, what’s the matter with you?” asked her young -mistress, kindly, perceiving by the light of the lantern the clergyman -carried that the bright red color had left the girl’s round -cheeks, and that her eyes were distended with some absorbing -horror.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, Miss Olivia—nothing,” stammered she, faintly. “I—I -went out to look for you. I thought you might have lost your way—and—and——”</p> - -<p>“As Eben and I were driving down the hill we met her, and, finding -that she was looking for you, Miss Denison, I made her get up -and come on with the luggage.”</p> - -<p>He did not look at Lucy, neither did she look at him, and in the -course of the work of unloading and furnishing in which they now -both proceeded to take an active part, Olivia could not help noticing -the ashy paleness that came over the maid’s face, and the way in -which she shrank into herself if accident brought her in close contact -with the gentleman. The installation now went on merrily. -To Olivia’s great relief Mr. Brander, contrary to Sarah Wall’s prediction -showed not the least reluctance to enter the old house, but -went backwards and forwards between the cart and the big room -until there was nothing left to bring in.</p> - -<p>“We haven’t brought nearly enough furniture to fill this big -room, you know,” he explained, as he trundled in a roll of carpet. -“The cart would only hold just sufficient to make you a little oasis -at the fireplace end; but it’s better than the bare boards, and to-morrow -we’ll hope you’ll have your own thing’s about you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Brander, I can’t thank you,” said Olivia, overwhelmed. -“You have built a palace for us in the desert; but what will the -vicar say? He will come back and find that you have ransacked -his beautiful house on behalf of two utter strangers! I shall never -dare to look Mrs. Brander in the face after taking part in such a -sacrilege.”</p> - -<p>“My brother would say nothing if I were to turn all the drawing-room -furniture out into the churchyard,” answered he, promptly.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> -“You mustn’t judge his temper by my black looks. He and I are as -different as heaven and—earth. All the ladies fall in love with -him.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall not,” said Miss Denison, decidedly. “I like my -loves all to myself.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander considered her attentively, with a quizzical look.</p> - -<p>“I should think you would,” he said, smiling. “I am afraid you -will be badly off down here—if indeed you could be badly off for -admirers anywhere. The nearest approach to an eligible swain in -these parts is the gentleman who escorted you home.”</p> - -<p>Olivia, who was nailing up a curtain while Mr. Brander kept -steady the erection of a box and a chair on which she stood, put -down her hammer to indulge in a hearty burst of laughter.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m afraid it’s all over with the pretty little romance you -have been building up for me,” she said, looking down with her -bright eyes still twinkling with amusement. “I pushed him into a -hedge.”</p> - -<p>“At the first blush that does not look promising certainly,” said -Mr. Brander with perfect gravity, “considering the rank of the -parties. For if he had been the clod-hopper nature intended him for, -and you the dairymaid he would have liked you to be, such a demonstration -as that would have been the certain prelude to a wedding.”</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t a very lady-like thing to do, I’m afraid,” said Olivia, -blushing a very becoming crimson. “But really he was not the -sort of person to be dealt with by means of modest little screams and -flutterings. And—well, the truth is, I really was so furiously angry -that I would have thrown him over the hedge if I’d been strong -enough.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you belonged to my parish,” said Mr. Brander, reflectively. -“It is a great pity such nerve and muscle should be thrown -away. Now, there’s an old villain who always nods through the -first part of my sermon, and snores as soon as I grow a little eloquent—and—and -I daren’t throw him into a hedge myself; my motives -might be questioned. But if I could only get a fair and amiable -parishioner to do it for me, no one could say a word.”</p> - -<p>“You want to make me ashamed of myself,” said Olivia, giving a -vicious blow to the nail she was driving in. “But you shan’t succeed. -My father and my two brothers think that everything I do is -right.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Then it’s high time somebody turned up to prove to you -that everything you do is wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you. My step-mother does that.”</p> - -<p>“Then what do papa and the brothers say to her?”</p> - -<p>“If the world’s turning around depended on dear old papa’s saying -a harsh word to anybody, the world would stand still. As for my -brothers, especially Ted, when he is at home breakfast is a skirmish -with my step-mother, luncheon is a brisk engagement, and dinner -a hard-fought battle. They are always ordering each other out -of the room, and it’s quite a rare thing for them both to sit out a -meal at the same table.”</p> - -<p>“The fault is not quite all on one side, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, of course not. When poor Ted is away life is not very -comfortable, but at least it is not volcanic.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> - -<p>“Curious that the common or garden step-mother, wherever found, -should always present the same characteristics. She has children -of her own, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, two.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t love them—I perceive by your tone.”</p> - -<p>“Wait till you see them, and then say whether anybody could.”</p> - -<p>“I think my professional ministrations are wanted here. Where -is your Christian charity?”</p> - -<p>Olivia turned round to look down upon him with the most earnest -gravity.</p> - -<p>“I shall take the liberty of asking you the same question when -Regie gets caressed for his vivacity in cutting a slit in your umbrella, -and when you see Beatrice consoled with an orange for some -impertinence for which she ought to have her ears boxed.”</p> - -<p>“And it’s all the fault of the step-mother?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, all.”</p> - -<p>“Poor lady; I am beginning to feel the deepest interest in her. -No doubt she was a perfectly amiable and harmless person before -this unhappy metamorphosis.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; she was our governess—a most excellent woman and very -strict with us.”</p> - -<p>“I must see what can be done for her. I have a sermon that will -just suit her, I think; one that hasn’t done duty for a long time.”</p> - -<p>“It will be of no use. When she was our governess she never -missed church; now she’s our step-mother she never goes.”</p> - -<p>The curtains were by this time hung; the two maids from the vicarage, -after helping Lucy to give the last touches to the arrangement -of the furniture, had run upstairs to see that all was in order -in the bedroom, and perhaps also to have a little gossip with this new -friend. Mr. Brander looked about eagerly in search of more work.</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing more to do, I am afraid,” he said, rather wistfully.</p> - -<p>Olivia smiled. “Afraid!” she echoed. “Why I should think you -would be very glad to shake off the dust and the damp of this old -place, and to get back to that beautiful, cosy room where I found you -this evening.”</p> - -<p>As she spoke, an uncomfortable remembrance of the mystery -which hung about the house and its rumored connection with him -came into her mind. Mr. Brander looked straight into her face, and -said—</p> - -<p>“Under some circumstances I might be. For I knew this place -very well before it was left to dust and damp. But now I am glad -to think that it is going to have life and youth and brightness in it -again—very glad; and I don’t want to hurry away at all.”</p> - -<p>He spoke so gravely, and expressed his reluctance to go so naively, -that Olivia was silent, not quite knowing in what tone to answer -him. Then it suddenly struck him that he might have offended her, -and without looking into her face again he hastened to say—</p> - -<p>“You must excuse my boorishness if I don’t express myself in -the orthodox way. I live like a hermit, and have done for the last”—he -paused, and then added slowly, as if counting up the time—“ten -years. I have forgotten how to make pretty phrases. What I meant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -was this: I haven’t had half an hour’s pleasant talk with a lady, as I -have with you this evening, for all that time—ten years! And it -will very likely be ten years before I have another. And so I have -enjoyed myself, and I am sorry it’s over, though I daresay you are -rather tired of the rustic parson and his solecisms.”</p> - -<p>An awkward constraint had fallen upon him; he had grown shy -and unhappy. Olivia felt sorry for him, and she answered in tones -of sweet feminine gentleness which seemed to pour balm upon some -hidden wound.</p> - -<p>“I believe part of what you say. For if you had been used to -ladies’ society you must have known that talking to you has given -me at least as much pleasure as talking to me can have given you. -And if you are not going to have another talk with me for another ten -years, as you threaten, it will be your fault, and not mine.”</p> - -<p>There was a pretty graciousness in her manner, the result of the -homage her beauty had always obtained for her. Mr. Brander gave -her a shy glance of adoring gratitude which momentarily lit up his -dark face.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “I shall remember your -pretty words and your kind looks, believe me; but when we next -meet, it will not be the same, and it will be no fault of yours.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was on the point of breaking out into a passionate assurance -that no hearsay talk altered her opinion of her friends; but a -certain gloom which settled on his face and gave him almost a forbidding -aspect checked her, and she remembered, while a deep blush -crept into her handsome cheeks, that it is unconventionally premature -to call the acquaintance of half a day a friend. So she remained -modestly silent while he held out his hand and told her, recovering -his usual manner, that he should write a full description of her to -his sister-in-law, and that Miss Denison might expect to be chartered -as a district visitor before she had time or inclination to say -“Jack Robinson.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander then called the two maids and started them on their -walk home; brought in a luncheon basket which he had left in the -hall, and handed it to Lucy, telling her to open it when her mistress -felt inclined for supper; and, before Olivia could thank him -for this fresh proof of his kindness, he was already out of the -house.</p> - -<p>The door had scarcely closed upon him when Lucy, with an -exclamation of horror and disgust, flung down the luncheon -basket, and, running to the nearest window, threw it wide open.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing, Lucy?” asked her mistress in astonishment, -crossing quickly to the girl to see whether she was ill.</p> - -<p>“Airing the place, miss, after that bad, wicked man,” answered -the little maid, vehemently.</p> - -<p>“You ungrateful girl, after all Mr. Brander has done for us. How -can you say such things?”</p> - -<p>“I say what I know, miss, and what is known all over the place, -miss, to every one but you,” answered Lucy, her face crimson with -excitement. “He’s a murderer, miss; he murdered the poor girl -who used to live in those rooms upstairs.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was standing at the window, with her hand on the latch to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> -close it. Just as Lucy hissed out those words in a voice shrill and -broken with horror, Mr. Brander passed. The light from the room -fell full upon his face. He had heard the girl’s words. A look, not -of indignation, but of shame, of agony, convulsed his pale features, -but he did not turn his head. Olivia shivered. She wanted to call -out to him, to ask him to deny this infamous slander; but her mouth -was dry and the words would not come. For he must have heard, -she knew, and yet there was no denial in his face.</p> - -<p>With a trembling hand she closed the window.</p> - -<p>“There, it’s quite upset you; I knew it would, Miss Olivia,” said -Lucy, rather triumphantly. “Aren’t you shocked?”</p> - -<p>But the tears were gathering in Olivia’s eyes.</p> - -<p>“I’m shocked, yes, of course,” said she, sadly. “And I’m dreadfully—dreadfully -sorry.”</p> - -<p>Lucy was scandalized. This was not the way in which she had -been taught to look upon a criminal.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> spite of all her philosophy, of all her fortitude, Olivia Denison -could not deny, even to herself, that the one terrible word “murderer,” -applied to the man who had proved himself such a kind friend, -gave a shock such as no newly formed friendship could stand unshaken. -If he had only denied the charge by so much as a look! -But, on the contrary, his downcast head and hurrying step when -Lucy’s indiscreet remark fell on his ears seemed like a tacit admission -of the justice of it. The little maid’s characteristic comments on the -matter jarred upon her greatly.</p> - -<p>“You might have knocked me down with a feather, Miss Olivia, -when they first told me it was him as made away with the young -woman whose rooms we were rummaging in to-day! ‘Lor,’ I says, -‘never! A nice-spoken gentleman like that!’ Indeed, Miss——”</p> - -<p>“Who was it told you, Lucy?” interrupted her mistress, quietly.</p> - -<p>“It was when I was going up the road, ma’am, looking for you. -For I got that frightened at last, sitting here all myself, and nobody -to speak to, and such cracklings and noises as you never heard along -the walls! So I went out a little way, thinking perhaps you had -missed the road and lost yourself. And I came across two women -and a man standing at the gate of a farmyard. And I spoke to them -and they guessed where I came from; for it seems it was the farm -belonging to that rude man, though I didn’t know it at the time. -And they asked me in, saying as they wouldn’t keep me not a -minute. And I was so glad not to be alone that I went just inside -the kitchen door with them—just for a minute. But then they told -me such things that I felt I couldn’t come back to this house all by -myself after hearing of them. They said how that clergyman, for -all his nice-seeming ways, used to be a wild sort of young man, and -how he once courted her that’s now the vicar’s lady, but she wouldn’t -have nothing to say to him. And so when she married his brother -he got wilder and wilder, and he took to courting the farmer’s daughter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> -that lived here on the sly like, and not fair and open. She was a -masterful sort of girl, and her brother and his wife, that she lived -with, let her have her own way too much, and have ideas above her -station. And people think she believed he’d marry her, for her own -people and every one was beginning to talk; and then one night—it -was the 7th of July, Miss, ten years and a half ago—she went out -to meet him, down by his own church, as people knew she’d done before, -and she never came back. And nobody’s never seen nothing of -her from that day to this; only there were screams heard that night -down by St. Cuthbert’s—that’s his church, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>Lucy ended in a mysterious whisper, and both she and her mistress -remained silent for a little while. Then Miss Denison spoke in a -warm and decided tone—</p> - -<p>“There must have been investigations made. If there had been -anything like just ground for supposing that Mr. Brander had made -away with the girl, he would at least have been hunted out of the -parish, even if there had not been proof enough to have him arrested.”</p> - -<p>“He was arrested, Miss Olivia. But his mother was Lord Stannington’s -sister, so he had friends at court; and as for his brother, -he moved heaven and earth to have him got off. And so those as -knew most didn’t dare to come forward, and nothing wasn’t found; -and as everybody knew the poor girl hadn’t had the best of characters, -and had always been a bit gay, like, they said there wasn’t evidence -enough, and Mr. Brander was never brought up.”</p> - -<p>“But he remained in his parish! That would have been too much -of a scandal if the suspicion had been strong. I think you have only -been listening to a lot of tattle, Lucy;” said Miss Denison, trying to -disguise the deep interest she could not help feeling in this gossip.</p> - -<p>“Well, Miss Olivia, I only tell you what was told me,” said the -girl, rather offended at the slur cast upon her information.</p> - -<p>And she crossed over to the fireplace and began to break the lumps -of coal into a blaze, to intimate that, in deference to her mistress’s -wish, she had done with idle gossip. But, as she slyly guessed, the -subject was far too interesting to be shelved like that.</p> - -<p>Miss Denison took it up again abruptly, no longer attempting to -hide the warmth of her feeling in the matter.</p> - -<p>“How was it he stayed, then?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“It was his brother’s doing, that, ma’am, I believe,” said Lucy, -delighted to have her tongue loosed again. “He backed him up, -and advised him to face it out, so everybody says. And his being so -strong for his brother, and him thought so highly of himself, made -people afraid to interfere, like. And so Mr. Vernon stayed. He had -only a poor parish, full of colliers and such-like; and the poor folks -liked him, because, for all his wild ways, he was good-humored and -pleasant. So nobody objected much, and he quieted down all of a -sudden, and grew quite changed, and worked very hard, so that now -they think the world of him in his own parish, and wouldn’t change -even to have Mr. Meredith himself for their clergyman. Only the -story sticks to him, especially close round here, where the girl lived; -and, no matter what he does, some of them can’t forget he’s a -murderer.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> - -<p>Olivia shuddered. It was quite true; such an incident in a man’s -life was not one that you could forget. She let the subject drop without -further comment, but it haunted her for the rest of the evening -as she sat brooding over the fire. Lucy, who was of an industrious -frame of mind, got out her darning and mended away busily. But -she had a healthy appetite, and she had had nothing more satisfying -than biscuits and a sandwich throughout the day. Gradually her -longing glances fell more and more frequently on the despised supper -basket which Mr. Brander had given her. At last she could -hold out no longer.</p> - -<p>“Are you hungry, Miss Olivia?” she asked, with plaintive meaning.</p> - -<p>“Not very,” answered Miss Denison, waking with a start out of a -troubled reverie. “But I daresay you are, Lucy. I forgot that I -had wine and cake at—Mr. Brander’s.”</p> - -<p>Lucy made two hesitating steps in the direction of the basket, and -stopped.</p> - -<p>“Do you think—we’d better not—touch it, Miss Olivia?” she asked, -doubtfully.</p> - -<p>Miss Denison got up, with a grave and troubled face.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think it’s a little too late to try to avoid an obligation, -Lucy, when every one of the comforts round us—fire, chairs, table, -the very beds we are going to sleep on, we owe to Mr. Brander?”</p> - -<p>Lucy snatched at this view of the matter readily, and trotted off -with eager steps to inspect the contents of the basket. These proved -most satisfactory.</p> - -<p>“Bread, Miss Olivia; butter, cake, oh! And a cold fowl! And a -silver tea-pot!” she announced gleefully as she made one discovery -after another, and skipped with her prizes to the table.</p> - -<p>Olivia, healthy girl as she was, could not eat much that evening. -Her responsibilities in the new home were beginning to look very -heavy; and the strange story she had just learnt oppressed her. -Lucy, on the other hand, found that a good supper led her to take a -more cheerful view of current affairs.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Olivia!” she exclaimed, when the meal was ended and -they were preparing to retire for the night, “how much nicer this is, -with ghosts and murderers and all, than it’ll be when Mrs. Denison -comes and the children! Like this, with just you, it’s jolly, and I -could work for you all day. And I suppose when you’ve committed -a murder it makes you feel that you must be nicer, like, to make up -for it, for certainly Mr. Brander is a nice-spoken gentleman and a -kind one, and no two ways about it.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Lucy,” said her mistress, gravely, “you must put that -story right out of your head, as I am going to do. We’ll hope there’s -no truth in it all; but even if every word were true, we have -no right to bring it up against a man whose life sets an example to -the whole parish, and who has shown us kindness that we ought -never to forget. I hope you will have the good sense and good feeling -not to tattle about it to cook and to Esther when they come.”</p> - -<p>“No, ma’am,” said Lucy, demurely.</p> - -<p>Miss Denison felt, however, that she was trying to put on human -nature burdens too great for it to bear, and she wasted no more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -words in pressing the point. Tired as she was when she lay down -that night on the little bed so strangely provided, for some hours she -could not sleep; excited fancies concerning the girl who had disappeared -and the man to whom her disappearance was attributed filled her -head with a waking nightmare. Gratitude remained uppermost, -however.</p> - -<p>“He shall see that whatever I have heard makes not the least -difference,” was her last clear thought before sleeping.</p> - -<p>But Olivia’s kind intentions were more difficult to carry out than -she imagined. Next day she saw nothing of Mr. Brander, although -she received another proof of his thoughtfulness. A vanful of the -much-expected furniture arrived in the course of the morning; and -scarcely was it emptied before the two maids from the Vicarage appeared -again upon the scene; “by Mr. Vernon’s order,” to give -what assistance they could towards getting the house ready for -occupation. Then began for Olivia three of the happiest days she -had ever passed. There was work—real, useful, genuine work—for -head and hand and muscular arm in the arrangement of every room -to the best advantage. The maids from the Vicarage and her own -trusty Lucy seconded her with a right goodwill, being all ready to -worship this handsome, bright-voiced, sparkling-eyed girl, to whom -the lifting of the heaviest weights seemed to be child’s play, and who -worked harder than any of them. On the second day the very last -consignment of the household goods duly arrived, and Olivia was -able to send back the Vicarage furniture with a grateful little note -of thanks. In the evening, when she was resting in an armchair, -tired out with her labors, and enjoying a glow of satisfaction in -their success, there was a rap of knuckles on the knockerless outer -door, and Olivia started up, with her heart beating violently. The -persistent self-effacement on the part of Mr. Brander made the girl -nervously anxious to show him that her gratitude was proof against -any evil rumors; and the hope that it was he brought a deep flush -to her face as Lucy, now installed in her own kitchen, and busy still -with polishing of pots and pans, went to open the door. But she -only brought in a note, which Olivia took with some disappointment. -It was an answer from Mr. Brander to her own, but was so very -formal that Olivia felt her cheeks tingle with shame at the impulsive -warmth of her letter.</p> - -<p>The clergyman’s note was as follows:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>”—(And she had put “Dear Mr. Brander.” Olivia -could have torn her pretty hair.)—“I beg to assure you there is -nothing in what I have done to put you under any sense of obligation. -In doing what little I could to make you as comfortable as the -unfortunate circumstances of your arrival would permit, I only -acted in my capacity of representative to my brother, who is hospitality -itself to all strangers.</p> - -<p>“I am, dear madam, yours faithfully,</p> - -<p class="right mr5"> -“<span class="smcap">Vernon Brander</span>.”<br /> -</p> -</div> - -<p>Olivia read the note twice, while Lucy stood still at the door.</p> - -<p>“The young farmer’s son brought it, ma’am, and he’s waiting,” -said she.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> - -<p>Olivia went to the door, and held out her hand to Mat Oldshaw, -who took it very sheepishly in his own great paw, and, having given -it a convulsive squeeze, dropped it hastily, as if overwhelmed with -horror at his presumption in touching it at all.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” said she, smiling, and leading the way into the big -farm living room; she had decided that this was to be the dining-room -of the establishment, and had furnished it accordingly.</p> - -<p>Mat followed her shyly, and remained near the door until, by easy -stages, she had coaxed him into a chair at the further end. He -was beautifully washed and combed, and clad in his best clothes, and -beautifully awkward and bashful withal.</p> - -<p>“It’s very kind of you to bring me this,” she said; “and I’m very -glad to have an opportunity of thanking you for the help you gave -us the other day. You ran away so fast that I had no chance of -speaking to you.”</p> - -<p>“’Twere nowt, that,” said Mat, in a voice husky from bashfulness. -“Ah’d ha’ coom and given ye better help than that yesterday when -Ah saw t’ goods coom, but Ah didn’t like.”</p> - -<p>“Would you? Well, we should have found plenty for you to do. -But your father wouldn’t have liked it, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Feyther! Ah bean’t afreeaid o’ feyther!” cried Mat, in a burst -of energetic defiance. “Neea, it wasna’ for him that Ah didn’t coom. -But Ah thowt maybe ye’d ha’ been so angry with him for’s rudeness -that ye wouldn’t care to ha’ seen me ageean.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I knew you had nothing to do with that.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true enoof; and Ah coom to-neeght to say”—and Mat -looked down on the floor and grew scarlet to the tips of his ears—“that -ye mustn’t be surprised if things doan’t work straight here at -first. Feyther’s a nasty coostomer when he’s crossed, and there’s no -denying he’s wild at a stranger takkin’ this pleeace. An’ if he can -do ye and yer feyther an ill turn he’s not t’ man to stick at it. An’ -if yer feyther don’t knaw mooch aboot farmin’, ye may tell him not -to tak’ any advice from moine. But if ye should be in a difficulty -aboot matters o’ t’ farm, ye can just send for me on t’ quiet, and Ah’ll -help ye all Ah can. Ah beean’t ower bright maybe, as ye can see -for yerself, Miss, but Ah understand t’ farm, and what Ah can do for -ye Ah will.”</p> - -<p>Mat had strung himself up to this speech by a great effort, and he -reeled it off without any sort of pause, as if it had been an article of -faith that he had got by rote. Then he got up and gave a hopeless -look towards the door, as if that was his goal, and he was utterly -without an idea how to reach it.</p> - -<p>Olivia rose too, and turned towards the fire. Her impulsive -nature was so deeply moved by this rough but genuine friendliness -that she had no words ready to express her feelings.</p> - -<p>There was a pause, during which she heard the shuffling of Mat’s -feet upon floor as he prepared himself, with many throes, for another -rhetorical effort. As she at last turned towards him and again held -out her hand, he found his courage, and began—</p> - -<p>“An’ wan moor thing Ah’d loike to say, Miss: doan’t you be -afreeaid o’ parson Brander, for all they may say. Of coorse, ye’ve -heard t’ story; t’ ill aboot a mon always cooms oot first. Maybe t’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> -story’s true; Ah knaw nowt about that. But Ah do knaw that -there’s ne’er a heart loike his in t’ coontry side. An’ he’s done all t’ -harm he’ll ever do to anybody. An’—an’ he give me this note for -ye, Miss, and Ah’ve given it, and noo Ah’m going. Good-night, -Miss.”</p> - -<p>With which abrupt farewell he made a countryman’s obeisance to -her, and sheered off with great promptitude.</p> - -<p>“Good-night. I shan’t forget what you’ve said,” Olivia called -after him, smiling.</p> - -<p>She sat down again to muse by the fire, holding the open letter -still in her hand; and after a few minutes, being utterly tired out -with the day’s work, she fell asleep. When she woke up she could -not resist an exclamation of horror, for she saw confronting her, in -the dim firelight, an ugly, grinning face, the owner of which broke -into a peal of hoarse laughter in enjoyment of the shock his presence -caused her. Starting to her feet, Olivia woke up to the full consciousness -that the ill-favored intruder was no other than her persecutor of -two nights before. While she was gathering up her forces for a -withering speech, Mr. Williams gave her a smile and a nod of -friendly greeting.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t expect to see me, did you?” he began, in a perfectly -amicable tone.</p> - -<p>“I certainly did not. Nor can I say that I wished for that—honor,” -answered Olivia, with what ought to have been withering -sarcasm.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Williams grinned on, entirely unmoved.</p> - -<p>“No; you thought you’d shut me up—choked me off for good, -didn’t you? Why, I’ve got brambles and splinters in every finger -still. But I liked you for it. Oh, I do like a girl of spirit! Why, -there isn’t a girl about the place I haven’t tried to annoy, and not -one of them has had the pluck to round on me as you did. But, -then, look at your muscle, you know,” he added, admiringly.</p> - -<p>“I’m exceeding grateful for your admiration, and I will try to -deserve it,” answered Olivia, briefly.</p> - -<p>She walked rapidly to the door, which she threw wide open with a -gesture of invitation to him to go out. Mr. Williams instantly got -behind an armchair.</p> - -<p>“No, no, I know you can throw me out if you want to, but just -let me stay and explain. Look what a shrimp I am compared with -you. You can’t mind me,” pleaded he.</p> - -<p>The sight of the little sandy man clinging to the back of the armchair, -and “dodging” any movement of hers which he imagined to -be threatening, caused Olivia’s just indignation to merge into a -strong inclination to laugh. She remained standing by the door, -drawn up to her full height, and said, very drily—</p> - -<p>“I suppose it is of no use to talk to you about the feelings of a -gentleman. But perhaps you can understand this: I consider you -an odious person, and I wish you to go.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just the impression I wish to stay and remove,” said Mr. -Williams, blandly.</p> - -<p>“You won’t remove it by staying,” said Miss Denison.</p> - -<p>“As for the feelings of a gentleman,” pursued he, ignoring her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -interpolation, “of course you are quite right. I haven’t got them; I -don’t know what they’re like, and I don’t want to. I’m a hopeless -little cad, if you like, though nobody but you and the parson would -dare to call me so, because I’m coming in to a hundred and eighty -thousand pounds. Doesn’t it make your mouth water—£180,000? It -does make a difference, don’t it, say what you like, in the way you -look at a fellow?”</p> - -<p>“It does,” said Miss Denison. “It makes one shudder to think of -so much money being in the hands of a person who is not competent -to make a right use of half a crown.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I never thought of it in that light,” said the gentleman, -leaning over the back of the armchair, and caressing his chin musingly. -“But, look here, I may marry, and she will think she knows -how to make a right use of it, I’ll warrant.”</p> - -<p>This speech he accompanied by a look which was meant to -be full of arch meaning. Miss Denison took no notice either of speech -or look.</p> - -<p>“Now, are you going—of your own accord?” she asked firmly, and -rather menacingly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how you ever expect to get married if you -cut a fellow so short when he’s getting near the brink of a -proposal.”</p> - -<p>“Now, are you going?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said he, hastily, as she made one step towards -him; “I’m going. Though I don’t see why I should be the only man -turned out, when I’ll bet I’m the only one with matrimonial intentions.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t consider that you are the only one with the audacity -to spy upon me and to enter this house like a burglar.”</p> - -<p>“Now how did you guess that? Why, you must have been only -shamming sleep then, when I hung on to the window-sill outside, and -saw you looking so invitingly like Cinderella that I was obliged to -come in to get a nearer view.”</p> - -<p>Miss Denison was breathless with indignation. He continued—</p> - -<p>“As for spying, I’m not the only one. I’ve caught the parson -prowling about here these two evenings. And, look here, of course -I saw from the first you liked him better than me, and now you have -heard the story about him, no doubt you think him more interesting -than ever. But I don’t intend to be snubbed for a murderer. And -so I tell you this, Miss Denison: if you are any more civil to him -than you are to me, I’ll just spread abroad something I know and -that nobody else knows, and that is: how he disposed of the body of -the first poor girl who was unlucky enough to have anything -to do with him. And perhaps that will stop you from being the -second.”</p> - -<p>With these words Mr. Williams came out from his place of refuge -behind the armchair, and keeping at a respectful distance from the -fair but stalwart arm which he had already learnt to fear, sidled out of -the room with a swaggering bow. He looked back, however, when -he was safely outside the door.</p> - -<p>“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “I shall make you another offer -some day; perhaps half a dozen. They’ll come to be your one amusement -in this hole.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> - -<p>With this delightful promise, Mr. Frederick Williams opened the -front door and let himself out, leaving his involuntary hostess unable -to distinguish which feeling was strongest in her breast—amusement -or disgust at an impudence which she might well consider unparalleled.</p> - -<p>And that vague, insolent threat of his, what did it mean? Could -he really know anything about the mystery concerning the girl -Ellen Mitchell?</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was no denying that the arrival of these two spirited young -women had caused a great flutter among the bachelors of Rishton and -its neighborhood. For it is to be noted that if, on the one hand, the remarkable -beauty of the mistress attracted the attentions of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">elite</i> of -the male population, the rosy cheeks and saucy independence of the -maid began very soon to make havoc in humbler masculine hearts, -so that by the time Sunday came round, and with it the great weekly -gathering time, the whole village was in a mild ferment of excitement -over the prospect of a close inspection of the strangers—and in -their best clothes.</p> - -<p>The little church stood on the very summit of the hill on the slope -of which one side of the village lay. Its foundations and part of its -walls were very ancient; but after having been allowed to fall into -neglect and decay, it had been carefully restored, under its present -vicar, into a faultlessly trim and yet picturesque little building, the -fanciful gray stone tower of which could be seen from the Matherham -high road, rising like a coronet above the trees which grew thickly -on the crest of the hill. The churchyard was kept like a garden. One -of its gates led to the Vicarage, one end of which overlooked it; a -second led through fields by a long and circuitous route down to the -village; the third and principal entrance opened on to a little green, -well shaded by trees, on which, close under the churchyard wall, the -old village stocks, green with damp and a trifle infirm from age and -neglect, stolidly survived its time of active service. A long two-storeyed -cottage, green with untrimmed ivy and yew trees, which -were suffered to overshadow the small willows, stood at right angles -with the Vicarage, facing the green. Leaning over the wall of the -front garden was a weather-beaten board, bearing the information -that the cottage was “To let.”</p> - -<p>When Olivia, attended by the faithful Lucy, arrived at the church -on Sunday morning, she was at once accosted by the clerk, a small -and sanctimonious-looking old man, who smelt of spirits, and inducted -into a seat, close under the pulpit, which was, he informed -her in a low whisper, “the ’all pew.” It was too far forward for -Olivia to be able to see many of her fellow-worshippers, but one party, -occupying the opposite pew to her, could not fail to catch her eye. It -consisted of two very showily dressed young women, who entered -with much rustling and whispering, and were a long time settling -themselves; of a much younger brother and sister, whom they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> -hustled into a very small corner of the pew; and of Mat Oldshaw, -who occupied the outside seat, and who appeared to be bashfully conscious -the whole time of Miss Denison’s presence, though he never -once dared to look in her direction.</p> - -<p>Olivia was one of the first of the congregation to arrive, and in the -interval before the service commenced, she could not help regarding -with some interest such of her new neighbors as came within her -range of vision. The Oldshaw family, with the exception of Mat, -she knew she should not like, but in a large pew in front of them sat -a lady whose appearance attracted her greatly. She was not very -young or very pretty; she was dressed with great simplicity in a -dark costume and a long seal-skin jacket; and the word by which a -stranger would have described her was “lady-like.” It was impossible -to help contrasting her with the two fidgety women behind; and -Olivia was growing more and more sure that she should like to know -her when, to her surprise, she suddenly heard a loud, hoarse whisper, -“Here, gee up, Soosan,” and looking round, she saw the quiet-looking -lady move up the pew at the behest of the odious Frederick -Williams.</p> - -<p>As Olivia turned her head, she met this young man’s admiring -eyes turned upon her with their usual vacant stare. He was attired -this morning like the “swell” of the comic scenes of a pantomime, the -salient points of his costume being an overcoat lined with otter, a -pink-striped shirt, light gaiters, and brick-colored gloves. Olivia -fancied also that he had had his hair curled. He bestowed upon Miss -Denison a nod, a smile, and a wink, and appeared quite unabashed -by the fact that she vouchsafed him no sign of recognition in return. -He ensconced himself in the outer corner of the pew, and watched -her persistently until a heavy and measured tread up the aisle, followed -by short, pattering steps, announced two new comers, and he -had to make way for an elderly couple whom Olivia rightly guessed -to be his parents.</p> - -<p>Not that they bore any but the faintest family likeness to Olivia’s -dashing admirer. The gentleman was an erect and handsome man -of sixty or more, pompous and dignified; his wife was short, stout, -good-humored-looking, and well dressed. Just as she noticed these -facts the church bells ceased ringing, and a small choir of surpliced -boys came out of the vestry, followed by Mr. Vernon Brander.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t he a dear?” Miss Denison heard one of the fidgety ladies -whisper to the other, enthusiastically.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander conducted the service with no assistance but that of -the choir and the clerk, who was evidently a privileged person; for -he put everybody out who was within a dozen feet of his nasal -voice. Olivia was impressed by the sermon, but she was hardly -sure whether the impression was altogether favorable. For the -preacher did not speak “as one having authority,” but rather as -the servant than the teacher of his hearers; as one who was bound -to keep them in mind of truths which they knew already, rather than -as one who held up their duty before them with all the weight of a -respected and honored pastor.</p> - -<p>When the service was over, Olivia lingered a little in the churchyard, -looking at the gravestones, not unwilling to give the much-discussed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -Mr. Brander an opportunity of proving that no rumors -could affect her behavior to one who had been kind to her; but he -would not avail himself of it. On coming out of the church, which -he did with extraordinary little delay, Mr. Brander seemed purposely -to avoid glancing towards the spot where she was standing, but at -once, with quick steps, made for the gate at which the lady, whose -appearance had attracted Olivia, was waiting. Her party, including -the ill-mannered Frederick, had gone, as they had come, without -her.</p> - -<p>Olivia, who, like all young girls, could see a great deal without -looking, knew that the clergyman and the lady were talking about -her, and she would not pass out at the gate while they stood there. -So she continued her inspection of the tombstones, with a heart beating -rather faster than usual, for the very few minutes that the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tete-a-tete</i> -lasted. Now, surely, she might have a chance of speaking to -him; in common civility he would come, if only, as his note expressed -it “as his brother’s representative,” to ask how she was getting -on with her furnishing, and whether her friends were coming soon -to relieve her of her responsibilities. He passed quite near to her on -his way to the Vicarage gate. She raised her head with a smile -and a heightened color, ready to give him her prettiest greeting; -but he looked away with a persistency which she could no longer -doubt was intentional, and it was with a blush of the deepest mortification -that Olivia, whose burning eyes no longer saw inscriptions, -or tombstones, or anything but a particularly tactless and unobservant -clergyman, whose conduct in not allowing her to lessen her obligation -to him by an expression of her gratitude was, Olivia felt, -highly reprehensible. She was so hurt, so indignant, that when the -pleasant-looking lady, who stood by the gate and watched her approach, -made a movement forward as if to address the young stranger, -Olivia turned her head stiffly away. She would give no opening -to the friend of the man who had so deeply offended her.</p> - -<p>But anger in Olivia’s breast was a feeling which could not last. -Before she was half-way down the hill she was sorry for her hasty -action and ashamed of her disappointment. With the exaggerated -feeling of an impulsive young girl, she blamed herself as ungracious -and ungrateful, and decided that the avoidance of a man as kindly -and chivalrous as Mr. Brander had proved himself to be could only -proceed from the most honorable motives.</p> - -<p>The observant Lucy, perhaps, detected a lightening of the cloud -on her young mistress’ face, for, at this point of the latter’s reflections, -she broke the silence she had discreetly kept since leaving the -churchyard.</p> - -<p>“It’s a lot to do to take the service here in the morning, and at -St. Cuthbert’s in the afternoon, and a young men’s class four miles -away at night, isn’t it, ma’am?” she asked, glibly.</p> - -<p>Lucy had already collected as much local information as if she had -been settled in Rishton three months, and could have enlightened -Miss Denison on a good many points of local gossip if she had been -encouraged to do so.</p> - -<p>“Why, who does all that, Lucy?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Brander, ma’am. He holds a meeting of colliers belonging<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> -to some pit at night, and he says ‘he goes to them because they -wouldn’t all come to him.’”</p> - -<p>Olivia looked at her in astonishment. Here was the little maid -quoting with perfect confidence the clergyman’s own words.</p> - -<p>“But how did you pick up all this information?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, one hears things, ma’am,” said Lucy, who was an inveterate -gossip, but who did not care to own that butcher, grocer, old woman -at the village shop, nay, even the small boy who brought the afternoon -ha’porth of milk from Mrs. Briggs’, who kept a cow at the other -end of the village, all were laid under contribution to keep her well -informed. “And they do say, Miss Olivia, that the difference between -St. Cuthbert’s Church and this is something which must be -seen to be believed,” she added.</p> - -<p>Miss Denison said nothing to this. She herself was longing to see -St. Cuthbert’s, and would have found out the place and gone to -service there that very afternoon if a feeling of shyness had not restrained -her. Church once a day had always been enough for her -at Streatham; therefore it could only be curiosity which was urging -her to break through her custom now, she said to herself. So she -stayed at home that afternoon and wrote reluctantly enough to her -father to tell him that everything was ready for the arrival of the -rest of the family. If only Mrs. Denison would take it into her head -that the air of Yorkshire was too keen for her sensitive frame, and -would allow papa to come without her, what a happy life they two -might lead together, thought Olivia. She loved her easy-going -father passionately, and as passionately resented the subjection in -which he was kept by his second wife; but her utopian dream was -not to be fulfilled. On the Wednesday following she received a long -letter from her step-mother, announcing that they would all arrive -next day, and giving rambling but minute directions as to the preparation -for their coming.</p> - -<p>Olivia put down the letter with a sigh, called Lucy, and in a doleful -voice informed her that the reign of peace and freedom was nearly -over. The little maid’s face fell.</p> - -<p>“Lor, Miss Olivia, how she will fuss and worrit, to make up for -not having been able to get at us for a week!” was her first comment.</p> - -<p>“Well, we must try to give her no cause,” said Olivia, trying to -keep grave.</p> - -<p>“She’d find cause to grumble, Miss, if she was in heaven, and we -was all angels a flying about of her errands. I’ll warrant before -she’s been in the house ten minutes she’ll take a fancy to the scullery -for her bedroom, and say that we ought to have made this room the -coal cellar,” said Lucy with ill-humor that was not all affected.</p> - -<p>There was enough truth in the girl’s comic sketch for Olivia to give -a sigh at the prospect, though she stifled it instantly, and started -briskly on a tour of the house to see whether she had left any loophole -for complaints on the part of her step-mother. She could find -none. She had prepared the largest and best room for her father and -Mrs. Denison; the next best for the two children; the third in order -of merit she had fitted up as a spare room, leaving only two little -rooms scarcely larger than cupboards, the one for herself, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> -other for her brother Ernest, on his rare visits. The two rooms in -the wing she left unappropriated and untouched, not from any superstitious -scruples, for she would have liked the larger one for herself; -but she knew if she were to take possession of it, her step-mother -would certainly never cease “nagging” at her for helping herself to -so spacious a room.</p> - -<p>Thursday morning came, and Olivia rose with a doleful sense that -the fun and the freedom of the week were nearly over. Her energies -had found delightful vent in the unaccustomed work and responsibility; -she began to feel that even if she had been still in the old -home at Streatham, a contented return to lawn tennis and crewel -work would have been impossible. Would Mrs. Denison, who was -lazy as well as fretful, and who would now have to do without a housekeeper, -be inclined to trust her with the reins of management? As -Olivia had always until now been known to have the utmost horror -of any household duties, she was not without a hope that, if she kept -secret the change in her own feelings, Mrs. Denison might herself -make some such proposal, being amiably anxious to make those -around her feel as acutely as she did herself the alteration in the -family fortunes.</p> - -<p>They were to arrive about six o’clock. Olivia, who was only -anxious to see her father, would not go to meet them. She would -get old papa all to himself in the evening, and have a long talk, and -tell him all her adventures. He was not himself while within range -of the querulous voice and cold eyes of his second wife. Olivia -thought she would have a very early dinner and a long walk to brace -herself for her fall from autocracy. So at two o’clock she was on the -Sheffield Road, walking fast against a keen wind, under a leaden -sky that promised snow within a few hours. She did not care for -that. Protected by a hooded waterproof and a thick pair of boots, the -healthy girl was quite ready to do battle with rain, snow, or wind; -and the object of her walk was quite interesting enough for her to -think little of the cold.</p> - -<p>Olivia was going to St. Cuthbert’s. She knew where the church -was. She had seen its dilapidated, patched-up tower, a very marvel -of make-shift architecture, far away on the plain below her as she -walked to Matherham by the longest and prettiest road. After walking -for about a mile and a half along this road, which was on high -ground and afforded a wide view of hill and plain, she had only to -turn to the left and descend the hill by a steep and narrow lane, and -walk on until she came to it. A feeling of shyness brought the bright -blood to the girl’s cheeks as she turned into the lane. She hoped she -should not meet Mr. Brander. The whisper of one of the Misses Oldshaw -in church on Sunday had made known that it was the fashion -among a section of the village ladies to worship him; and Miss Denison, -having always held “curate adorers” in stern and lofty contempt, -was most anxious not to be confounded with that class. It was -just the time, however, when she thought an active clergyman would -be going his rounds in the parish.</p> - -<p>She had indeed met no one the whole way except a lame tramp, -who was approaching her along the Sheffield Road as she turned into -the lane. The whole country-side seemed to be asleep except for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> -occasional distant shriek of a railway engine as it disappeared between -the hills a mile away.</p> - -<p>At last Olivia drew near to the church and the Vicarage, standing -together, with no other buildings near, on a slightly rising ground in -the centre of the plain. The Vicarage came first. It was a large, -plain, hideous house, like a great stone box, sheltered by no ivy -and no trees, with an uncared-for square of garden in front of it, -and a plain stone wall all round. Only three of the windows in the -front part of the house were curtained; the rest were blank and -bare, as if the place had been uninhabited. Close to the garden wall -came the churchyard, a mildewed wilderness in which broken and -displaced headstones had been suffered to take what positions they -pleased, and lay flat, or stood sideways, or leaned against each other -without hindrance. The church itself was the most extraordinary -pile Olivia had ever seen. It was built of stone, and very, very old -and ruinous. But no care, no taste, no skill had been for years -employed in its restoration. As harm came to it from wear or -weather, it had simply been repaired in the cheapest and speediest -way with whatever substance came first to hand. Thus, the glass -of one window, having been irretrievably damaged, had been replaced -by bricks, which filled up the blank spaces between the -scarcely injured tracery. In the early years of the century, a storm -had brought down the central tower, which in its fall, had crushed -through the roof of the south aisle, breaking through the outer wall -and making one-third of the whole church an almost shapeless ruin. -As that storm had left it, so through sixty years it had remained, -with only this difference, that the shattered tower had been brought -up to the height of a few feet above the roof with irregular layers of -wood and brick and stone, and surmounted by a pointed roof of slate; -while the spaces between the arches on the southern side of the nave -had been bricked up to form an outer wall to the church, leaving the -ruined aisle outside, exposed to every chance of wind and weather. -At the south-east corner, a portion of the roof, no longer either very -solid or very safe, still kept in its place. At the south-west angle a -rough hole in the ground and a dozen rude and broken steps had -formerly led into a small crypt with a vaulted roof, which extended -about half-way under the southern aisle; but the opening having, -not without reason, been declared dangerous, had been filled up, -ten years ago, with bricks and stones and earth, over which the -grass and weeds had now grown.</p> - -<p>The gate of the churchyard was locked; but Olivia was not going -to be deterred by such an obstacle from the closer inspection her -curiosity craved. Choosing a place where the high stone wall had -irregularities on its rough surface large enough to afford a footing, -she climbed to the top, and let herself down with a jump among the -gravestones on the other side. The three doors of the church were -also locked; this she had expected. She made the tour of the building -very slowly, trying to decipher the dates on the weather-beaten -headstones. Before she had gone half-way round, the snow, which -had been threatening all day, began to fall in large flakes, so that, -by the time she again reached the ruined aisle, Olivia was glad to -take shelter under the remaining bit of the old roof. This formed a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> -very complete place of refuge; for a sort of inner buttress had been -formed with some of the loose stones, which supported the remaining -portions of wall and roof, and made the enclosed corner safe from -wind or rain. She was debating whether it would not be wiser to -make the best of her way home at once, in spite of the snow, before -the short day began to draw in, when she heard the key turn in the -lock of the gate, and, peeping between the stones, saw the Reverend -Vernon Brander enter, and, leaving the gate open behind him, disappear -round the west end of the church. From his grave, stern, -absorbed expression, Olivia guessed that he was unaware of the -presence of another human being. In a few minutes she heard the -rattle of the key in the lock of the north-west door of the church, and -then Mr. Brander’s tread, on the stone floor inside.</p> - -<p>Olivia did not wish to see him. She decided to wait a few minutes, -in case he should only have gone in to fetch something; she -could hear him walking about, opening the ventilators of some of -the windows, and closing those of others; then for a few minutes she -heard no further sound. She would escape now, while he was engaged -inside. Just as she was drawing the hood over her hat, preparing -for a smart walk back through the snow, she caught sight -of another figure at the gate, whom she recognized as the lame -tramp she had seen near the entrance of the lane. He was a man -whose age it was impossible to determine, with coarse features, and -an expression not devoid of intelligence. He had a wooden leg and -walked moreover with the aid of a stick.</p> - -<p>Olivia was so much struck by the expression of vivid interest and -curiosity with which he scanned every object round him, from the -shambling tower above to the gravestones at his feet, that, instead -of coming out from her shelter, she remained watching him, convinced -that the place had some special interest for him. That interest -her mind connected, with a lightning flash of vivid perception, -with the story of Nellie Mitchell’s disappearance. The man came towards -the ruined aisle, treading more slowly and cautiously with -every step, and gradually turning his attention entirely to the ground -on which he trod. He did not come so far as the roofed corner, but -suddenly turned his steps back in the direction of the blocked-up entrance -to the crypt. Against the roughly piled stones he struck his -stick sharply, with an abrupt exclamation in a loud and grating -voice.</p> - -<p>Just at the moment he uttered this, Mr. Brander appeared round -the western corner. His pale face turned to a livid color and his lips -twitched convulsively at sight of the man, whom he appeared instantly -to recognize. The tramp, on his side, took matters much -more lightly. Saluting the clergymen with a touch of his cap, he -said, in a voice which became hoarse in his endeavor to make it mysterious—</p> - -<p>“Eh, Maister Brander, but it’s a long time since we’ve met. -Eleven year come next seventh of July.”</p> - -<p>Olivia held her breath; the seventh of July was the date of Nellie -Mitchell’s disappearance. She would have given the world to run -away, to escape hearing what she knew must be a confession; but -there was no way out except by passing the two men. Brave as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -she was Olivia dared not face them. She shrank back in her corner -and vainly tried not to hear.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was a long pause after the tramp had addressed Mr. Brander. -In spite of herself, Olivia found herself at last holding her breath -with impatience to hear the clergyman’s answer. She would not -look at him, although through the gaps in the rough stonework she -might easily have done so; but her hands, with which she had at -first tried to stop her ears, fell down at her sides. When at last he -spoke, Mr. Brander’s voice was low and husky, affected by some -strong feeling.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Abel, it’s a long time—a very long time.”</p> - -<p>The blood rushed to Olivia’s face, and her cold hands stole together; -there was something in the vicar’s voice which told so clearly of -years of keen suffering that a great throb of pity wrung the girl’s -heart; and she hoped, as eagerly as if the matter had affected her -personally, that this tramp would keep his secret.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Abel, in whose tones, to do him justice, there was no -malignity. “Ah’ve kept ma word, parson. Ah promised ye that -neeght as Ah’d go on straight wi’out resting hereabouts. An’ on -Ah went, and Ah nivver said nowt, and Ah’ve nivver been nigh t’ -pleace from that day to this. Now that’s straight dealin’, parson, -arn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Abel; I always knew you for a straight man.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander spoke gravely and appreciatively, but there was -no undue humility in his tone, as of a man demanding mercy. Abel -resumed.</p> - -<p>“Ay, parson, so I be. Ah’m not mooch of a Christian, as tha -knaws, an’ if so be a mon treats ma ill, Ah loike to be even wi’ him. -But if so be a mon treats ma fair, Ah treat him fair beck. An’ tha’s -treated ma more nor fair, parson, mony’s the time. An’ so, when -tha says, ‘Shut tha mooth an’ mak’ nae guesses,’ Ah shuts ma mooth, -an’ Ah doan’t guess nowt.”</p> - -<p>“What brings you here now, then?” asked Mr. Brander, abruptly, -with perceptible anxiety in his tone.</p> - -<p>“Weel, parson, tha knaws Ah wur born and bred hereaboots. An’ -though Ah been fond o’ trampin’ it i’ ma time, Ah’m not so spry-like -as Ah wur, an’ Ah’d like to settle in t’ pleace where Ah wur -bred.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve saved some money, then?” asked Mr. Brander as sharply -as before.</p> - -<p>“Not so mooch, not so mooch, mester, but Ah doan’t count to end -ma days in an eight-roomed villa, like t’ gentlefowk.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause, and then the vicar spoke in a constrained tone, -in which the effort to repress some strong feeling was more manifest -than ever.</p> - -<p>“And if I ask you not to settle here, Abel, but to pitch your tent -for the remainder of your days somewhere else, what would you do?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> -Come, I don’t want to throw in your face what I’ve done for you, but -what would you do?”</p> - -<p>Olivia heard the man clearing his throat undecidedly, and kicking -with his wooden leg against the gravestones.</p> - -<p>“You doan’t trust ma, parson, an’ it’s a bit hard, after howdin’ ma -tongue nigh eleven year. Eh, but if Ah’d wanted to ha’ spoke, wadn’t -Ah ha’ spoke afore now?”</p> - -<p>“If you had wanted to speak about the business, I should never -have wasted my breath asking you not to,” said Mr. Brander with -decision. “I trust you, Abel, as much as one man may trust another. -But judging you as I should judge myself, I say it would -be impossible for you to live in this neighborhood, where that night’s -occurrences are still continually being raked up and discussed, without -its leaking out that you were here on that night, and that you -met me. That, as you know, I wish to keep secret.”</p> - -<p>“But, parson,” began the man slowly, in a troubled tone——</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander interrupted him.</p> - -<p>“Now we’ve nothing further to discuss, Abel. I want the whole -story forgotten.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s not a whole story, Mester Brander, an’ that’s why it -nivver will be forgotten. It’s a mystery to all but—to ivverybody; -an’ until t’ fowk knaw what become o’ Nellie Mitchell, a mystery -it’ll be, an’ they’ll talk aboot it. Why, parson, dost knaw t’ tales as -goes round?”</p> - -<p>“What do tales matter as long as they are only idle ones?” said -Mr. Brander, hastily. “Now, Abel Squires, which is it to be? Is -the parson to have his way, or has he been wasting his breath?”</p> - -<p>“He maun ha’ his way, Ah reckon: but Ah tell thee, parson, it’s -all no use. It’ll be none o’ ma doin’, but—murder will oot, tha -knaws.”</p> - -<p>He dropped his voice to a low, portentous whisper for the last -words.</p> - -<p>“Murder!” echoed Mr. Blander, also in a low voice. “What are -you talking about? Didn’t I tell you it was not murder?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, that tha did,” said Abel, rather drily.</p> - -<p>“And did you see anything?”</p> - -<p>“Weel, not that neeght, but next day——”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” ejaculated Mr. Brander, sharply. “Then you didn’t keep -your word; you didn’t go straight on!”</p> - -<p>The man’s answer came deliberately.</p> - -<p>“Ah went straight on that neeght, mester, as Ah towd tha Ah -would. But Ah coom back next mornin’. It wur only human -natur’; an’ Ah took a look round. Ay! parson, Ah hid summat as -would ha towd a tale.”</p> - -<p>“What was that?” asked Mr. Brander, slowly, and, as it seemed, -with difficulty.</p> - -<p>“There wur marks on those steps down to t’ crypt as is now -blocked oop. An’ down at t’ bottom. An’ Ah tramped ’em oot. An’ -there war marks in other pleace as Ah made away. An’ it wur all -for ye, parson, for Ah thowt of what ye’d done for ma when Ah wur -ill and nobody to care for ma, an’ Ah did what Ah could.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a good fellow, Abel,” said Mr. Brander, huskily, after a -few moments’ pause. “And you’ve been a good friend to me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> - -<p>“Ah, Mester Brander, but Ah’d ha’ liked to ha’ served ye a better -way,” said the man, who seemed affected in his turn.</p> - -<p>The vicar silenced him with a peremptory “Sh-sh.” Then he -said—</p> - -<p>“You won’t be able to get far to-night on foot. It will be snowing -heavily in an hour from now. You must get home by train to-night.”</p> - -<p>Olivia guessed that he must have put money into the man’s hand, -for Abel Squires answered reluctantly—</p> - -<p>“Ah doan’t tak’ it for howding ma tongue, parson. But if ye -want ma to go further, it’s but fair ye should pay for it. Here’s -good-day to you, sir, and may you nivver——”</p> - -<p>The voices were growing fainter. Olivia peeped between the -stones for the first time, and saw that the oddly assorted couple were -making their way among the ruined gravestones to the gate, where -the vicar shook hands with the tramp, who went back up the lane -towards the Sheffield road as fast as his wooden leg would let him. -Mr. Brander stood at the gate until long after Abel had disappeared -from sight at a bend of the lane. His back was towards Olivia, and -all that she could see was that he remained extraordinarily still. -The snow, which from a few feathery flakes had gradually thickened -into a blinding storm, grew at last so dense that no mental abstraction -could shut it out. The vicar suddenly threw back his head, and -apparently taking in the fact that he was getting wet through, gave -himself a violent shake to get rid of the white covering which already -enveloped him, turned and walked rapidly back to the church.</p> - -<p>As soon as Olivia heard the rattle of the lock, she sprang out of -her shelter, struggling with her umbrella as she went, hurried over -the uneven ground within the ruined aisle, where a few minutes before -Mr. Brander and the tramp had been standing, and steering -rapidly and neatly between the broken and scattered tombstones, -reached the gate in very few seconds. As she flitted quickly through, -however, a gust of wind blew the skirt of her waterproof against the -bars of the gate, which swung to behind her with a loud creaking -noise. She ran on, and in a minute was out of sight to any one at -the church door, hidden by the churchyard wall. But Mr. Brander, -hearing the noise, and being naturally rather startled by the idea -that some one had been about during his very private conversation -with Squires, was too quick for her. He was out of the church and -on the track of the intruder before she had got many steps up the -lane. She was just past the bend when he suddenly came up with -her. One umbrellaed and waterproofed woman in a snowstorm is so -like another that he had not the slightest idea who his quarry was -until he had passed her and turned to look back. As he did so he -caught sight of her face, and instantly stopped.</p> - -<p>Olivia stopped too, and holding back her umbrella, met his glance -with a frank, straight gaze. He raised his hat, seemed about to -speak to her, but hesitated. She smiled and held out her hand. He -saw at once that this was not the ordinary greeting of an acquaintance -she was tendering him. The muscles about her mouth were -quivering, and her eyes, as they met his for a moment before dropping -modestly, were luminous with generous feeling, maidenly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> -shame struggling with womanly sympathy. Mr. Brander took her -hand with some constraint. As he touched it, however, something -in the firm clasp of the girl’s fingers gave him confidence.</p> - -<p>“Miss Denison,” he said, gravely, while his keen black eyes -seemed to read the thoughts in her brain before they were uttered, -“you have been in the churchyard. Where were you?”</p> - -<p>The blood, which was already crimson in Olivia’s cheeks, mounted -to her forehead, until her whole face was aglow. Her eyes fell, and -it was in a low, almost faltering, voice that she answered.</p> - -<p>“I was in the ruined part of the church—where the roof is left.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander was startled by this confession. He did not at once -speak, being evidently occupied in trying to recall the very words -of the conversation she must have overheard. But he soon gave up -that attempt, and asked, impatiently—</p> - -<p>“Then you heard—what?”</p> - -<p>Olivia’s breath come almost in sobs, as she answered at once, with -bent head, and almost in a whisper—</p> - -<p>“I heard nearly all you said—you and the man. I am very, very -sorry and ashamed, and I ask your pardon. But I did not dare to -come out while you were there. I hoped to get away without your -seeing me.”</p> - -<p>“But what did I say? What did he say? What did you understand -by it all?” asked he, so eagerly that he almost seemed to be -bullying her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know. Pray don’t ask me. I don’t want to remember. -I would rather forget it all. I never meant that a word about -it should pass my lips, and it will not after this,” said she, hurriedly -without looking up.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander said nothing to this at first, and Olivia, raising her -head to steal a look at his face, judged by his expression that he was -in the throes of some terrible mental struggle, the outcome of which -would be some passionate outburst. But he recovered command of -himself, and when he at last spoke to her, it was in a very quiet -voice.</p> - -<p>“I am keeping you standing in the snow, Miss Denison; I must -not do that. But we must come to a word of understanding now; it -will put us on a right footing for the future.”</p> - -<p>“You need not say another word to me, Mr. Brander,” interrupted -Olivia, vehemently. “The understanding between us is clear -enough; you are a most warm-hearted gentleman, and have shown -me more delicate kindness than I ever received in my life; I am, and -shall be as long as you let me, your grateful friend. What understanding -do you want more than that?”</p> - -<p>Her clear young voice rang out with enthusiastic warmth, which -threw the clergyman off his balance. He began to tremble like a -leaf, and again his thin, mobile face showed signs of the emotion -within him. But he still kept it under restraint, and spoke in a perfectly -steady voice.</p> - -<p>“Thank you; I expected generosity from you. But—do you quite -understand the position I am in, I wonder? Did you understand that -man—that tramp—is keeping a secret for me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Olivia, steadily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> - -<p>“And you are aware of its nature?”</p> - -<p>The girl drew a deep breath, but she answered bravely, though in -a low voice, “Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And after that, and after hearing everything that you have -heard, that you must have heard, about this miserable story, you -still are ready to call yourself—my friend?”</p> - -<p>He kept his voice at the same quiet pitch, but on the last two words -it broke a little. There was a pause of only a few seconds.</p> - -<p>Then Olivia answered in a veritable whisper, but with the same -sweet and dignified seriousness, “Yes, Mr. Brander.”</p> - -<p>She might reasonably have expected some acknowledgement of -the gracious, womanly daring of this speech; but instead of giving -any sign of gratitude, Mr. Brander, to her astonishment, turned upon -her quite sharply.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s quixotic, illogical, pretty perhaps from a boarding-school -young lady’s point of view, but not worthy of a woman of -sense.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was surprised, but she was true woman enough to have her -answer.</p> - -<p>“I think I can justify it,” she said, holding her head back rather -obstinately.</p> - -<p>“Very well. Justify yourself for being ready to make friends -with a man believed to have committed a very atrocious and cowardly -murder.”</p> - -<p>Olivia looked at him full and earnestly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe——” she began, doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“You don’t believe what?”</p> - -<p>“That you—ever—did it.”</p> - -<p>“Because I have the assurance to take the bull by the horns, waylay -you, and insist upon coming to an explanation?”</p> - -<p>“No—o, not because of that.”</p> - -<p>“Why then?”</p> - -<p>Olivia continued to gaze at him as solemnly as if she had been a -judge passing sentence.</p> - -<p>“It is very difficult to say quite why,” she began, deliberately. -“They say women hardly ever can say why they believe a thing.”</p> - -<p>“Is that all your answer?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she replied rather sharply, beginning to be a little annoyed -at the irony in his tone. “They have never proved it, for one thing -although they tried. And—how can a man have changed so in ten -years?”</p> - -<p>“The first is a reason; the other is not. But you have just seen -with your own eyes the only witness to my actions on that night, -and heard with your own ears that he has not been in the neighborhood -since.”</p> - -<p>Olivia assented.</p> - -<p>“Then you say, ‘How can a man have changed so much in ten -years?’ But I tell you I have changed so much in that time that, -except for externals, I might pass for a different man. Now what -becomes of your reasons for thinking me innocent?”</p> - -<p>“I will believe you did it if you tell me so, of course,” said Olivia -quietly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> - -<p>“And what then?”</p> - -<p>“What then? I shall be sorry again, and puzzled.”</p> - -<p>“And you will withdraw all those pretty professions of friendship?”</p> - -<p>Olivia debated with herself for a few moments only. Then she -answered, vehemently, in a strong voice—</p> - -<p>“No. You were my friend—a very good friend too—before I heard -anything against you. You were good to us, as I hear you are -good to everybody. When you met that man in the churchyard -just now, you spoke like a brave man, and not like a coward. I -hear from every one about the noble, self-denying life you lead. If -you didn’t do it you are almost a martyr; if—if you did, you are -expiating what you did in a manner which justifies our respect. Now -if you call these women’s reasons, I don’t care; they are good enough -for me, Mr. Brander.”</p> - -<p>“And for me, too, Miss Denison. I——”</p> - -<p>He tried to keep his voice under proper command. But educated -to self-control by long years as he was, he gave way under the unexpected -rush of warm and generous feeling. A choking in his -throat checked his utterance; his keen eyes grew moist and dim. -He saw, as in a mist, a hand held out to him, and seizing it, he wrung -it in a pressure which made Olivia wince.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he said at last, in a voice still husky, while he continued -to hold her fingers in a strong nervous clasp; “I have nothing -to say to you; no confession, no explanation, nothing. But you are -a grand girl—a grand girl.”</p> - -<p>He released her hand suddenly, as if with an effort, and then at -once struggled into his usual manner.</p> - -<p>“You’re half frozen with standing in the cold (a very just penalty -for eavesdropping, by the way), and you’ll be half buried before you -get back. I must see you home.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, indeed, I’m not going to drag you all that way on a day -like this.”</p> - -<p>“But I choose to be dragged. You rash young woman, accustomed -to the peaceful security of Streatham; you must learn that it -is not safe for a young lady to tramp about this part of the world -alone so late in the day.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s not late.”</p> - -<p>“It will be dark before you get home. Go on up the hill, and I will -fetch my mackintosh and overtake you.”</p> - -<p>He went into his bare-looking house while Olivia tramped on -obediently. She had not noticed, until then, how thickly the snowflakes -were falling, nor how the gloom of the leaden sky was deepening. -Now, too, she became aware, for the first time, that her jaws -were stiff, and her hands and feet bitterly cold; for the interview -with Mr. Brander had been too exciting to allow her to notice these -things. He overtook her in a very few minutes, and walked by her -side, conversing on different topics, until that scene by the churchyard -scarcely seemed a reality. They passed only one person, a -rough-looking collier of unsteady gait, whom Mr. Brander made use -of to point a moral.</p> - -<p>“Now, is that the sort of person you would care to meet if you -were alone?” he asked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t have been afraid of him,” answered Olivia.</p> - -<p>“No; if he had been sober he would have been vastly afraid of -you, and of most girls I should say. So he is when he’s drunk. But -your courage doesn’t want stimulating; it wants repressing. For I -tell you my collier boys are good lads in the main, but there are -black sheep among them as among other folk, and you mustn’t -risk falling in with one towards nightfall on a lonely road. Do you -hear?”</p> - -<p>He spoke with playful peremptoriness, but Olivia understood that -he was giving a serious warning, which she promised to heed. He -went on talking about the colliers, who formed the bulk of the inhabitants -of his scattered parish, with affectionate interest which -awakened a sympathetic curiosity in her, until they reached the inn -at the entrance of Rishton village. Mr. Brander had grown so warm -over what Olivia afterwards discovered to be his favorite subject that, -quite unconsciously, his steps, and consequently hers, had grown -slower and slower, while his voice grew more and more eager until -a passer-by would have taken them for a pair of lovers reluctant to -separate. They had come to a complete standstill in the farmyard -by the corner of the house, when they heard the opening of the front -door, a man’s footstep, and then a woman’s strong shrill voice——</p> - -<p>“It’s no use looking for her, Charles. She won’t be in yet. Olivia -never did care a straw for your comfort or for mine.”</p> - -<p>Olivia turned to Mr. Brander, and held out her hand with a doleful -shake of the head.</p> - -<p>“There,” she said, “isn’t that more eloquent than the longest -description? There’ll be an end to everything now she’s come!”</p> - -<p>Fortunately it had grown by this time so dark that under her umbrella -the hot blushes which mounted to Olivia’s cheeks as soon as this -speech had escaped her lips could not be seen. Giving Mr. Brander -her hand very hastily, and not leaving him time for something, -he half hesitated, but wanted to say, she turned, and with a hasty -“Good-bye; thank you very much for coming,” ran round towards -the front of the house.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Olivia had come as near as she could to the porch without being -seen from thence, she stopped, in the hope that Mrs. Denison, who -was still grumbling at her step-daughter’s non-appearance, would go -indoors, and give her a chance of enveloping her father in a warm -hug, and of snatching a stolen interview with him unknown to the -ruling powers.</p> - -<p>In a few moments, to the girl’s great delight, Mrs. Denison said, -impatiently, “Well, I can’t stand here in the snow, just because -your daughter chooses to insult me by absenting herself when I -am expected.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, my dear,” expostulated papa’s mild tones, “Olivia is -the best creature in the world. She wouldn’t think of insulting you -or anybody. But how could she guess that we should come by an -earlier train than the one we said?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, I’m not going to catch cold even for the best creature in -the world, and I should advise you not to either. Are you coming -in?”</p> - -<p>“Not directly, I think, my dear. I want a little air after that -stuffy railway carriage. And really, you know, those children do -quarrel so——”</p> - -<p>“If you want to go hunting for Olivia, say so; but don’t put it -down to the poor children,” said Mrs. Denison.</p> - -<p>And she went indoors, shutting the door with a nearer approach to -a “slam” than etiquette prescribes for a lady.</p> - -<p>No sooner was she safely inside than Olivia crept along under the -lea of the house wall, and springing up the worn steps at a bound, -flung down her umbrella, and threw her arms round her father’s -neck like a hungry young bear.</p> - -<p>“Good gracious, my dear, you’re quite wet and as cold as ice. -You must come inside and warm yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, dear old papa—poor old papa; it’s warmer here outside. -With Beatrix and Regie fighting, and mamma at freezing point, -the place must be——”</p> - -<p>“Now you’ve been listening; that isn’t right.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I have—all the afternoon—taking in all the private conversations -I could get near enough to overhear. I find it grows upon -one. But I can always tell what temper Mrs. Denison is in without -any listening.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Olivia, I won’t hear that. Your step-mother is the best of -women——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, papa, I know,” said Olivia, nodding gravely.</p> - -<p>Indeed she had heard that sentiment many scores of times, and she -supposed that by constant repetition her good-natured father hoped to -persuade himself that it was true.</p> - -<p>“And Regie and Beatrix are the best of children, aren’t they, old -papa?” she asked, gravely.</p> - -<p>He was quite distressed at not being able to reply truthfully in the -affirmative.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “I’m sure they would be. Only somehow, I -don’t know how it is, they seem to get a little too much indulged, I -think.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they do. I think they want a little more of your iron -rule, papa,” said Olivia, who was hanging on to his arm, lovingly -patting his cheek and turning up his coat collar and lavishing upon -him all the caressing little attentions he loved from his adored daughter’s -hands.</p> - -<p>He began to laugh; her liveliness and demonstrative affection were -dispelling the gloomy forebodings which had hung upon him all day -on the entrance to this new and untried life.</p> - -<p>“You don’t treat me with proper respect, Olivia. If you are going -to be impudent, I shall take you indoors and get Mrs. Denison to talk -to you.”</p> - -<p>“What mortal man may dare, you dare; but you don’t dare that,” -said his daughter, saucily. “Don’t you want to know how I’ve got -on here all by myself?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but I’m afraid you’ll catch cold?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> - -<p>“No, I shan’t. The excitement of this stolen meeting with the -king of my heart will keep me warm. Besides, we’ll go in directly. -Only when we do, you know what it will be. Nag, nag—oh, no, I -forgot; that word is tabooed. I should say orate, orate, until all the -ills that flesh is heir to have been exhausted.”</p> - -<p>“What were you doing out on a day like this? You hadn’t gone -to meet us, had you?”</p> - -<p>“No-o, I hadn’t. I’d been to look at a church.”</p> - -<p>“That means that you’ve fallen in love with a parson.”</p> - -<p>“Papa, papa, how can you say such things—of me, too?”</p> - -<p>“Why, my dear child, I only spoke in fun. You don’t really suppose -I thought so meanly of you as that?”</p> - -<p>Olivia laughed with some constraint. If her father, who already -had a prejudice against the clergy, should hear the rumors about -poor Mr. Brander, nothing, short of entreaties which she would be -ashamed to use, would induce him to allow her to exchange another -word with the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s. And, in a neighborhood where -the social attractions were so few as at Rishton, the loss of an acquaintance -capable of intelligent conversation was a serious one. -She grew silent, and beginning to feel conscious of the cold, -shivered. Her father instantly opened the door and led her into the -house. He could hear his wife’s powerful voice as she chatted with -one of the servants in the dining-room. Mrs. Denison was one of those -women who confide much in their servants, without extracting any -confidence worth having in return. She dropped into a stony silence -as her husband and his daughter entered; for there was a feud, -generally covert but none the less real, between the two ladies.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison was a woman of about thirty-five, of the middle -height, somewhat thick set, with a cold face, which was not ill looking, -though she had never been strictly handsome. She drew herself -up, with a displeased expression, in the arm chair she occupied -by the fire; and Olivia knew that her efforts to make the house comfortable -had not met with the approval of its mistress. The girl -walked the whole length of the long room with a rather rebellious -feeling in her heart, which she tried to subdue, and held out her -hand with the best grace she could.</p> - -<p>“How do you do, mamma? I hope you had a pleasant journey,” -she said, cordially.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison gave her finger tips, and looked at her with cold -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Quite as well as I could expect, thank you, knowing what I had -to look forward to.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you don’t dislike the new home already.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, when it begins to look at all like ‘home,’ I daresay it will -be bearable enough; but there is at least a fortnight’s hard work for -me before that can happen.”</p> - -<p>Olivia’s face changed, and began to look proud and mutinous. Mr. -Denison rushed into the breach.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, Susan, I don’t think you are quite fair to poor -Olivia. Remember, it’s hard work for a girl, arranging a big house -like this. I think she has done very well indeed.”</p> - -<p>“You must allow me, Edward, to know what I am talking about,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -said his wife; while Regie and Beatrix, who had been quarrelling -silently but viciously in a corner, scenting something in a possible -discussion among their elders, came to an abrupt truce and listened -eagerly. “I think I ought to understand the arrangement of a -house by this time.”</p> - -<p>“It is a pity, Mrs. Denison, that you could not have spared Lucy -and me a week of discomfort and hard work by coming here first -yourself,” said Olivia, whose quick temper was seldom proof against -her step-mother’s attacks. “I never doubted that we should fail to -please you, but you might give us the credit of having tried.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter, Susan? What have you to find fault -with?” asked Mr. Denison. His easy-going nature made him averse -from interfering in any discussion; but he had suffered so much -self-reproach for allowing his daughter to come to Rishton by herself -that he felt impelled to dare a word in her behalf. “Hasn’t she -made the place very comfortable?”</p> - -<p>“She has at least taken care that she herself shall be very comfortable,” -said Mrs. Denison, in her most disagreeable tone.</p> - -<p>“Will you please tell me how I have done that?” asked Olivia, in -a very low voice.</p> - -<p>She was afraid lest her self-control should leave her, and the discussion -assume the vulgar aspect of a quarrel between two angry -women. For, blame herself for it as she might, she was angry as -well as hurt.</p> - -<p>“By consulting nobody’s convenience but your own in your -choice of a room for yourself,” said Mrs. Denison, sharply.</p> - -<p>“My bedroom!” cried the girl with unfeigned surprise. “Why, -what other could I have chosen? It is the smallest in this side of -the house, except papa’s dressing-room!”</p> - -<p>“It is the only one that I could possibly make into a boudoir for -myself. I don’t know whether you expect me to give up all the little -comforts and refinements of a lady.”</p> - -<p>This speech grated on the ears of both Olivia and her father. Mr. -Denison, after ten years of his second marriage, was by no means so -absorbed by marital devotion as to ignore the descent he had made -in taking for his second wife a woman scarcely refined enough to -have been maid to his first. Being a man of affectionate temperament, -fond of home, and sensitively grateful for kindness real or -supposed, it was natural that in his keen sorrow at his first wife’s -death, he should fall a prey to the first woman, near at hand, who -should find it worth her while to capture him. This, in the natural -course of things, proved to be his daughter’s governess.</p> - -<p>The clever, superficially educated daughter of a small provincial -shopkeeper, the second Mrs. Denison, on her elevation to a rank -above her birth, was determined to avail herself to the full of every -privilege to which her new station entitled her. One of these privileges -she conceived to be the possession of a “boudoir,” though what -the precise significance of it was to her it was not easy to see, as she -entered it very rarely, while the whole house was not large enough -for her to “sulk” in. But in overlooking this necessity of her -station, Mrs. Denison chose to consider that Olivia had wished to put -upon her a slight of the kind she could least brook, and no pains the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> -girl had taken in other directions could induce her to overlook the -indignity.</p> - -<p>Again Mr. Denison, with unusual rashness, stepped in.</p> - -<p>“My dear Susan,” he expostulated, “Olivia must have a -room to sleep in. And there must be a spare room kept for Ernest. -Where else could she stow herself?”</p> - -<p>“There are two good rooms in the wing——” began Mrs. Denison.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear, they are damp and full of mouldy old things -that——”</p> - -<p>He was interrupted in his turn by his daughter.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t the least objection to sleeping in the wing, papa. I left -those rooms untouched for Mrs. Denison to decide what she would -have done with them. I will take the large room with pleasure, -mouldy old things and all.”</p> - -<p>In truth, Olivia was pleased with this arrangement, and she took -possession of the room which had once been Ellen Mitchell’s with -alacrity which she did her best to hide from her step-mother. Nobody -had told Mrs. Denison the story about those two rooms; but -their decayed and desolate appearance had inspired her with a strong -prejudice against them, so that Olivia was allowed to keep not only -the bedroom but the outer room as well for her own use. Mr. Denison -was strongly opposed to the idea of his beautiful daughter sleeping -away from the rest of the household in what he called “a -wretched old rat run.” But as the two feminine wills were both -against his, he could do nothing but stipulate emphatically that -fires were to be kept up in both rooms throughout the winter. His -wife demurred at the expense, but on this point he was firm, and -had his own way.</p> - -<p>In the jarring family life which the Denison household led under -the presidency of the second wife, Olivia found a great relief in being -able to shut herself up in her wing, away from all discordant -elements, even though the atmosphere of these two rooms remained -to the end heavy with the tragedy of their last occupant. That -tragedy the young girl grew more and more anxious fully to know -about; so she turned over the leaves of the old books, and read again -the inscription in faded ink in the old prayer book: “Ellen Mitchell, -from her affectionate brother Ned.” What had become of “Ned?” -Did the “affectionate brother” know that his sister had been spirited -away, leaving no trace? These were conjectures which often passed -through Olivia’s mind as she sat down for a lazy half hour by her -fire at bedtime.</p> - -<p>This half hour was now the only idle time in Olivia’s day. Like -many other idle English girls, she had only wanted something to do to -develop the most dashing energy; and as Mrs. Denison was too much -enervated by long years of laziness to care for the trouble of housekeeping, -Olivia flung herself with ardor into these new duties, and -found in them that necessary outlet for her energies which she had -previously sought in lawn tennis.</p> - -<p>The whole family had been settled at Rishton Hall a week, and -Mrs. Denison had begun bitterly to complain that nobody had called -upon her, when one afternoon, while Olivia was busy in the dining-room<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> -with the children’s clothes, and her step-mother was shut up in -her boudoir with a novel, a carriage drove up to the door, and a footman, -descending from the box, gave such a thundering knock as -made the old door creak on its hinges. Olivia could just see from -where she sat that the carriage was very large, that the footman -was very tall, and that the horses were showy animals, their heads -held well back with the bearing rein. That was enough for her. -She loved horses, and the bearing rein was an abomination in her -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Those parvenus!” she said to herself, haughtily.</p> - -<p>And when Lucy came to announce that Mrs. and Miss and Mr. -Frederick Williams were in the drawing-room, she said, briefly, “Tell -Mrs. Denison, Lucy,” without looking up, or pausing in her work.</p> - -<p>She knew this was wrong. She knew that she ought to go and entertain -the visitors during the ten minutes which Mrs. Denison would -certainly devote to self-adornment before going down to the drawing-room. -But, besides that she felt, in her new burst of house-managing -fervor, the giving and receiving of visits to be a frivolity, Olivia -was resolved not to cultivate any intimacy with the family of the -odious Frederick. So she worked on, feeling guilty but defiant, -until she heard Mrs. Denison’s heavy and pompous tread upon the -stairs. A few minutes later, the drawing-room door opened again, -and Olivia heard the whole party come out to be shown over the -house.</p> - -<p>“You shall see what I have made of the upstairs rooms first,” said -Mrs. Denison’s voice, “and make the acquaintance of my cherubs.”</p> - -<p>And to Olivia’s delight, they streamed upstairs towards the room -where the cherubs could be distinctly heard screaming with all their -might. She gave a sigh of relief at this respite, and was turning -over a small stocking on her hand to see what mending it needed, -when there came a little, timid, hesitating knock at the door.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” said she, feeling instantly sure the knock was that of -a complete stranger.</p> - -<p>The door was opened by the pleasant-looking lady whom Olivia -had noticed in church. She had a diffident blush on her face, and a -deprecating smile, which made her look pleasanter than ever. Olivia -rose, and the lady hurried forward.</p> - -<p>“No, don’t get up. Don’t make me feel I’ve disturbed you,” she -entreated. “I know I’ve taken a dreadful liberty, but I caught -sight of you in here as we came in, and I’m so devouringly -anxious to know you that when Mrs. Denison offered to take -us all upstairs, I slipped behind to try to get a peep at you.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was disarmed. Miss Williams took a chair beside her, and -looked with interest at the work in her hand.</p> - -<p>“I could show you such a much better way of mending that heel -if you’d let me,” she said, almost with eagerness.</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you’re what they call ‘clever with your needle’ I musn’t -work before you,” said the girl, smiling, “I’m only a beginner at -anything useful, and I bungle frightfully over everything at present.”</p> - -<p>“But you want to learn?” asked the lady quite earnestly.</p> - -<p>“Indeed I do. We haven’t enough servants now to do everything; -and unless I learn to give real help in the house—not mere amateurish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> -dabbling, you know—half the things that ought to be done will -be left undone.”</p> - -<p>Miss Williams’ gloves were off, and she was already busy with the -small stocking. Olivia was astonished to notice that the quick, clever -fingers bore distinct traces, both in shape and texture, of former hard -work. The elder lady glanced up, caught the girl’s eyes, and -blushed.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, smiling, and as if telling a secret, “you would be -astonished if I were to tell you of all the work these hands have done -in their time. Now that my father has got on, and married a lady, -all that has to be forgotten. But, oh! if the servants knew, when I -tell them the hall has not been properly scrubbed, how I long to be -down on my knees doing it myself!”</p> - -<p>She was in earnest, but there was such a twinkle of fun in her eyes -that Olivia, who liked her more and more every minute, joined her -in a burst of laughter. Then Olivia remembered that there was a -bond of union between them, and she said, in a confidential tone—</p> - -<p>“You have a step-mother too, then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and no. Mrs. Williams is my father’s second wife, and I -am the child of his first. My own mother was”—she looked round -her with mock mystery—“a factory lass. And—and so was I till I -was fourteen. Then my father made a discovery, and began to grow -rich and ambitious. And my mother died—perhaps luckily for her, -poor thing—and he buried her and the old life together. But he -could not bury me, you know; and if the lady he then married had -not had the sweetest disposition in the world, it might have fared ill -with me. But she is a kind creature, and she made my civilization -as little irksome to me as possible. And that is why step-mother -doesn’t seem the right name for her; and there is all my autobiography.”</p> - -<p>All the time her busy fingers were making the needle fly through -the stocking with a deftness absolutely bewildering to Olivia.</p> - -<p>“You are luckier than I have been,” said the young girl, in a low -voice.</p> - -<p>Miss Williams looked up again, her eyes beaming with sympathetic -intelligence.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I could see that. My father married up for the second time, -while yours——”</p> - -<p>“Married down. Yes, down in every way; that’s the worst of -it; temper, manners, everything. If she had been different, I should -not have minded growing poorer in the least, but it is tiresome to be -thrown so much on her society.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there are absolutely no suitable friends about here for -you.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Olivia, laughing, blushing, and hesitating. “I -thought so till ten minutes ago.”</p> - -<p>Miss Williams in her turn flushed with pleasure. But then she -shook her head.</p> - -<p>“You might put up with me perhaps, though I am much too old -for you. But my half brother! You have met him, and snubbed -him, I think, because he is always raving about your beauty -and spirit. But if so, you certainly do not want to meet him -again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> - -<p>“Indeed I don’t,” answered the girl, laughing.</p> - -<p>“We might perhaps find a common meeting ground at the Vicarage -after next week, when the vicar comes back. But I don’t know -how you will like Mrs. Brander,” she added, very dubiously.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t she nice?” asked Olivia, with great interest.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, she’s very nice, and very handsome, and—and straightforward, -and—and looked up to. She quite leads the fashions here, you -know, and starts every thing. She is not at all like the ordinary humdrum -vicar’s wife. But——”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to talk scandal, but you must hear all the standing -gossip, and you may as well hear it without venom. People talk -about her and her husband’s brother——”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Vernon Brander?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“He told me himself he had been in love with her before she married,” -said Olivia, warmly.</p> - -<p>Miss Williams gave a quick glance at her face, making the girl -blush.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but, well, people have seen her going in and out of his -house since, and late, very late in the evening. I should not have -told you these things, only they must make a difference in the -way one looks upon people.”</p> - -<p>“From your manner towards Mr. Vernon Brander, I shouldn’t -have thought they made any difference,” said Olivia, who was much -excited.</p> - -<p>“Ah, that is the privilege of being an old maid,” answered Miss -Williams, very quietly. “I can do without fear what a young girl -cannot do—make friends with a black sheep.”</p> - -<p>Olivia started. “Do you think he is guilty, then?” she asked in a -startled whisper.</p> - -<p>Miss Williams, who had risen, looked very grave.</p> - -<p>“Of the other charge? I don’t know. I would give my right -hand to know that it was not so. For I am so much interested in -him—I may even say, so fond of him. I know, from what he has -told me, that his inner life is one long storm, one long struggle. But, -why doesn’t he clear himself if he can? To an old friend like me -three words would be enough.”</p> - -<p>“Then you believe——”</p> - -<p>“Why does he accept the position? Why does he come to me, and -ask me to do what I can to help you in your loneliness?”</p> - -<p>Olivia looked up.</p> - -<p>“That is what he did last Sunday,” continued Miss Williams. “And -he alluded to ‘his unfortunate position’ as putting a barrier between -you and any wish he might have to assist you. Why should -he speak like that if he knew himself to be innocent of either -charge?”</p> - -<p>Olivia was silent. She did not care to let the other lady see how -deeply this matter affected her. She was, indeed, surprised at the -keenness of her own feeling. It was a great relief to her that at -that moment voices were heard at the top of the staircase, and Miss -Williams jumped up, saying that she would have to excuse herself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -for playing truant. Olivia shook hands with her almost mechanically, -and promised to go to see her without knowing what she said. -As soon as she was left alone, the young girl abandoned her work, -and sat staring before her in most unusual idleness. One sentence -was ringing in her ears:</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t he clear himself if he could?”</p> - -<p>And to this question it was impossible to suggest an answer.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Any</span> one who could have seen into the workings of Olivia Denison’s -heart and mind when she was left to herself would probably have -pronounced her to be “in love” with the Reverend Vernon Brander. -This was not quite true. She did indeed feel a very strong interest -in the hermit vicar and his mysterious history; and such interest in -a young girl’s mind cannot exist quite apart from sentiment. But, -then, the sentiments awakened by the overheard interview in the -churchyard and by Miss Williams’ suggestions were so largely -mingled with doubt, disgust, and horror, that on the whole she felt -she would infinitely prefer, in spite of his kindness, never to meet -him again. She felt very thankful, however, as the days went by, -that no story and no rumors about the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s -reached Mrs. Denison’s ears. That lady was too much wrapt up in -herself to trouble herself much about her neighbors; and beyond -expressing great indignation that he had not called upon her, she -expressed no great interest in the vicar’s deputy.</p> - -<p>Olivia was taking to the country life with much zest. Besides her -household duties, she found time to occupy herself greatly with the -live stock on the farm, and to take the poultry under her especial care. -Mat Oldshaw used to slip round, on one pretence or another, in the -early morning when she was busy with her poultry, and, leaning -over the fence, used to give her advice about the management of them, -trying to check her extravagance.</p> - -<p>“Ye doan’t need to give ’em all that coorn, Miss Denison, now -they aren’t laying,” he said to her one day reproachfully as she distributed -grain with a wildly lavish hand. “What profit will ye be -likely to get if ye feed ’em oop like that? Every egg ye’ll get this -year ’ull cost ye twopence, and ye’ll lose on every chicken ye sell.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can’t starve them just because they’re not bringing in a -profit just now,” said the girl. “If they’ve any sense of gratitude, -they’ll grow beautifully plump and fat, and sell at fancy prices.”</p> - -<p>“That there’s regular lady’s farming,” said Mat, shaking his -head dubiously. “And it’s of a piece wi’ t’ way t’ master’s goin’ to -work himself. It’s very pretty, but it ain’t like practical work, and -it doan’t pay.”</p> - -<p>Olivia’s bright face clouded.</p> - -<p>“But papa’s got a farm bailiff,” said she.</p> - -<p>“Oh ay, and gotten a rat to eat oop his coorn,” assented Mat -darkly.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to insinuate,” began Olivia with a tragic face, -“that Tom Herrick——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span></p> - -<p>“All Ah mean, Miss, is that Ah’d like to see ye mak’ a profit on -your hens; for that’s what Ah call success, and Ah’d loike ye to be -successful, that Ah should.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mat; it’s very kind of you. And you’re quite right; -of course it’s only by making every department pay that one can -make the farm pay.”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Mat. “And if ye’ll but follow out what I say, ye’ll be -able to keep twice them lot o’ hens on what ye’re givin’ ’em. Ye’ve -got ground for fifty more, and if Ah was you Ah’d go over to Long -Sedge Bend and buy some of old Widder Lund’s; she’s got ’em to -sell. And doan’t ye go giving her no fancy price, but beat her down; -that’s business, and she’s none so poor but she can afford to let ye -have ’em cheap. The bean’t so much to look at, her hens; but they’re -good ’uns to lay, and worth a fieldful o’ them fancy soarts.”</p> - -<p>Olivia began to play thoughtfully with the grain left in her basket. -She was very anxious for the honor of her poultry yard, and she -began already to be fired with the ambition to make it a successful -commercial enterprise. She had a little pocket money put by; she -could lay that out as she pleased, without consulting anybody.</p> - -<p>“How far off is this Long Sedge Bend?”</p> - -<p>“A matter o’ twea mile and a half. It’s down by Sedge Bend coal-pit.”</p> - -<p>“And where’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Ye go along t’ Sheffield road till ye coom to t’ mill. Turn to yer -left, as if ye were goin’ to Sheffield, till ye coom to t’ Blue Boar. Bear -to yer left across t’ fields, and that’s Sedge Bend.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t there a shorter way across the fields? That must be such a -long way round.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, but ye maunna go t’ short way. They’re a roough lot down -at Long Sedge, and ye maun keep to t’ road.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I shall go this very day and interview Mrs. Lund. I’m -afraid, though, I shall be short of accommodation if I buy many -more chickens.”</p> - -<p>“Nea, Ah’ll rig ye oop some nests and a perch in t’ auld toolhouse -yonder. Ah can do ’t in an hour.”</p> - -<p>“It’s awfully good of you, but you needn’t hurry with it, for I -shan’t start till after luncheon.”</p> - -<p>“But start as early as ye can. It doan’t do to be late, by oneself, -in those parts.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll be sure to start in good time, and I’ll take a big basket, -to bring some of the chickens back in.”</p> - -<p>“Best let mea fetch ’em for ye to-morrow; Ah can’t get away to-day. -It’s not for t’ loikes o’ you to carry baskets o’ live stock along -t’ roads.”</p> - -<p>“But I can’t wait—I can’t wait; I must see them to-day,” said -this headstrong young madam, who liked to carry out her plans with -the impetuosity of a whirlwind. “And as for the basket, why, -there isn’t another farmer’s daughter in Yorkshire with stronger -arms than mine.”</p> - -<p>Mat looked at her mistrustfully, but he said nothing more on the -subject.</p> - -<p>“Ah’ll tak’ t’ measure of t’ toolhouse if Ah may coom in,” was all -he said.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> - -<p>Olivia was running to open the gate for him; but, with a nod of -thanks, he vaulted over the high fence, and set about his work without -another word. The country lad had been fairly bewitched by -the beauty and brightness of this young lady, who seemed to him a -creature of a different mould from any of the womenkind he had -hitherto met—even from handsome Mrs. Meredith Brander. Nothing -gave him so much delight as to be able to render her a small service; -and even while he was taking the measurements of the toolhouse, he -was pondering a way to spare her what he considered the dangers of -the walk she proposed to take that afternoon. The girl herself, knowing -nothing of this plan, and thinking lightly enough of the enterprise, -watched his proceedings with great interest, and finally overwhelmed -him with thanks which sent him home happy.</p> - -<p>Olivia started on her walk that afternoon without a word to anybody -concerning the object of her expedition. She had a purse with -some of her savings in her pocket, and a large poultry basket on her -arm. “I shall leave this basket somewhere when I come in sight of -the cottage, and pretend I’ve only come to look at the chickens,” she -said to herself, resolved to be very astute. But the widow Lund was -more astute still, and managed to drive a very good bargain with her -fair young customer. Indeed, Olivia showed such a helpless inability -to distinguish between a young chicken and the hoariest-headed -rooster of the lot, that it would have needed superhuman virtue not -to take advantage of her. It was with a glow of unspeakable delight -and pride that, having paid for a dozen hens, she said she would take -half of them home with her, and, running out of the cottage, picked -up the basket which she had hidden behind the hedge, and brought -it to pack her live stock in.</p> - -<p>Poor Olivia! An unknown visitor was such a rare sight at Long -Sedge that the advent of “a grand lady wi’ a big basket” had been -reported all over the village as she drew near the outskirts; and the -widow Lund herself, with two cronies, having watched her approach, -basket and all, from the door of Mrs. Perkin’s washhouse, was able -to appreciate at its full value the poor little ruse.</p> - -<p>When her load was ready, Olivia quickly discovered that a basket -containing six live chickens is neither a light nor a convenient burden, -and perceived that to carry them back by the way she had come -would be a more arduous and fatiguing task than she had imagined. -When, therefore, she found there was a path across the fields which -would lead up to the high road, and shorten the way by at least half -a mile, the temptation was too strong for her, and, disregarding -Mat’s warnings, as that young man had expected her to do, she ventured -fearlessly on the short cut. Half a dozen unkempt children -laughed and yelled at her as she passed; a few rough-looking women -whispered to each other at the doors of their dirty cottages; while a -man, who was leaning against a wall smoking a short black pipe, -slunk out of her way, as if conscious that she belonged to a higher -type of civilization. Mat was right; Long Sedge Bend was a rough -place. The inhabitants looked wild and out of touch with the rest of -humanity; the long rows of small brick cottages, many of which -were windowless and deserted, looked squalid and miserable, while -over everything was that black and grimy look which the neighborhood -of a coal-pit produces.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> - -<p>It was Saturday afternoon, and the pits were idle. A great black -wheel, towering over a mound on the right, showed where lay the -entrance to the nearest shaft. Round the door of a beerhouse, -smaller and much more disreputable-looking than the Collier’s Arms, -was a group of men and boys, spending their half holiday in dull -and noisy fashion. They were a rough-looking lot, and Olivia -passed them quickly. Her way lay along a cinder path over the -fields, and for some time she got on very well, meeting no one, and -enjoying the frosty afternoon. Just as she ran through a turnstile -and followed the sudden turn of the path to the left, however, a man -started up from the ground, called out “Hallo, missis!” and attempted -to seize one of her feet. She was startled into uttering a low exclamation, -and, rightly judging that the man was drunk, she ran -on as fast as she could, hoping to get beyond his pursuit before he -could get upon his legs. But a drunken man may be able to run -when he cannot walk; and Olivia’s assailant, who was a stalwart -young collier with a blear-eyed and most unprepossessing face, gave -chase in good earnest, and came up with her just as she came to a -barrier between two fields in the shape of a very high and very -primitive stile. Seeing she had no time to get over it in safety, the -girl put down her basket close by the hedge, turned suddenly, and -faced her pursuer.</p> - -<p>For the first time in her life she felt thoroughly frightened, for the -young man looked brutal and reckless; but she had plenty of courage, -and the terror she felt showed neither in her face, her attitude, -nor in her resonant voice.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?”</p> - -<p>He reeled, not having expected her sudden movement.</p> - -<p>“Ah want look at tha pretty feace, meh dear,” said he, only just -distinctly enough for her to understand him.</p> - -<p>And he gave her a tipsy leer of admiration.</p> - -<p>“And now will you be kind enough to pass on?” said she, in a -firm tone. “Or to let me pass on without further hindrance?”</p> - -<p>“Ah’m not a-hinderin’ of tha,” said the young man, who was -trying to stand steadily in proximity much too close to be pleasant. -“Tha can goa wheer tha lakkest.”</p> - -<p>Olivia looked at him doubtfully, but as he made for the moment no -attempt to molest her, she began to feel reassured.</p> - -<p>“Go back, then,” said she, “and let me go on.”</p> - -<p>“Nea,” said he, shaking his head with an ugly grin; “Ah’m -goin’ to help tha over t’ stile. Ah’ll carry tha whisket for tha if -thr’rt civil.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Olivia, taking the fellow’s offers as if they -were courtesies, “but I want no help, either for myself or my basket. -If you wish to do me a service, you will go back and let me go on.”</p> - -<p>“Ah maun see tha over t’ stile first,” said he. “Coom, missis, -don’t be shy.”</p> - -<p>He swooped down upon her basket, which she snatched up so -quickly that he lost his balance and fell against the wooden fence. -With a rapid step she got round him, basket and all, and was in the -act of mounting the first step of the stile when the young ruffian, -perceiving her purpose and enraged at a blow he had received in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> -stumbling, lurched round with unexpected agility, and laid a rough -hand on her arm. She tried to wrench herself free, but the muscular -strength she was so proud of was as a child’s feebleness against the -brute force of this man. It had never before happened to her to feel -powerless like this. With teeth clinched hard, and eyes watching -intently for a moment’s advantage, she wrestled in utter silence with -the man, who tried to force her to mount the stile.</p> - -<p>“Tha’d better not give ma so mooch trouble, ma bonny madam,” -said he, roughly. “Tha’ll only have to pay for t’ other side. An’ -Ah’ll tak’ a buss now to goa on wi’.”</p> - -<p>He put his arm round her waist and tried to kiss her; Olivia -fought fiercely, still without uttering a word. In the midst of her -desperate struggles her assailant saw the girl’s face change—light -up with hope, with expectancy. Then, with all the force of her lungs, -she suddenly shouted, “Help!” For a moment the collier was surprised -into desisting from his attack, but before she could take advantage -of this he recovered himself, and putting one rough and -dirty hand over her mouth, growled out, sullenly—</p> - -<p>“Nea, theer bean’t no help for tha till Ah done with tha.”</p> - -<p>Closing his strong fingers on her face, he pulled her head around -with brutal violence, and had his own repulsive face close to hers, -when he suddenly felt one strong hand laid on his shoulder and another -under his chin, and his head being forced back with a jerk, he -found that he was in the vigorous clutches of the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s.</p> - -<p>“Dang tha! It’s t’ feightin’ parson!” cried the rough, in a surly -tone.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and I’m going to exercise my fists on your ugly face as -soon as ever you’re sober, you hulking vagabond!” said Mr. Brander, -with a conspicuous lack of pastoral meekness.</p> - -<p>The man had fallen back, and, half drunk as he was, looked -ashamed of himself.</p> - -<p>“Tha maun look out for thaself if tha tries that on,” he said, -sullenly. Then with more assurance he went on, “Dunna think Ah -care for tha bein’ t’ parson. It ain’t mooch of a parson tha’lt be when -all’s known. Ay,” he continued, seeing that these vague words -were not without effect, “theer’s a mon aboot as wants tha, an’ as -woan’t rest till e’s gotten tha, and may be before tha taks oop wi’ -another lass e’ll mak’ tha give an account o’ t’ one tha spirited away. -Now coom on if tha loikes.”</p> - -<p>And he put himself in a fighting position.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander pushed him on one side so that he staggered, and -picking up Olivia’s basket, signed to her to get over the stile, while -he turned to give a few short and sharp words of farewell to the discomfited -collier. A few seconds later Olivia, who had walked quickly -on in shame, relief, and confusion, heard the vicar’s voice close behind -her.</p> - -<p>“And now, Miss Denison, I’ve a sermon ready for you.”</p> - -<p>Coming up with her, he saw that the girl, who made no answer, -had tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not going to have any mercy on you because you choose -to cry,” said he, pitilessly. “It’s no fairer of a girl to use her tears<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> -against a man than it is of a man to use his fists against a woman. -If you don’t instantly leave off, I shall feel at liberty to hit you. You -know you deserve it.”</p> - -<p>“How?” asked she, tremulously.</p> - -<p>“How! Why, by disregarding the emphatic warnings, not of one -friend, but of two, and by dragging out a poor parson on Saturday, -his sermon day, to protect you from the consequences of your folly.”</p> - -<p>“Dragging you out!”</p> - -<p>“Yes. This morning comes Mat Oldshaw post-haste to me just -before luncheon to say that you were going off on a wild-goose—no, -on a tame-hen—chase to Long Sedge Bend, and that he was certain -you would come back over the very fields which he had just assured -you were unsafe for a lady.”</p> - -<p>“But, Mr. Brander,” put in Olivia, in real distress, “I’ve always -been used to take care of myself; I have never been annoyed before. -It’s an infamous thing that a girl shouldn’t be able to do what her -powers enable her to do just as well as a man!”</p> - -<p>“Infamous, perhaps, but indisputable. It is of no use to kick -against custom.”</p> - -<p>“But what is going to be the use of me, if I, a great strong creature -who can do lots of work, and shall soon understand farming better -than papa, can’t cross the road without a footman at my heels to -keep off tipsy coal miners? Oh, dear, I wish I weren’t a wretched -girl!”</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t be anything else, with that illogical mind, and that -extravagant way of looking at things.”</p> - -<p>“Illogical!” cried she, now really offended. “Why, papa says I -have the most reasonable head he ever knew!”</p> - -<p>“For a woman.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was at first too much offended to answer.</p> - -<p>“I’m papa’s right hand,” she said, at last, coldly. “I’m just like -a son to him.”</p> - -<p>“I think not, Miss Denison,” said the vicar, shaking his head.</p> - -<p>“My father would tell you so himself, Mr. Brander.”</p> - -<p>“And I should not believe him, Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>Olivia began to see that the vicar was enjoying her indignation, -so she bit her lips and remained silent.</p> - -<p>“Just think now, what happens when you find him a little depressed -and irritable. Does he dismiss you with a snub as he -would one of your brothers? Does he not rather submit to a little -gentle coaxing, allow himself to be ‘brought round’ and receive a -kiss as a reward?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that is true, certainly,” said she, smiling. “But that has -nothing to do with the real value of the help I give him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but it has. It has, on the contrary, everything to do with -it. Instead of complaining that you are a ‘wretched girl’ you must -learn to understand that. What the intrinsic value of your services -may be I don’t know; but if you had the abilities of a Senior -Wrangler they would count for nothing compared with your sympathy -and love for him, and your pretty feminine way of showing -it. And so, you see, as your tender womanhood is of more consequence -to us—I mean to him—than all the fine masculine qualities<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> -of your intellect, you must consent to accept the protection we decree -that your womanhood needs.”</p> - -<p>“Papa doesn’t decree it. He says girls ought to learn to take care -of themselves.”</p> - -<p>“Will he say so after to-day’s adventure, do you think?”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t tell him anything about it.”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall, unless you give me your word, like a sensible girl, -never to cross these fields alone again.”</p> - -<p>“Need you ask that, Mr. Brander?” said the girl, reddening.</p> - -<p>“Well, forgive me. I don’t know you well enough to be sure -how deep the headstrong vein runs.”</p> - -<p>“I am miserably sorry and ashamed to have brought you so far -this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Are you? Oh, I have done more irksome things than that in -my time, I assure you,” said he drily. “Besides, I’ve only come -from St. Cuthbert’s. I’m back again in my own parsonage -to-day, you know, for my brother and sister-in-law are expected -this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Are they?” said she. “I am so anxious to see them, especially -Mrs. Brander.”</p> - -<p>“Make haste on to the high road then, and we may meet them. -The pony cart has gone to meet them, and they generally come this -way round from Matherham.”</p> - -<p>They were within a short distance of the road when Mr. Brander descried -a little way off his sister-in-law’s light wood cart and plump cob -pony. Quickening their pace, Olivia excited and curious, her companion -decidedly nervous, they climbed the last steps of the hill, and reached -the high road a few moments before the cart came up. They stopped to -recover their breath, exchanging a merry word or two as they -waited. As they drove up, Olivia, who had splendid eyesight, could -see what a handsome pair the vicar of Rishton and his wife were. -He was fair, serene, portly, good-humored; she, dark, erect, and -blooming. They were conversing amicably as they came along, and -did not notice the two people waiting by the roadside until they were -close upon them, and Vernon Brander accosted them. Olivia wondered -at the nervous tremor in his voice as he did so.</p> - -<p>But she was still more surprised at the effect of the meeting upon -the lady and gentleman in the cart. The serenity of the portly -vicar clouded at sight of his brother; an indescribable change came -over his face, a look which was not exactly disapproval, or doubt, or -suspicion, or mistrust, though it partook of all those qualities, as he -glanced from Mr. Vernon Brander to the beautiful girl at his side. -The expression of the lady spoke more plainly still. Her eyes -moved quickly from the man to the woman and back again, while -her lips tightened and her forehead puckered with evident consternation. -Both lady and gentleman, whatever the cause of their annoyance -might be, were self-possessed enough to give Miss Denison -a kind and courteous greeting, when Mr. Vernon Brander, with -evident nervousness, introduced her. Learning that Olivia had been -buying poultry, Mrs. Brander inspected the purchase with great -interest, but pronounced two of the birds to be very old roosters indeed. -She then told her brother-in-law that they were going straight<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> -home to an early dinner, and told him to make haste to the Vicarage, -as they should expect him to join them.</p> - -<p>Then they drove off, leaving Olivia with the uncomfortable impression -that they disapproved of her acquaintance with Mr. Vernon -Brander in the strongest possible manner.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Not</span> for some minutes after the little carriage containing the Reverend -Meredith Brander and his wife had driven on did either of the -young people they had left break silence. Olivia watched the disappearing -vehicle with much interest, and Vernon Brander, though -with less openness, watched Olivia.</p> - -<p>At last she turned sharply, and met his eyes fixed upon her with a -half-fierce, half-mournful intentness, which struck her with -painful surprise. He at once turned away his head, and asked -abruptly—</p> - -<p>“Well, what do you think of them? Mind, it is of no use for -you to say you ‘haven’t had time to judge,’ or anything of that sort, -for I have already caught the reflection of very decided opinion in -your face.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t deny that I have formed decided opinions, though I don’t -pledge myself they are correct.”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“I think I shall like your brother, but I know I shan’t like his -wife.”</p> - -<p>“Very straightforwardly put. An instinct merely, or something -more?”</p> - -<p>“Something more, I think. You know, I have seen their portraits; -well, I have thought about them a great deal, and now I have -compared my impressions of the photographs with my impressions of -the originals, and the result is a decided opinion.”</p> - -<p>“You know I told you that you would like my brother—that all -ladies do,” said Vernon, with a perceptible shade of jealousy.</p> - -<p>“Well, you were right; I admit it. He seems the incarnation -of good humor—to shed a sort of sunshine of cheeriness around -him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, he does,” admitted Vernon, rather bitterly, Olivia -thought.</p> - -<p>She continued: “It was plain that, for some reason or other, -neither he nor Mrs. Brander was glad to see me. It almost seemed -as if they took an instinctive dislike to me. But even that could not -sour your brother; it scarcely made him less genial. On the other -hand, it made all the difference in the world to Mrs. Brander’s manner. -She looked at me just as if I were an enemy, who had done -her, or was going to do her, some severe injury.”</p> - -<p>Glancing at her companion, Olivia saw that something she had -said affected him very strongly. She was silent therefore, afraid that -she had already said too much.</p> - -<p>“It may be,” said Mr. Brander, after a pause, “that she feels a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -kind of most innocent jealousy of you. She has, all through her -married life, been used to look upon me as one of those unattached -tame cats who are only too glad to catch mice for any responsible -matron who is kind to them. My sister-in-law annexed me in that -capacity long ago; sends me to market, sets me to mind the children, -to nail up the fallen picture, or even to lecture the gardener. I don’t -suppose she has seen me speak to another lady—a young lady—for -ten years.”</p> - -<p>“I should have thought, by her look, she would be equal to lecturing -the gardener herself,” said Olivia, drily.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander laughed. “Well, she is not quite resourceless when -it comes to an affair of the tongue,” he admitted. “But you must -not think she is a shrew, for all that. Then, she has been our -beauty, too, and has been used to set the fashions for the ladies. -While now——” He stopped and smiled as he looked at the blooming, -prettily dressed girl beside him.</p> - -<p>Olivia, however, found this no smiling matter, but replied, with -deep scorn—</p> - -<p>“Surely, Mrs. Brander can’t be so small-minded as that. I can -assure her I have no wish to entrench upon her privileges; and, -with only eighteen pounds a year for dress and pocket money, I am -not likely to set fashions that there will be a rush to follow.”</p> - -<p>“You might set a fashion in faces,” suggested he.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said she, laughing, “if Mrs. Brander envies me the admiration -of Mr. Frederick Williams—or, indeed, of any of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">jeunesse -doree</i> of this neighborhood—I can assure her that she will only have -to wait a very little while before my unqualified disdain will bring -them all again to her matronly feet.”</p> - -<p>“Myself among the number.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Brander, I didn’t count you.”</p> - -<p>“But in mercy you must. I am rather grey behind the ears, and -rather lean about the jaws; but let me still think myself as eligible -a bachelor as the place boasts.”</p> - -<p>He spoke playfully, but something, either in his tone or in the -knowledge she had of his life, touched her, and made her voice very -kind, as she answered—</p> - -<p>“I did not mean that I thought you too old. I meant that I could -not think of classing you with a creature like Frederick Williams.”</p> - -<p>“He would take that as a compliment.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think he would if he saw me look at him and then at you -while I said so.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander pulled up his clerical collar, and affected to give his -hat a jaunty cock.</p> - -<p>“It’s so long since I’ve been ‘buttered up,’ and it’s so nice,” said -he.</p> - -<p>“Why, you have a great following among the ladies of the village.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid I look upon them—though without so much reason—much -as you do upon their counterparts of the opposite sex.”</p> - -<p>“And Mrs. Brander, doesn’t she, in return for your services at -marketing and nailing pictures, ‘butter you up’ too?”</p> - -<p>The gaiety, which had sat so pleasantly on the usually grave man, -suddenly evaporated. He answered, very quietly—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> - -<p>“She calls me a good fellow, and—yes, I think she means it.”</p> - -<p>They had slackened their steps a little as they drew near the bottom -of the hill where The Chequers hid the entrance to Rishton Hall -Farm. They had stopped altogether at the bottom to exchange these -last few sentences before saying farewell. As his last words were -succeeded by a moment’s pause, Mr. Brander glanced up the hill he -had to climb to the Vicarage, and became aware of his brother’s portly -figure descending the slope with measured steps toward them. -His cheeks grew pale; the last gleam of vivacity died out of his face.</p> - -<p>The change caused Olivia to look in the same direction, and to -note that there was something judicial in the handsome vicar’s gait—something -mildly apprehensive in the expression of his face. She -felt an impulse of indignation against both husband and wife for -their inexplicably rigorous attitude towards Vernon Brander and -herself. At sight of his brother, Vernon, who seemed at once to grow -cold and formal, raised his hat, and would have left her with a few -words of farewell. But she held out her hand, and, as he took it with -a flushing face, she retained his with a warm clasp, while she said—</p> - -<p>“I am going to get papa to waylay you, Mr. Brander, as you come -back from the Vicarage. You have never been inside the house -since the day you played fairy godmother to me and poor Lucy. I -want you to see the old house now we have made it again a home.”</p> - -<p>“I shall be delighted, Miss Denison,” faltered poor Vernon, with -one ear for her kindly words and the other for his brother’s deliberately -approaching footsteps. “You are very kind to me,” he added, -in a hasty undertone. Then in his usual voice, “Good-night,” said -he, as she released his hand, and, with a bow to the vicar, turned to -the farmyard gate.</p> - -<p>With a few steps on either side—dignified in the one, hurried and -nervous in the other—the brothers met. The elder passed his arm -affectionately within that of the younger, and turned to walk up the -hill with him.</p> - -<p>“Evelyn began to be afraid you had forgotten us and our dinner -in pleasanter society than ours,” said Meredith, in his genial voice.</p> - -<p>If Vernon, as his nervous manner suggested, was afraid of his -brother, the fault lay in his own conscience, and not in any coldness -or harshness on the part of the Vicar of Rishton.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Vernon, hastily; “I had not forgotten. Of course not. -Miss Denison was annoyed by a rough as she was crossing the fields; -I came up just in time—by the merest accident—and I could do no -less than see her home.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not. Not a very great penance either. What an extremely -pleasant-looking girl!”</p> - -<p>It was characteristic of the vicar’s warm, expansive nature that -he found enjoyment in all goodly things; and he never attempted to -hide the pleasure the sight of a beautiful woman gave him, although, -as in the present instance, he remembered his cloth in the expression -of it.</p> - -<p>“She is very handsome,” said Vernon, whose candor went a step -further than his brother’s.</p> - -<p>“And amiable?”</p> - -<p>“By that one means sympathetic to oneself, I suppose. Yes, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> -find her amiable,” said the younger man, with a sort of dogged defiance -in his tone.</p> - -<p>“Then you are pretty intimate already?”</p> - -<p>The vicar spoke without the least harshness, but the answer came -in an almost sullen tone, as if Vernon’s own conscience were reproaching -him.</p> - -<p>“Not very. This is the fourth time I have met her.”</p> - -<p>“But, dear me, with these sweet-faced girls, one gets over the -ground so fast!” suggested the elder more genially than ever.</p> - -<p>“That depends. There’s not much about me to fascinate a beautiful -woman.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I didn’t mean that: I certainly did not mean that. But we -had looked upon you—you had taught us to look upon you—as a -confirmed bachelor; almost a misogynist.”</p> - -<p>“No, not that,” interrupted the younger, abruptly. “I have -always admired women; in my way, at least, as much as you have -in yours—unluckily for me,” he added in a bitter, mocking tone.</p> - -<p>“And now your admiration is to take shape in a definite preference -for one?” said the vicar, rather diffidently.</p> - -<p>Vernon was restless and uneasy; he snapped twigs off the hedge -as he walked along, and seemed unable to look his brother in the -face.</p> - -<p>“What does my preference matter?” he asked, at last, almost -fiercely. “What did it matter before, except to bring upon me the -shame and shadow of my whole life?”</p> - -<p>His brother looked shocked and alarmed at this outburst. He put -his arm, which Vernon had thrown off, again most persuasively -through that of the younger man.</p> - -<p>“Come, come,” he said, very earnestly, very affectionately; “you -must not talk like that. You lead a life—voluntarily, mind, else -there would be no grandeur, no dignity, in it—so full of austerity -and self-sacrifice that you are winning yourself almost the reputation -of a saint. You have shown an example of courage and endurance -such as few men would have the steadfastness to follow—not I, -for one, I admit. You are loved by your parishioners. And it is -scarcely too much to say that by your own family—Evelyn, myself, -and the little ones—you are adored.”</p> - -<p>The Vicar of Rishton watched his brother’s face closely as he pronounced -these words in full tones of deep feeling. They took effect -at once. The thin, sensitive face relaxed, and a faint smile hovered -on Vernon’s lips as he answered—</p> - -<p>“You are all very good to me, and I love you for it; but you don’t -need to be told that now. As for all that about my being a saint and -a martyr, it is nonsense, and only a kind way of putting the fact that -ten years ago——”</p> - -<p>“Now why trouble yourself about what happened ten years ago?” -interrupted the vicar in grave but most gentle tones. “The evil -wrought then has been bitterly repented of, and atoned for in a -manner so noble that I can scarcely speak of it without tears.”</p> - -<p>“Noble? Nonsense! There was nothing in what I have done but -the outcome of a most commonplace human feeling. I don’t wish to -deceive you about that, or get more credit than is due to me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, I will say no more on the point. It is not for me to contradict -you. For, whatever may have been our relative positions -ten years ago, your life since then has made you a better man than -I, and I bow to you as to my superior.”</p> - -<p>It was very gracefully said, with a warmth and sincerity of tone -which made it no empty compliment from the handsome, much-revered -vicar to the hermit-parson of ruinous St. Cuthbert’s. The -latter received it with a restive, deprecatory, impatient wave of the -hand; but yet a keen observer, who had looked from the one face to -the other at that moment, would almost have been inclined to say -that the elder, whether or not he quite meant what he said, had -spoken the truth, and that the worn features and keen grey eyes of -the younger man revealed higher capacities for good than the bland, -benevolent, and good-humored countenance of his brother. Ten -years ago, before the tragic event which had been the turning point -of Vernon’s life, the reverse of this would have been true. Passionate, -reckless, and hot tempered, he would have looked, beside his -open-faced brother, like the evil angel beside the good. But a decade -of unruffled prosperity on the one hand, and the same period of -austere self-sacrifice on the other, had told their tale; and the man -over whom there hung the shadow of a fearful crime now threatened, -by long humility and devotion, to oust from the first place in the -esteem of the rough mining population the irreproachable and kindly -Vicar of Rishton himself.</p> - -<p>Meredith had spoken the last words in a decisive tone, as if he considered -the discussion at an end. But from the expression of his -brother’s face, it was clear that he had yet something to say—something -of more import than anything that had yet passed between -them.</p> - -<p>“You have tried me long enough to trust my discretion a little, -Meredith; but I don’t know how you will take what I am going to -tell you.” He hurried on in an agitated voice, without looking his -brother in the face. “I have never been a misogynist; perhaps I -shall not always be a bachelor. Mind, I only say perhaps.”</p> - -<p>There was a long pause. They tramped up the hill side by side -without exchanging so much as a look, until the pretty gables of the -Vicarage were in sight, peeping out behind the massive evergreens -and the yet bare lilac branches of the vicar’s garden. Then Meredith -spoke, in the most subdued and gentlest of voices—</p> - -<p>“You are the best, indeed, the only possible judge of your own -conduct, Vernon; but I fear that, to a nature like yours, the thought -of having caused suffering to a woman you love will some day be -very bitter.”</p> - -<p>His voice seemed to fade away on the last words, as it did at the -pathetic points of his sermons. His eloquence again took effect on -the sensitive Vernon.</p> - -<p>“My wife—if, indeed, I ever had a wife—should never know the -truth,” said he, in a low and husky voice.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but she will!” said Meredith, with energy. “Do not deceive -yourself on that point; you cannot deceive me. No one can -prevent your marrying; I, for one, shall never utter another word -against such a step; but, if you do take it, your ten years’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> -silence, as far as the feelings of others are concerned, will have been -in vain.”</p> - -<p>There was another pause—a short one, this time. Then Vernon -spoke, in a harsh and broken voice—</p> - -<p>“Be satisfied. No woman shall ever suffer through me—again. I -will bear it to the end—alone.”</p> - -<p>“Spoken bravely—spoken like yourself,” began the vicar of Rishton, -in his usual firm and cheerful tones. He was about to say -more, when his speech was checked by the sight of a man’s face peering -over the wall of a small, neglected garden, which adjoined the -vicar’s own premises on a lower level of the hill.</p> - -<p>The face was that of a stranger, but of a stranger who apparently -took a deep interest in his surroundings. Meredith Brander examined -his features with frank and rather puzzled interest, while Vernon -scanned the face with an intentness which almost savored of -dread. The stranger, on his side, gave them a nod of free-and-easy -greeting, which they returned by a more conventional salute, as they -proceeded up the hill.</p> - -<p>“Who is that man?” asked Meredith, as if trying to recall some -memory connected with the features he had just seen.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” answered the brother, in a troubled voice. His -brother looked inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen him before? I can’t quite make up my mind -whether he is a stranger to me or not.”</p> - -<p>“He is a stranger,” said Vernon; “probably the man who -has taken the cottage. I heard this morning that it was let at -last.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know his name then?”</p> - -<p>“Mat Oldshaw, who told me, did not mention his name.”</p> - -<p>No more was said on the subject of the stranger by either of the -brothers, both of whom remained apparently in deep thought for the -few remaining steps of their walk.</p> - -<p>The gravity of both faces lightened when, on reaching the Vicarage, -the sounds of childish voices broke upon their ears. Mrs. -Meredith Brander prided herself on nothing so much as on being a -“sensible woman;” and, as there is no sign of want of sense in a -woman so marked as the spoiling of children, the event went a little -way in the opposite direction, and kept her little daughter of ten and -small son of six in somewhat rigorous subjection. Not only did she -honor the old-fashioned saying that “children should be seen and -not heard,” but she even went so far as to think that the less seen of -them the better. Her husband, who was an affectionate and even -demonstrative father, would have had them much more about the -house; but he yielded in all domestic matters implicitly to his wife’s -ruling, and, as she had decreed that the proper place for children was -the nursery, in the nursery they for the most part remained. Therefore, -the children had come back in a cab with the luggage, instead -of with papa and mamma, in the pony carriage, and they were on -their way up the stairs towards their own domain when their father -and uncle came in and caught them.</p> - -<p>Vernon Brander’s haggard face lighted up with an expression of -deep tenderness as the little girl turned on hearing the gentlemen’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> -footsteps, and, with a shrill cry of childish delight, ran down a few -steps, and flung her little arms tempestuously round his neck.</p> - -<p>“Uncle Vernie! Uncle Vernie!” she cooed breathlessly into his -ear. “Oh, I have such a lot to tell you, and I’ve such a heap of shells -for you, and some seaweed for you to dry; and, oh! I have so -wanted to see you, and have you with us there by the sea. It would -have been lovely if only you’d been there!”</p> - -<p>“Come, come, you carneying, blarneying, little sixpenn’orth of -halfpence,” said Uncle Vernon, seating himself on the stairs and putting -his arm affectionately around her little waist, “don’t pretend it -wasn’t lovely without me, or that you’re glad the holiday’s over so -that you can see your old uncle again.”</p> - -<p>“But I am though, whether you believe it or not,” said the child, -gravely, looking into the wrinkles of the clergyman’s face with -affectionate solicitude. “The sea was beautiful, and it was nice to -have no lessons, and to see the pretty people, and to have new walks -instead of the old ones we’re so tired of. But there was no one to tell -what one thought, no one to look at me like you look, Uncle Vernie—no -one to hug like this.”</p> - -<p>And, suiting the action to the word, she crushed up his head and -face in a stifling embrace.</p> - -<p>At that moment the drawing-room door opened, and Mrs. Brander, -handsome, erect, and neat as a statue, came upon the scene.</p> - -<p>“Kate, you are forgetting yourself, my dear,” she said, in a tone -of gentle but decided reproof. “Your uncle does not mind a kiss, -but a bear’s hug is neither lady-like nor welcome.”</p> - -<p>The child withdrew her arms at once, and relapsed into the unnatural -demeanor of a sensitive child snubbed. Vernon grew red, -and passed his hand over the little girl’s fair head with more than -paternal tenderness.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be hard upon the child, Evelyn,” he said in a low voice. -“You who have children of your own don’t know what pleasure that -‘bear’s hug’ can give to a childless man.”</p> - -<p>Meredith Brander, who had been playing with his little boy, -looked uneasily towards his brother at this speech.</p> - -<p>“What a fuss you make about that child!” said Mrs. Brander, -lightly, as if anxious to turn the conversation.</p> - -<p>And, coming to the staircase, she picked up the little girl’s hat, -which had fallen off in the course of her excited greetings, and telling -her to run upstairs and get her face washed, Mrs. Brander invited -her brother-in-law, with a welcoming gesture, to come with her -into the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Vernon followed her with scarcely disguised reluctance, which the -lady did not fail to perceive.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter with you, Vernon?” she asked, as she seated -herself by an open work-basket, and immediately began operations -upon an embroidered pinafore. “There is a change in you since we -went away; you have either grown less sociable, or else you have -found some society more congenial than ours. Sit down; that pacing -to and fro fidgets me.”</p> - -<p>Vernon stopped in front of her, but did not seat himself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> - -<p>“Do you know,” he began, abruptly, “that I have gone through -a lengthy catechism of this sort at the hands of your husband? I -have given the fullest answers to all his questions, and he can pass -on to you any information you may require.”</p> - -<p>In spite of the peremptoriness of his words, his tone was almost -pleading; and in his face, as he looked down upon her, there was an -expression of chivalrous kindliness which took all harshness out of -his speech.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander, glancing up at him, drew a breath of relief.</p> - -<p>“I was almost beginning to fear, Vernon, that you had formed, or -were on the point of forming, new ties which would make you forget -the old ones.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander’s voice was not capable of expressing much deep -emotion; but she lowered it, as she said these words, to the softest -pitch it could reach.</p> - -<p>“Forget!” he echoed. “That is a process my mind is incapable -of. I think you know that, Evelyn.”</p> - -<p>She gave him a straightforwardly, affectionate look out of her -handsome eyes.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I do, Vernon,” she said, gently. “Perhaps I think your -mind incapable of any process by which you could bring suffering -upon another person.”</p> - -<p>Vernon looked down into her beautiful face critically. There was -genuine anxiety in her expression, but it did not touch him as much -as a similar expression on those comely features had been wont to -do. For the last few weeks he had been haunted by another woman’s -face, one which betrayed most ingenuously every thought of the -owner’s mind, every impulse of a warm young heart. Mrs. Brander -was intelligent enough to have an idea of the truth; and when she -saw that her soft speech left him comparatively cold, she did not -waste another on him, but rose from her seat with a sigh, and bent -over her table in such a way that he could not see her face. The -sensitive Vernon instantly began to imagine tears in her eyes, drawn -forth by his own hardness. He was seeking words to comfort her -when the door opened, and Meredith came in. His genial presence -seemed on the instant to relieve the embarrassment of the other two.</p> - -<p>“It seems to me, my dear,” he began to his wife, “that Kitty is -not looking any the better for her stay at Bournemouth. I went -upstairs with the children just now, and I was quite struck with the -paleness of the child’s cheeks.”</p> - -<p>As the vicar uttered these words, a change came rapidly over his -brother’s face. He glanced from father to mother with an expression -of the deepest anxiety, which Mrs. Brander, while answering her -husband in calm and measured tones, did not fail to note.</p> - -<p>“I think you worry yourself unnecessarily about the child. She’s -tired now after her journey; she will probably look all right again -to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>The vicar allowed himself to be pacified by his wife’s assurances, -and, leading his brother away to the fireplace, they occupied themselves, -until the announcement of dinner, in discussing the trifling -events which had happened in the parish during the vicar’s absence. -Mrs. Brander listened with an especially attentive ear while her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> -brother-in-law gave a somewhat detailed account of the arrival of -the new occupants of Rishton Hall Farm, including, as it necessarily -did, the story of his own assistance at their installation.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander did not attempt to deceive herself as to the strong -measure of interest which the beautiful young farmer’s daughter -had excited in Vernon. Neither did she disguise from herself the -anxiety and annoyance which this discovery caused her. Instead, -however, of indulging in any feelings of feminine jealousy, -she set herself to try to devise a way of ousting this rival. A ray of -light broke suddenly over her handsome face.</p> - -<p>“When I spoke of my own suffering, he was certainly not so much -touched as he used to be,” she reflected. “On the other hand, anything -connected with Kitty seems to move him more than ever. I -must play Kitty against this Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>And, without any of the pangs of a jealous woman, Mrs. Brander, -with a glance at her innocent brother-in-law, made a calm resolution -as to the part she should play in what she perceived to be an incipient -love affair.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Vernon Brander</span> left his brother’s house that evening in a frenzy -of doubt and uncertainty, such as his passionate, self-torturing nature -was liable to. He had so long been bound in a dutiful and chivalrous -vassalage to his sister-in-law, seeing her faults without being repelled -by them, and in all things doing her reverent homage as to -his early ideal, that it came upon him with a shock to discover -suddenly, as he had done this evening, that she had fallen from that -high place in her imagination. He tried in vain to hide from himself -the fact that this change in his feelings was due to the appearance -on the scene of a rival who was carrying away all before her. -Mrs. Brander had, on previous occasions, scoffed at his adoration of -children; she had often shown clearly how little she cared for his -feelings; but never before to-night had she seemed to him cold, and -hard, and selfish; never before had it occurred to him to think how -lacking she was in feminine softness and charm.</p> - -<p>Following on this discovery came the inevitable consciousness who -it was that had brought about this knowledge. If he had not looked -lately into a softer pair of eyes, if he had not felt the touch of a -warmer hand, if, in short, he had never met Olivia Denison, he -would have gone on comfortably in his platonic worship of the only -woman of his acquaintance who had any of those elements of beauty -and grace which were necessary to his somewhat fastidious standard. -But the advent of the beautiful, warm-hearted, impulsive -young girl had changed all that; and Vernon, as he remembered -the promises he had made to his brother and his brother’s wife, and -recognized clearly enough that by the circumstances of his life he -was bound to remain in bachelor loneliness, felt that the burden of a -bygone sin was heavier upon him than he could bear.</p> - -<p>He was going gloomily down the hill, and had nearly reached the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> -foot of it, when a rather rough voice, with an inflection which was -un-English and strange, addressed him quite close to his ear.</p> - -<p>“Could you oblige me with a light?”</p> - -<p>Vernon, who had his pipe between his lips, stopped, and offered the -stranger his matchbox. The night was dark, but he was able to -recognize in this abrupt-mannered person the man he and Meredith -had seen that evening leaning on the garden wall of the cottage adjoining -the Vicarage. There had been something suspicious about -the stranger’s manner then; there was something more now. He -took the proffered matchbox, struck a light, and, instead of applying -it to the cigar he had ready in his mouth, held it close enough to -Vernon’s face to get a good view of every feature.</p> - -<p>The clergyman, returning his gaze, grew deadly pale. He did -not flinch, however, but settling his face with the hard determination -of a man accustomed to bear pain, submitted to the scrutiny in dogged -silence.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said the stranger slowly, as he threw away the -match, which had burnt down, and struck another, with which he -proceeded to light his cigar. “You are the first person about here -who has shown what in other parts we should call common civility. -A rough lot, these Yorkshiremen!”</p> - -<p>“And they don’t always improve much in manners by going -abroad,” said Vernon, quietly.</p> - -<p>The other remained silent for a moment, peering at him in the -darkness. Then he spoke again, more courteously than before.</p> - -<p>“You take me for a Yorkshireman, then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I can hear the Yorkshire burr through some accent you -have picked up since.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re a smart chap for a parson,” said the other, approvingly. -“You’ll excuse my frankness; but I’m a plain man, and I -dare say my manners are none the more polished for fifteen years -spent among cattle-drovers. They’re not the sort of company to make -one fit for Buckingham Palace.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose not,” said Vernon. “And you have said good-bye to -them, and come back to settle down in your native county?”</p> - -<p>“For a little while—a year, or maybe two,” answered the stranger -with great deliberateness. “I haven’t come over here to sit still and -twiddle my thumbs for the rest of my life.”</p> - -<p>“Why, there’s plenty of work to be done here in the old country.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s work brings me over here, and hard work too, by what -I hear,” said the other, looking penetratingly at the clergyman -through shrewd, half-shut eyes.</p> - -<p>He gave the impression of being able to see in the dark as well as -any owl, and Vernon felt that he himself was still being subjected to -the same keen inspection which had been begun by the light of the -match. He, on his side, could see enough of the stranger’s appearance -to feel curiously interested in him. This abrupt and somewhat -uncouth person was a man whose age was difficult to guess. That -he was still in the vigor and prime of life was evident, but it was not -so certain whether the rugged furrows in his face, and a certain deliberateness -of speech and action, were signs of approaching middle -age, or the result of heavy responsibilities and hard work begun<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -early in life. The lower part of his face was covered and much concealed -by a short beard of a fashion long grown obsolete in England; -he was dressed with that sort of solid respectability which disregards -expense and also the fashion of the moment, while a huge gold watch -chain, to which was attached a bunch of heavy and handsome seals, -gave the final touch to a get-up which was nothing if not confidence-inspiring. -The man looked both shrewd and honest, particularly -the former; Vernon felt every moment more and more eagerly interested -as to the reason of his presence in the village.</p> - -<p>“You know that we parsons are privileged impertinents?” began -Vernon, after a short pause.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered the stranger promptly.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you know too that I have been until to-day ‘deputy -shepherd’ here at Rishton?”</p> - -<p>“I know that too,” admitted the other.</p> - -<p>“Then perhaps you will let me ask if you are the new tenant of -Church Cottage?”</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s nothing gained or lost by admitting that I am; and -further, I don’t mind telling you that I’d as soon the cottage were a -little further off the church. One can’t expect to live in the odor of -sanctity for nothing, and with a parson living next door, and religious -consolation therefore always turned on, I shall feel, so to -speak, always under the tap.”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t be afraid of that with my brother,” said Vernon, -smiling. “I suppose there never was a man with less professional -cant about him. He’ll talk to a neighbor about his fruit trees, his -pigs, his poultry, and everything that is his, but never a word of religion, -unless the subject is introduced by somebody else.”</p> - -<p>“I see; won’t give professional advice for nothing? Well, I -respect him for it; there’s no good in making your wares too cheap. -Guess your brother and me’ll get along.”</p> - -<p>What could the work be which brought this keen-eyed, prosperous-looking -colonist—for a colonist it was not difficult to guess that he -must be—to a sleepy little hole like Rishton, where the commerce -was restricted to the weekly buying and selling in Matherham market, -and to the still humbler traffic in the small wares of half a dozen -puny village shops? Vernon was shy of asking him point-blank -the nature of his work; indeed, something in the stranger’s manner -intimated pretty plainly that he would not have given the required -information. And no hints sufficed to draw him out. The vicar of -St. Cuthbert’s made one such attempt, which failed most signally.</p> - -<p>“You will find also,” said he, “that my brother is a practical man, -and any help that he can give you in the work you speak of he will -offer most willingly, I know.”</p> - -<p>But to this speech the first reply of the colonist was a sardonic -laugh.</p> - -<p>“I daresay he will,” said he, drily, when his hard merriment had -suddenly ceased. “For the matter of that, a man with a serious object -before him, who has his head screwed on the right way, can get -help of some sort from everybody he comes nigh to. And so, Mr. -Brander, I make no doubt I shall get assistance in my work, not -only from your brother, but from yourself.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> - -<p>And with these words, uttered in a tone of some significance, he -turned on his heel with an abrupt nod, and made his way with characteristically -heavy and deliberate steps towards the gate of the -cottage.</p> - -<p>Vernon Brander watched the solidly-built figure disappearing in -the dusk, and then proceeded on his way down the hill in some agitation -of spirit. The shadow of the old crime was creeping up again; -the tragedy which ten years had not lived down was reappearing -with a new and ghastly vividness in the presence of that matter-of-fact -stranger. Who he might be Vernon could scarcely guess; what -the nature of his work was in a quiet village flashed upon him -with an intuition which left no room for doubt. The feelings produced -by this thought were not all gloomy; a certain hungry look, -which betokened perhaps that even open shame would be welcome -after ten years of silent ignominy, burned in the clergyman’s dark -eyes as he lifted his head and gazed into the blue-black night sky -above him with a piercing intentness which seemed to be trying -to fathom the mysteries of the future.</p> - -<p>On reaching the bottom of the hill, he was startled out of his -reverie by a bright girl’s voice and a gentle touch on his arm. He -stopped short and lowered his head dreamily, almost inclined to -think, in the high state of excitement to which he had been worked, -that the sweet voice, the kindly touch, were a prophecy of happiness -rather than the commonplace incident of an every-day greeting. -The next moment, however, he came fully to himself, and found that -he was in the presence, not only of Olivia Denison, but of her -father.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Brander, come down from the clouds if you please, and -leave your next Sunday’s sermon to take care of itself for a little -while. I want to introduce you to my father.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Denison, a tall, strikingly handsome man of about fifty years -of age, with a gentle, kindly face entirely destitute of any trace of -his daughter’s energy and impulsive frankness, held out his hand -with a very willing smile.</p> - -<p>“I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Brander, and -to be able to thank you for your great kindness to my little daughter -here.”</p> - -<p>He patted Olivia’s shoulder affectionately, but it seemed to the -clergyman, as he looked from the one face to the other, that the -action was scarcely typical of the mutual relations between gentle, -vacillating father and quick-witted, active daughter.</p> - -<p>“Miss Denison is so much more valiant and self-helpful than most -young ladies that she spurs one up to do more for her than one -would for others,” said Vernon.</p> - -<p>“Yet this afternoon you would not allow that I could help -papa,” put in Olivia, reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I rather suggest that the help you really gave was of a -different kind from what you imagined?”</p> - -<p>“She gives me help of all kinds,” said her father affectionately.</p> - -<p>“She’s my clerk and my comforter; and I think if the farm-hands -struck work, she’d take to the plough as naturally as she’s taken to -the poultry.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, I’d certainly try my hand at it,” said the girl laughing. -“I suppose the chief qualifications are a steady hand and a correct -eye, and both those I’ve acquired at billiards.”</p> - -<p>“My dear Olivia, you mustn’t own to playing billiards before a -clergyman!”</p> - -<p>“And why not, Mr. Denison?” asked Vernon. “I love a good -game of billiards myself; and the strongest reasons that keep me -out of old Williams’s billiard-room up at the Manor Hall are old -Williams’ inability to play a decent game, and his son’s inability to -make a decent remark.”</p> - -<p>Olivia gave an exclamation of disgust at this passing allusion to -her importunate admirer: Mr. Denison seemed relieved by the -clergyman’s admission.</p> - -<p>“I’ve not come much in contact with gentlemen of your calling,” -said he; “and I have rather a feeling that I must be on my best -behavior before them.”</p> - -<p>“A very proper feeling, and one that I wish you could communicate -to some of the gentlemen engaged in mining occupations among -my parishioners. It’s a much healthier symptom than throwing -bricks.”</p> - -<p>“Do they throw bricks at you?” asked Olivia, indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Not so many as they used to do,” said Vernon, with a twinkle in -his eye, which was, however, not discernible in the increasing darkness. -“I found a way to cure them of that.”</p> - -<p>“What was that?”</p> - -<p>“I threw them back.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Denison did not attempt to disguise the fact that his respect -for and appreciation of the Church were rising rapidly. It was with -a cordiality very different from the formal gratitude he had shown -at the outset that he presently begged the clergyman to do himself -and his wife the pleasure of lunching with them on the following or -an early day.</p> - -<p>“I am very anxious to introduce you to my wife,” said he. “She -used to try hard to get me to receive what I irreverently called her -‘pet parsons;’ but I had heard them preach, and that was enough -for me. Now you see I can bring forward a candidate of my own.”</p> - -<p>“That’s unfortunate, because I can’t come to-morrow; and next -day is Sunday. And perhaps, if you hear me preach, you may want -to retract your invitation.”</p> - -<p>“Well, we must chance that,” said Mr. Denison, smiling. “But -I can trust a par—no, I mean a clergyman, who knows something -about the tables of slate as well as the tables of stone. Remember, -we are only poor farmer folk now; the glory of Streatham has departed. -But we shall make you heartily welcome; and you must -forgive the absence of champagne. Now, what day will you come?”</p> - -<p>“May I say this day week?” said Vernon, after considering a -moment. “For the next few days I have work to do a long way -off which will make any sort of meal an impossibility. I shall live -upon bread and coaldust; and you must not be surprised if I turn -up with a complexion of Othello, and with a little of his savagery, -after a week’s intercourse with the blackest and roughest race in -Yorkshire.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> - -<p>The following Friday was, therefore, fixed upon as the day on -which the Rev. Vernon Brander was to make formal acquaintance -with Rishton Hall Farm and its new masters. And, with a mutual -liking which opened a pleasant prospect of future acquaintance, the -two gentlemen bade each other good-night, and separated.</p> - -<p>But, if they had only known it, there was a very strong woman’s -will working against any such happy consummation. Mrs. Meredith -Brander, for reasons of her own, had conceived the intention of -doing what she could to form an impassable bridge between her -brother-in-law and the household at Rishton Hall Farm. She shrewdly -guessed that her best chance lay through the step-mother; but -for a day or two she took no active steps, contenting herself with -gleaning all the information she could concerning the character and -habits of each member of the Denison family. Mr. Denison, she decided, -was not of much account; Mrs. Denison, a vain, half-educated -woman, exalted above her natural station, ought, with judicious -treatment, to be easy to deal with. It was with the handsome, high-spirited -Olivia herself that the difficulty lay, and Mrs. Brander felt -that she must proceed with caution.</p> - -<p>In the meantime, the new inmate of the cottage was exciting -much general interest, and some suspicion. He lived entirely by -himself, but for such companionship as was afforded him by Mrs. -Wall, during the two or three hours a day when she jogged slowly -through his apartments with a broom and a pail, and generally “did -for” him. He drove such a hard bargain with this lady, and lived -so simply, that the belief soon spread among the villagers that he -was very poor, that his big watch chain was brass, and that his solid -manner and imperative speech were mere empty “swagger.”</p> - -<p>The Reverend Meredith Brander was shrewd enough to think differently. -There was a weight and solidity about the speech and -manner of the new comer which it is not given to the mere waifs and -strays of the earth to acquire. When he passed an opinion, which -was seldom, for he was apparently of reticent disposition, it was -with the evident belief, not only that it was worth listening to, but -that it would be listened to. The vicar tried hard, in every decent -and graceful way, to win from him some information as to who he -was and what he did there; but his geniality and his personal charm -had no perceptible effect on the stranger, who kept even his name a -secret, and steadily declined Mr. Brander’s invitations to him to dine -at the Vicarage, or to play a game of chess with him in the evenings.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure you must find it dull alone in the cottage at night,” the -vicar would say to him cheerily; “for one can see with half an eye -that you’ve been used to an active life, with lots of movement and -all sorts of society. Why don’t you let yourself be persuaded into -sitting by a warm hearth instead of a cold one, with a woman and -children about you? All globe-trotters love the atmosphere of -women and children.”</p> - -<p>“I can bear with ’em, but I’m not excited about either species,” -the stranger answered one day to his neighbor’s persuasions. “I’ve -had a wife and children myself; but I’m bound to say I get on quite -as comfortably without them.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> - -<p>If this unorthodox speech was meant to shock the vicar, it failed -of its effect; for Meredith Brander had no Puritanical horror of -human frailties and eccentricities, but a cheery belief that they gave -a healthy outlet to the dangerous humors of the world.</p> - -<p>He discussed the new comer with his wife, who, however, took -scarcely enough interest in the subject to set her feminine -wits to work towards solving the mystery which hung about -him.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know why you make so much fuss about him,” she said -rather contemptuously one day, when her husband had been recounting -his fruitless efforts to induce the stranger to dine with them. -“And I am sure I am thankful that he had the sense not to come. -To judge by his manners he has been a navvy, who went gold-digging -and picked up a nugget; and to judge by his coming here -and the way he lives, the nugget was somebody else’s, and he has to -live <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">perdu</i> until the little affair has blown over.”</p> - -<p>The vicar made no reply to this; but there was evidently nothing -convincing to him in his wife’s contempt for the stranger. When he -spoke again, it was upon a fresh subject.</p> - -<p>“Vernon’s getting very thick with the new people at the Hall -Farm. I met him to-day arm-in-arm with papa, and I hear that he’s -going to dine with them next Friday. Now, papa is a very amiable -man, though he may not be over-endowed with brains; but I suppose -it is not far-fetched to imagine that there may be another -attraction.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander spoke in his usual light and genial tones, without -even the touch of seriousness he had shown when treating of this -same subject with his brother. But the effect of his words on his -wife was instant and strong. The lines of her handsome mouth grew -straight and hard, her low, handsome forehead puckered with an -anxious frown as she said sharply—</p> - -<p>“He must be stopped.”</p> - -<p>The vicar, raising his eyebrows blandly, stroked his chin, and looked -out of the window.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my dear, I admit that it would be very much for the best if -he could be stopped; but the question is, how is it to be done? All -we can do is to persuade, exhort, advise. And haven’t we done it—perhaps -even overdone it? If Vernon takes it seriously into his head -that he will marry, why, marry he will; and I don’t see how -all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, can prevent -him.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not,” said his wife, icily. “But I can.”</p> - -<p>Her mouth, which was Mrs. Brander’s most eloquent feature, closed -with almost a snap, and strongly suggested the idea that her interest -in her brother-in-law’s matrimonial inclinations was not purely -benevolent.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, there is no denying that it would be for the best -if you could prevent this rather foolish flirtation with a particularly -headstrong girl from coming to anything. One can scarcely think -that this type of girl, for all her beauty and high spirit I think we -must allow her, would make him happy as a wife.”</p> - -<p>“I hadn’t thought of the matter from that point of view,” said his -wife drily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> - -<p>The vicar glanced rather uneasily at his wife, whose habit of looking -at things from a purely matter-of-fact and practical point of view -sometimes jarred upon his more easy-going nature.</p> - -<p>He rose from his seat, and prepared to leave the room.</p> - -<p>“But you should, my dear; you should,” he said in a gently reproachful -tone, as he came to the back of her chair and, gently -stroking her dark hair with his plump white hand, printed an affectionate -kiss on the smooth white forehead, from which the frown had -scarcely yet departed.</p> - -<p>As soon as her husband had left the room, Mrs. Brander gave herself -up to resolute consideration of a difficult and delicate plan of -action. After some time she came to a decision, and her face -cleared.</p> - -<p>“To-day is Wednesday,” she said to herself, glancing at an almanac -on her writing-table. “This dinner, or luncheon, or whatever it is, -is not till Friday. Then I have to-morrow to work in.”</p> - -<p>And she rose with a sigh of relief, and went about her household -duties with a lighter heart, feeling that she had provided for the fulfilment -of a very disagreeable task in a rather able manner.</p> - -<p>On the following afternoon Mrs. Brander, after a short drive in the -neighborhood, drove her little ponies up to the door of Rishton Hall -Farm to make her first call upon Mrs. Denison. The latter lady had -already expressed some indignation that the vicar’s wife had not -called upon her before, and had even announced her intention of -being “not at home” to Mrs. Brander, to show her sense of the folly -of such airs in a woman who ought, by virtue of her husband’s office, -to be the humblest in the parish. However, what happened when -the smart-looking little pony carriage drew up at the door was this: -the farmer’s wife, after peeping through the dining-room curtains, in -a flutter of excitement, rushed across the hall to the drawing-room, -with a hoarse whisper of directions to the approaching housemaid, -and greeted the visitor, on her entrance, with a mixture of dignity -and effusiveness, which the vicar’s wife met with her usual, straightforward, -matter-of-fact simplicity of manner. Mrs. Brander had -brought her ten-year-old daughter with her, less for companionship -than for the reason, which she would at once frankly have owned, -that the child’s fragile fairness formed an admirable compliment to -her own brunette beauty. The child also served to make the introduction -of the two ladies less formal, as her presence resulted in Mrs. -Denison sending for her own two spoilt children, whom Mrs. Brander -greeted courteously, but without effusiveness. Indeed, she afterwards -described them as the two most intolerable little offences -against humanity she had ever met, and she was much too frank to -do more than veil this feeling even in the presence of their mother, -whose caresses of the little Kate and compliments on her beauty evidently -excited in the more sensible of the two mothers no approval -whatever.</p> - -<p>The vicar’s wife had something in her mind that she considered of -far more importance than any matter connected with mere children. -Before very long she brought the conversation round to Olivia Denison, -of whom she took care to speak with such exceedingly moderate -approbation as she thought likely to suit a step-mother’s taste. Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> -Denison was delighted to meet some one who did not go into the usual -raptures about the young girl’s beauty and amiability.</p> - -<p>“Olivia is not a bad sort of girl,” she admitted, in a patronizing -tone. “But she has been terribly spoilt by her father. Her temper -is almost unbearable, and I regret to say that she does not scruple to -indulge it on my poor children.”</p> - -<p>“I should think you would be glad to get her married and settled, -both for her sake and your own, then,” said Mrs. Brander. “She is -a showy sort of girl, who ought to marry even here.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison looked for a moment rather embarrassed.</p> - -<p>“Well, certainly,” she admitted grudgingly. “A gentleman has -already made his appearance who seems to be attracted by her—at -least, so her father thinks. I myself shall not see him till to-morrow, -when he comes to luncheon here.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” cried Mrs. Brander, raising her eyebrows with great -apparent interest. “I wonder if it is any one I know?” Mrs. Denison -gave a little cough of uncertainty.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said at last, with some hesitation, “I hope I’m not -letting out a secret, but it is your own brother-in-law, Mr. Vernon -Brander.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander almost started from her chair in well simulated -horror and surprise.</p> - -<p>“Vernon!” she exclaimed, in a low voice. “Impossible!” Mrs. -Denison turned pale.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” she faltered. “Surely there is nothing against the -vicar’s brother!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander hesitated, in much apparent confusion and distress.</p> - -<p>“I would not for the world have been the first to break it to you, -and even now I scarcely like to tell you. In fact, I will not unless -you will promise that it shall make no difference in your treatment -of the unhappy young fellow,” she said at last.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison, shaking with curiosity and alarm, gave the required -promise in an unconvincing tone.</p> - -<p>“Years ago,” began the vicar’s wife in a tone lowered to escape the -children’s ears, “Vernon unhappily became involved in an intrigue -with the sister of the man who occupied this house, and at last, after -a quarrel, she mysteriously disappeared, and has not since been -heard of.”</p> - -<p>“Murdered!” shrieked Mrs. Denison, startling the children, who -all turned round, and caused her to put sudden constraint upon herself.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Mrs. Brander, rather alarmed by the strength of -her effect. “We don’t like to think that; we <em>mustn’t</em> think that. -But there is just enough unpleasantness about the affair. <em>You</em> understand,” -she murmured confidentially.</p> - -<p>“I should think so!” cried Mrs. Denison, heartily. “I’ll take -care that he shall never——”</p> - -<p>The vicar’s wife interrupted her, laying a persuasive, but not -feeble, hand on the arm of the excited lady.</p> - -<p>“You will take care never to hint a word of this to him, or to any -one,” she said, in a low, but exceedingly authoritative, tone. “You -remember your promise. Without any measure so strong as that,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span> -we women always know how to give an acquaintance who is in any -way undesirable not too much cold shoulder, but just cold shoulder -enough.”</p> - -<p>She rose to go, feeling that she had done enough to accomplish her -purpose.</p> - -<p>“I think that ought to do it,” she said to herself, with subdued and -still somewhat anxious satisfaction, as she whipped up her ponies, -and drove away from the farm.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> second Mrs. Denison was, unfortunately for her husband’s household, -one of those ladies who unite in themselves most of woman’s -typical frailties. One of the most marked of these was a great jealousy -of any member of her own sex who was younger, better looking, -or in any way considered more generally attractive than herself. -This jealousy rose to such a pitch in the case of her handsome step-daughter -that she was more pleased at the discovery of the ineligibility -of Olivia’s new admirer than disappointed at the failure of a -prospect of getting rid of her.</p> - -<p>In spite of her promises to Mrs. Brander, Mrs. Denison of course -told her husband that night, with some triumph, what a desperate -character he proposed to introduce into the bosom of -his household on the following day. But her sensational tirade -produced little effect. Mr. Denison had indeed heard the old story -since he gave the vicar of Saint Cuthbert’s his invitation; and, to tell -the truth, it had rather tended to increase than diminish the liking -he had taken to the parson. An injudicious liking for the girls was -a humanising foible which he could understand and excuse. As for -the disappearance, it was an old story, and might contain an old -slander. At any rate, even a murderer was better than a milksop. -So he made light of his wife’s deep-voiced harangue, and pronounced -his opinion that Mrs. Meredith Brander might find something better -to do than to spread these foolish stories concerning her brother-in-law.</p> - -<p>“Then you mean to take no steps, in the face of what I have told -you, to prevent your own hearth from being polluted by the presence -of a murderous libertine?” inquired Mrs. Denison, who had the liking -of a narrow and half-educated mind, in moments of excitement, for -language equal to the occasion.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m not going, after inviting a man to luncheon, to rush -out and tell him we have heard a cock-and-bull story about his doings -a quarter of a century ago, and so we can’t let him come in.”</p> - -<p>“And so Beatrice and Reginald are to get their ideas of the church -from this man? I might have known what sort of a clergyman you -would pick up, who would never receive Mr. Lovekin or Mr. Butterworth! -I am told this Mr. Vernon Brander doesn’t even dress like a -clergyman.”</p> - -<p>“He wears a round collar,” said Mr. Denison; “perhaps that will -save the morals of Beatrice and Reginald. Anyhow, he doesn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -talk up in his head like old Buttermilk, and he doesn’t look so like a -trussed chicken as that lean-necked Lovekin used to do.”</p> - -<p>“At least there was no scandal about either of those gentlemen,” -said his wife with dignity. “A girl could trust herself with either -of them.”</p> - -<p>“She’d have an odd taste if she couldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you have no objection to this man as a suitor for your -daughter?”</p> - -<p>“He hasn’t proposed yet.”</p> - -<p>“Or to the chance of her being found dead in a mysterious manner.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he doesn’t make away with more than seventy-five per -cent. of the girls he comes across. Olivia might take her chance,” -said Mr. Denison, who was getting sleepy, and had had enough of -the conversation.</p> - -<p>This flippancy silenced her for a time; but it had for its permanent -effect on Mrs. Denison the strengthening of her resolution to -show this black sheep of the church what a high-principled British -matron thought of him.</p> - -<p>When, next day, the Reverend Vernon Brander arrived at the -farm for luncheon, his evil star brought him before Olivia had returned -from her morning walk. He was shown into the drawing-room, -where, by Olivia’s orders, in honor of his coming, a fire blazed -in the usually cheerless grate; for Mrs. Denison, although an indolent -and extravagant housekeeper, practiced from habit a dozen -uncomfortable and futile little economies, which she had learnt in -her childhood’s days in her father’s small shop. On learning of the -guest’s arrival, she made no haste to receive him; and Vernon was -left for some time to an uninterrupted study of the room.</p> - -<p>He decided at once, his thoughts while in this house all taking the -same direction, that Olivia seldom or never sat in the room, that -she did not like it, but that, nevertheless she had had something to do -with the arrangement of it, and that much of the decorative work, -both of needle and paint brush, with which it was adorned, was done -by her active fingers. The position of each article of furniture was -too coldly correct to please her, Vernon, used to the society of a -woman of taste, felt sure. There was no pretty disorder of open -book or music, untidy work-basket, with its picturesque overflow of -feminine trifles; no disarranged cushion; no displaced -chair. The piano was shut—looked even as if it might -be locked; the furniture, of the pretty, modern, spindle-shanked, -uncomfortable type, was evidently scarcely ever -used. Vernon had time to wander about at his leisure until he -found something which roused in him more than a passing interest. -This was a large photographed head of Olivia, which stood by itself -in a dark corner on a side table in a handsome oak frame. It had -evidently been taken quite recently, and was an excellent likeness. -Vernon could not resist the temptation to take it up and carry it to a -window to examine it, as he could not do in the obscurity to which -it had been condemned. Then, as he was still left undisturbed, he -put the portrait on a centre table in the full light, and opening an -album which lay not far off, began hunting for more photographs of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -the same girl. He found a page containing four, taken at different -stages of childhood and gawky young girlhood. Going down on -his knees beside the large portrait, he held open the album immediately -underneath it, and began tracing out the development of the -woman from the child with the deepest interest.</p> - -<p>Absorbed, as his habit was, in the occupation of the moment, he -did not hear, or did not heed, the approach of footsteps across the -hall. The door had not been properly closed, and, before he could -change his position, it had been thrust open with peremptory touch, -and he was in the presence of his hostess.</p> - -<p>Glancing from him to the portrait on the table, and thence to the -book in his hand, Mrs. Denison saw or guessed how he was employed, -and feminine jealousy and dislike increased the horror and indignation -she was nursing against this homicidal clergyman whom her -husband had chosen to exalt at the expense of her own chosen -divines. She stood with a stony and most unwelcoming face while -Vernon, rising hastily with a bright laugh, shut the album, and -came forward to meet her.</p> - -<p>But she put forward no cordial hand, and vouchsafed him only the -coldest little nod of the head. Vernon mistook the reason of this -reception, confounding the step-mother with the mother, and supposing -that his hostess was in arms at the liberty he had taken in -thus openly worshipping at the young girl’s shrine.</p> - -<p>“I must apologize for my attitude of apparent devotion,” he said; -“but I was so much interested in tracing the development of the -child as shown here,” and he held out the album, “into the woman -as represented here,” and he touched the portrait on the table, “that -I did not notice how unnecessarily devout my position had become.”</p> - -<p>“Very unnecessarily,” assented Mrs. Denison, in a hard and frigid -tone.</p> - -<p>Poor Vernon looked much disconcerted by this rebuff.</p> - -<p>“I hope you will believe,” he began, almost stammering in his -confusion, “that I had no intention of taking a liberty in admiring -your daughter’s portrait so openly——”</p> - -<p>“My <em>step</em>-daughter’s!” interrupted Mrs. Denison, with a snap.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ah, yes—I mean your step-daughter’s,”—floundered Vernon, -more perplexed than ever. If she did not care about the girl, why -this anger? “You must all be so much accustomed to the admiration -Miss Denison excites that even an eccentric tribute may, I hope, -be excused.”</p> - -<p>With masculine want of tact he was getting deeper and deeper -into the mire. Mrs. Denison’s cold, pale, plump face grew every -moment more forbidding.</p> - -<p>“The place is not so overrun with admirers of Olivia Denison as -you seem to imagine,” said she, acidly. “There is nothing the -matter with the girl’s face; on the other hand, we are not accustomed -to consider it anything to rave about. We Londoners like beauty of -a more delicate type.”</p> - -<p>“If by delicate you mean puny and pale,” said Vernon, with rash -honesty, “you certainly won’t get us up here to agree with you. -But if you mean refined, I can’t imagine a face more ideally satisfying -in that respect than Miss Denison’s.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> - -<p>This was the last straw. The one consolation Mrs. Denison always -had ready for herself on the irritating subject of Olivia’s beauty was -that her own flaccid paleness made the girl’s bright coloring look -“vulgar.” She had made her entrance in an aggressive mood; -every word the unfortunate man had uttered had increased her -prejudice against him, and had seemed specially designed for her -annoyance. Inflamed by sullen anger, and rushing to the favorite -conclusion of the ill-bred that she had been “insulted,” Mrs. Denison -let loose upon her guest the vials of her wrath. She had just enough -sense of decency not to get loud in her anger; but her thin, compressed -lips and coldly venomous grey eyes struck a sort of terror -into the unsuspecting clergyman, before her slow words came like -the crash of a thunderbolt upon his ears. Mrs. Denison prefaced her -speech by a hard, short laugh that scarcely moved the muscles of her -flabby face.</p> - -<p>“I suppose your taste still runs in the same direction that it did -ten years ago then, and that you admire red-cheeked farmers’ daughters -as much as ever?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t understand you, madam,” said Vernon, growing paler -than ever, if that were possible, but losing his nervousness in the -face of this preposterous attack.</p> - -<p>His recovered self-possession irritated Mrs. Denison, who had expected -him to cower under her onslaught. Although she was already -growing alarmed at what she had done, she was too sullenly obstinate -to draw back, and she strengthened herself, even while her -breath came faster and a slight flush came over her face, with the -conviction that she was unmasking villainy, and putting to rout a -man who was a disgrace to his sacred calling.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, I should have thought that in this house, of all others, -your memory would have been better.”</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Denison had remained standing, Vernon had perforce done -the same. He now took a step to the left, so that the light might -fall on his face as well as on hers as he answered her.</p> - -<p>“If you have any accusation to make against me, will you be kind -enough to make it in so many words, and not in roundabout hints?”</p> - -<p>He had managed to make the woman feel the full awkwardness of -the position into which she had brought herself. She hesitated and -stammered, even though her grey eyes did not flinch from their -vindictive stare.</p> - -<p>“I—I had heard—everybody has—stories which—a clergyman, -too!—I should never have thought——”</p> - -<p>“No. People never do think, when they bring a vague charge, -that they ought to be ready to substantiate it. Will you tell me -what you heard?”</p> - -<p>“I am not to be brought to book in this way,” said Mrs. Denison, recovering -herself, and speaking in a louder voice. “You cannot be -ignorant of the stories about you, and you cannot be surprised that I -don’t think you a fit person to—to be a friend to—to young girls.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause, which Mrs. Denison found very awkward. -She stood with one hand upon a small octagonal table, feeling very -anxious that this most obnoxious visitor would either go or give her -an opportunity of going. Vernon, on his side, stood perfectly still<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> -before her, staring at the floor, not with the shamefaced look of remorse -and guilt, but with an expression of painful and earnest -thought. At last he raised his head, and his black eyes, full of passion -and fire, met her own cold grey ones steadily.</p> - -<p>“You have heard that I caused the disappearance of a girl ten -years ago?” said he, not abruptly, but with grave deliberateness.</p> - -<p>“Er—yes—something—yes—of the sort,” answered Mrs. Denison, -taken aback.</p> - -<p>“And on sufficiently good authority to warrant your considering -it true?”</p> - -<p>“On the very best authority. I never act on any other,” said -the lady, hastily.</p> - -<p>Vernon looked perplexed, and his tone grew a little more diffident -as he continued—</p> - -<p>“Then why not have spared me the humiliation of this reception? -Just two lines sent by the stable boy would have been enough, and -you may be sure I should never have troubled you with what, I hope, -has been a painful interview to you.”</p> - -<p>Vernon said “hope,” and even put a slight emphasis on the word, -as he had a suspicion that his hostess was ill-natured enough to have -found some enjoyment in his discomfiture. With a ceremonious -and dignified bow he was passing her on his way to the door, when -a genial voice startled them both, and Mr. Denison entered.</p> - -<p>Not being a man of specially quick perceptions, the new comer -did not at once see that anything was wrong. He seized Vernon by -both hands, welcomed him in warm words, and with apologies for -having been absent on his arrival.</p> - -<p>“And where’s my Olivia?” he went on, turning to his wife, now -observing for the first time the unpromising frown on that lady’s -face, and believing that his daughter’s neglect was the cause. “She -should have been here to help you entertain Mr. Brander.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison began to say something inarticulately, but Vernon, -in a clear and deliberate voice, took the words out of her mouth.</p> - -<p>“You do Mrs. Denison injustice. Judging from the manner in -which she has entertained me, I should think she is not only able, -but that she prefers, to do without any assistance.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison looked both confused and alarmed, as she stammered -something about Mr. Brander’s having misunderstood her. For her -husband, like many other easy-going men, was subject to occasional -fits of passionate violence, which, for a woman of Mrs. Denison’s cold -and somewhat stodgy temperament, had peculiar terrors.</p> - -<p>“Misunderstood!” cried he, in an ominous tone of surprise and -perplexity.</p> - -<p>“Misunderstood what?”</p> - -<p>“I think the misunderstanding was on the lady’s side,” said Vernon, -very calmly, moving a step nearer the door. “For if Mrs. -Denison really thought that I could comfortably partake of her hospitality -after being accused by her of unspecified crimes, she made a -mistake which I must now beg to leave her leisure to recognize.”</p> - -<p>Without giving Mr. Denison, who had grown during this speech -absolutely livid with anger, time to answer him, Vernon Brander -hurried out of the room and out of the house.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p> - -<p>But Mr. Denison’s outbursts of passion, if violent, were short lived. -After having inveighed for a few minutes furiously against woman’s -talkativeness and woman’s indiscretion, he allowed himself to be -talked round by his wife, into believing that what little she had said -to the Reverend Vernon touching his former delinquencies, he had -brought upon himself by a very impertinent expression of his admiration -for Olivia. Being at heart a man of peace, and unable to -retain displeasure with any one for long, Mr. Denison had subsided -into an uneasy and conscience-pricked silence on the subject, when -Olivia’s footsteps, bounding through the hall with the agility of -youth and high spirits, startled both husband and wife.</p> - -<p>The girl sprang into the room like a flash of sunshine, but being -far more acute than her father, the first glance from his face to that -of his wife showed her that something was wrong.</p> - -<p>“Where’s Mr. Brander?” she asked abruptly, already with a dash -of suspicion in her tone. “Lucy told me he’d been here nearly half -an hour.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Denison walked away to the nearest window without speaking; -Mrs. Denison leaned back in the easy chair which she was occupying -with an assumption of easy dignity meant to conceal the uneasiness -which she felt. For to displease Olivia seriously, much as the elder -woman might affect to ignore the girl’s feelings, was a very different -thing from displeasing her good-tempered father.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Brander has been and has gone,” said Mrs. Denison, with an -air of offended dignity. “He has proved himself unworthy the -honor of being admitted as a friend into my family, and I never wish -to hear his name mentioned again.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t think I’m to be satisfied like that,” said Olivia, very -quietly. Then she stood, with hands clasped and passionate, earnest -eyes, gazing at her step-mother’s doughy face with a steadfastness -which caused that lady to “fidget” uneasily, and thus to destroy the -effect of her efforts at dignified composure.</p> - -<p>“You’re forgetting yourself strangely, Olivia, to speak to me in -that manner. I am mistress here, and I am not going to be dictated -to by a chit of a girl.”</p> - -<p>“You have said something, done something, to send him away; I -am sure of it,” said the girl with breathless earnestness, not heeding -her step-mother’s fretful protest. “I will know what it is; I have a -right to know. Papa,” she went on, turning towards her father -entreatingly, and speaking in a voice that grew softer the moment -she addressed him, “you know Mr. Brander has been kind to me, -most unselfishly, disinterestedly kind—and just when I wanted help -and kindness. You would not let him be rudely treated, would you? -You would never allow your guest to be insulted, I am sure. Tell -me what has happened; I must know. Do tell me; do satisfy me. I -am not curious; I am miserable until I know.”</p> - -<p>She had crossed the room to him, put affectionate hands on his -shoulders, and was looking into his face with tender pleading, far -more irresistible even than his wife’s peremptory reasoning had -been. He could not look her in the face, but frowned, and made -feeble and futile attempts to get rid of the clinging fingers. Mrs. -Denison’s hard voice then struck upon their ears.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> - -<p>“Really, Edward, you’re not going to allow yourself to be talked -over in that way, I hope. Surely you and I are the best judges as -to who are, and who are not fit acquaintances for our children. And -when the wife of the vicar of the parish herself warns me that such -and such a man is a criminal of a sort not fit to be admitted into a -decent house, I don’t think any one can dispute that we have authority -for what we do.”</p> - -<p>“The wife of the vicar! Mrs. Brander!” exclaimed Olivia in bewilderment. -“She told you that about her brother-in-law?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison did not answer. She was ready to bite her tongue -out for her indiscretion in mentioning her informant’s name. For -she knew Olivia’s impulsive nature, and was very much afraid that -the girl would get her into trouble with the vicar’s wife, with whom -she was anxious to stand well. For Mrs. Brander’s well-bred simplicity -of manner, and a certain air of being queen of the district -which years of homage had given her, had made a strong -impression on the ex-governess. Olivia read the truth in her -step-mother’s confusion, and a new spring of anger bubbled up in -her heart.</p> - -<p>“The wicked, treacherous woman!” she panted, scarcely aloud, but -with great vehemence. “He shall know who are the friends who -spread these stories about him.”</p> - -<p>She was turning impulsively towards the door, drawing on as she -did so, one of the gloves she had taken off, when Mrs. Denison, with -unaccustomed agility, sprang up from her chair and laid a heavy -hand on the girl’s arm.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?” she asked, peremptorily, with much -anxiety.</p> - -<p>Olivia looked down at her face with a resolute expression, which -made her step-mother’s hands tingle to box her ears.</p> - -<p>“I am going to find Mr. Vernon Brander, to tell him of the -slanders that are being spread about him and who spreads them, and -I am going to apologize most humbly for the treatment he has received -in this house this morning.”</p> - -<p>If Olivia had trusted herself for another minute in Mrs. Denison’s -clutches, the last ray of that good lady’s self-restraint would have -been torn away, and she would have recalled her old methods of -school room rule by bringing her plump hand in sharp contact with -the girl’s cheeks. But Olivia was too quick for her. With an agile -twist of her imprisoned arm she freed herself, and shaking her head -at her father, who was crossing the room to follow her, she left the -room even more rapidly than Vernon Brander had done.</p> - -<p>Olivia flew along the road towards St. Cuthbert’s as if pursued. The -thought that the man who had done so much both to help and protect her -should have been exposed to the vulgar insults of the tyrant of her -father’s household threw her into a frenzy of anger and humiliation -for which she found no balm. With her indignation against Mrs. -Meredith Brander, on the other hand, there mingled an unacknowledged -consolation. She did not like that lady; she was also unconsciously -jealous of her strong hold upon her brother-in-law. Therefore -the discovery of Mrs. Brander’s perfidy, which could not fail to -weaken that hold, had an element which was not unwelcome. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> -to do the girl justice, this selfish feeling was in very small proportion -to the passionate wish to make some amends to him for the indignity -he had just suffered.</p> - -<p>It has been a dull morning and now the rain was beginning to -fall, and to envelope the hills far away on the left with a haze which -by its density threatened something worse than a light shower. In -her impulsive eagerness to start on her errand of consolation, she -had not thought of the mundane precaution of taking an umbrella, -and although she was now not too much absorbed to regret the omission, -she was far too impatient to go back. As the rain fell faster she -began to run, and when she came in sight of the ruinous church, -standing still far away in the valley below her, partly hidden by -the gaunt and cheerless Vicarage, she had to pause for breath, although -by that time her clothes were wet through. Through the -veil of rain she caught sight of a man who was making his way -towards St. Cuthbert’s by a shorter path, over the meadows and -through the straggling trees which at this point skirted the hill on -the south side of the valley. It must be Vernon Brander, she felt -sure, returning passionately angry or deeply humiliated, from his -unlucky visit to the farm.</p> - -<p>Olivia wanted to overtake him before he could reach his house: so -with her usual impetuous rashness, she broke through the hedge on -her left, ran, tumbled, and slipped down the hill, which was slippery -with wet grass, scrambled through the damp, dead underwood -which grew between the trees at the bottom, and, running for the -rest of the way, got into the lane leading to the church, and, turning -the last sharp corner in a brilliant spurt, ran into the man she was -pursuing as he leaned against the churchyard gate.</p> - -<p>And it was not Vernon Brander after all!</p> - -<p>The man had turned, hearing the rapid footsteps behind him, and -the change in the girl’s face, as she learnt her mistake, was far too -pronounced for him not to see easily that she was disappointed.</p> - -<p>“I’m the wrong man, missee, I’m afraid,” said he good-humoredly, -and in a manner perfectly free from offence.</p> - -<p>Olivia knew that this was the new tenant of Rishton Church Cottage; -she had seen him on the previous Sunday, not indeed inside -the church, of which he had confessed to the vicar a frank abhorrence, -but leaning over the low wall of his garden to watch the -worshippers, as they left the building, with half-shut, critical eyes.</p> - -<p>“No,” said she, apologetically; “I thought it was the vicar.”</p> - -<p>A curious look, partly of interest and partly, as it seemed to her, -of pity came over his face.</p> - -<p>“The vicar of this rat run?” he asked, with a nod of his head in -the direction of the church.</p> - -<p>“The Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s,” answered the girl with some dignity.</p> - -<p>Her ideas on the subject of conversation with strangers were -strictly conventional, but besides the universal interest and curiosity -which the mystery surrounding the new comer excited, she felt a -sudden conviction that the attraction which brought him to this remote -neighborhood was not unconnected with Vernon Brander.</p> - -<p>The stranger gave a sort of grunt, and nodded significantly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> - -<p>“I thought so,” said he.</p> - -<p>Olivia turned away, with a deep flush in her cheeks, much vexed -with herself for having given the man an opening for a remark -which seemed highly impertinent. She was making boldly for the -Vicarage when she heard the stranger’s voice again. He had followed -and was walking beside her.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Miss Denison,” he began, in a serious and respectful -tone, “although I am a stranger to you, you are not one to me, for -I’ve studied you since I’ve been in this neighborhood, as I’ve studied -all the rest of my neighbors. And if I thought of them all as I do of -you, it would be better for some of them.”</p> - -<p>Olivia turned suddenly towards him, and stopped, impressed by -his tone, and filled with dread of what was coming.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be frightened,” he continued, in a voice which, for the -rough man, was almost gentle. “You’re a fine, high-spirited, generous -girl, and I want to be able to say to you that I will never harm -you nor yours.”</p> - -<p>“You want to be able to say it!” she exclaimed in bewilderment.</p> - -<p>“Yes. As long as you remain Miss Denison I can say it, but if -you were to shut your ears to everybody’s warnings and marry the -Vicar of St. Moulder-in-the Hole here, I couldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Why, who are you?” cried the girl, in a tremulous voice.</p> - -<p>“Ned Mitchell, brother to Nellie Mitchell, who was done away with -here ten years ago. And I’m here to make the man who murdered her -swing for it!”</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Olivia Denison</span> was by no means a nervous or weak-minded girl. -On learning that the man who stood before her was the brother of -Nellie Mitchell, she did not scream or stagger back, or give any outward -sign of the shock she felt, except to bite her lips, which had -begun to tremble and twitch, as she bowed her head in acknowledgment -of the information. But, none the less, she was instantly -possessed by a much greater terror than if this unexpected avenger -had been a fierce-looking personage with flashing eyes and a melodramatic -roll in his voice. She felt that there would be no softening -this hard-headed colonist, who took the punishment of his sister’s -betrayer as “all in the day’s work,” and announced his intention of -getting him hanged with the same dispassionate decision with which -he would have resolved on the sale of a flock of sheep. And at the -same time she felt for the first time fully conscious that even the absolute -knowledge of Vernon Brander’s guilt would not suffice to stifle -her interest in him.</p> - -<p>Quietly as she took his sensational announcement, Ned Mitchell -was shrewd enough to know that the young lady was greatly -shocked by it, and her bearing filled him with genuine admiration. -But his first attempt to soften the blow was scarcely well -worded.</p> - -<p>“Come, Miss Denison, there are as good fish in the sea as ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> -came out of it, and a young lady of your spirit is too good to waste -half a sigh on any man, let alone a parson. There’s nobody fit to -mate with you in this played-out old country; what you want is a -lad who can sit a buckjumper, or ride five hundred miles without a -wink of sleep except what he gets in the saddle. That’s your -sort.”</p> - -<p>“Is it?” said Olivia tranquilly. “Perhaps so. But I assure you, -Mr. Mitchell, I can exist a few more years without a mate at all, -and that it is no frantic desire to get married which makes me anxious -to see one of my friends cleared of a charge of which I believe him to -be innocent.”</p> - -<p>“Well said. That’s what a friend should believe. But if your -friend has quite a free conscience about St. Cuthbert’s churchyard -and anything that may ever have taken place in it, can you suggest -a reason for the gate’s being always locked?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose it is to prevent the sheep getting in,” said Olivia, regretting -the feeble suggestion the next moment.</p> - -<p>“Certainly the sheep can’t pick a lock, but, then, neither could -they lift an ordinary latch.”</p> - -<p>“Do you suppose that no churchyard is ever kept locked unless a -murder has ever been committed in it?”</p> - -<p>“No. But I think it strange that since I have been here, prowling -about, let us say, not only has the gate been mended where it -had grown weak in one of the hinges, but two breaches in the wall, -by which one could have got into the churchyard without the help of -the gate, have been repaired.”</p> - -<p>Olivia glanced towards the place where she had got in over the -broken wall on a former occasion. The gap had been stopped up, -and some of the earth underneath on the outside had been carted -away to make a forced entrance more difficult.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said she, her cheeks flushing, “and is there anything -singular in the fact of a vicar’s having his churchyard wall repaired?”</p> - -<p>“When the churchyard is so orderly and so beautifully kept as -this one?” added Mr. Mitchell, with a derisive laugh. “Yes, I think -there is something singular in it. And what makes it to my mind -more singular still is that when I congratulated the Reverend Vernon -Brander on these repairs he denied all knowledge of them.”</p> - -<p>“Then he certainly knew nothing about them,” said Olivia, -promptly.</p> - -<p>Mr. Mitchell, for the first time, gave her a glance such as he was -accustomed to bestow on the ordinary run of women—a glance full -of resigned and lenient contempt.</p> - -<p>“Well, you are thorough-going, at least,” he said, at last, patronizingly. -“But it is a curiously lucky thing for the vicar, whose -house is the only place that commands a view of the churchyard, -mind you, that I can be seen wandering about the place one day, and -find I can’t get in the next.”</p> - -<p>“Very likely his housekeeper saw you, as you say, prowling -about, and, considering your manner suspicious, had the repairs -made without thinking it worth while to consult her master.”</p> - -<p>“Not likely,” said Mr. Mitchell, with a shake of the head. “However,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -I’ll not keep you here in the rain trying to persuade an old -hand like me that black’s white. Do you know that your clothes are -wet through?”</p> - -<p>This was quite true. Recalled to consciousness of physical discomfort, -Olivia shivered.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I must make haste home,” she said. Then, with a hopeless -glance at his face, as if she despaired of her words having any effect, -she added, “You are too suspicious. You are so shrewd that you -think you can’t make a mistake. But for all your cleverness, my -belief in the friend I know and trust is just as likely to be right as -your belief to the contrary.”</p> - -<p>“Well, well. I hope it may be. Don’t think I have any ill-feeling -towards this Vernon Brander as a man; it is the betrayer of my -sister that I’m after, and if Vernon Brander isn’t the guilty party, -why, he’ll have nothing to fear from me. Good-afternoon, Miss -Denison.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Mitchell raised his hat, with a shrewd and not unkindly smile -into the girl’s beautiful, agitated face, turned on his heel, and began -to make his way, with his usual stolid and leisurely manner, up the -hill towards the high road.</p> - -<p>Left to herself, Olivia, who was by this time too thoroughly -drenched to trouble herself about a few minutes more or less in the -rain, debated what she should do. The heat of the impulse which -made her dash out of doors on learning the insult to Vernon had now -departed, and some of Mr. Mitchell’s words had hurt her maidenly -modesty to the extent of making her shy of visiting the clergyman -at his house. On the other hand, she had now, in the menaces of -the colonist, another reason for putting him on his guard. When -Mr. Mitchell had disappeared from her sight at the first bend in the -lane, she began to follow in the same direction slowly, her mind not -yet made up. An unexpected incident decided her.</p> - -<p>Glancing furtively at the cheerless windows of the gaunt stone -house, Olivia saw, at one of them, the figure of an old woman in a -black dress and widow’s cap, who watched the girl with evident interest, -and at last opened the front door and began making signs to -her. Olivia stopped. The signs were plainly an invitation to come -in. She advanced as far as the gate, and then the old woman addressed -her.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you step inside a minute, out of the rain? Come in, come -in; there’s nobody about but me.”</p> - -<p>This decided Olivia, who recognized the speaker as Vernon’s housekeeper, -whom she had seen at Rishton Church on Sundays. So she -walked up the stone-paved path, and thanking the old woman for the -proffered shelter, followed her into a hall, the desolate and bare appearance -of which corresponded perfectly with that of the exterior of -the house.</p> - -<p>“I think you’d better come into my room, Miss, though it’s really -only the back kitchen,” said the housekeeper. “But Mr. Brander, -being out to-day, lunching up at the Hall Farm, as you know, Miss, -there’s no fire in his room.”</p> - -<p>Olivia assenting gratefully, the old woman led her past the open -door of a comfortless and dingy room on the left, which might have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> -been either dining-room or study, past a second door on the same -side, which was closed, to a small apartment at the back, where a -bright fire, a cat on the hearthrug, a bird in its cage, and a cushioned -rocking chair, gave a look of comfort which was a welcome relief -to the cheerless aspect of the rest of the house. An open door led -into the kitchen, and gave a pleasant glimpse of firelight shining -on well-polished pots and pans.</p> - -<p>The housekeeper broke into ejaculations of alarm as she touched -the girl’s wet garments.</p> - -<p>“Bless me! you’re soaked to the skin!” she cried, beginning instantly -to divest Olivia of her outer garments with a vigorous hand. -“Come upstairs with me. Yes, you must; it would be manslaughter -on my part to let you stay five minutes in those clothes. I believe -you’ve caught a fever already.”</p> - -<p>Fatigue, excitement, cold, and wet had done their work on Olivia, -who began to look and to feel ill. She resisted for a few moments -the housekeeper’s well-meant endeavors to drag her to the door, but -yielded at last, and suffered herself to be taken upstairs, and arrayed -from head to foot in garments belonging to her hostess which, if -neither well fitting nor fashionable, were at least dry. Mrs. Warmington, -for that, she informed Olivia, was her name, assured the -girl that she would have plenty of time to have her outer garments -dried, and to get away home before Mr. Brander returned, as it was -his day for visiting an outlying part of his straggling parish.</p> - -<p>“And,” she said, “he will no doubt go straight on from the Hall -Farm after luncheon, and won’t be back here until teatime.”</p> - -<p>“Without having had anything to eat,” thought poor Olivia.</p> - -<p>She let herself be led downstairs again, noting, as she did so, that -no visible corner of the house, except such parts of it as came within -the housekeeper’s special province, was one whit more comfortable -or homelike than the bare hall. A pang of acute pity for the lonely -man pierced her heart as she decided that, whatever sin he might -earlier in life have been guilty of, no expiation could be more complete -than his dreary life in this desolate house, with only an old -woman for companion. And Mrs. Warmington did not strike her as -the most devoted servant or the most sympathetic personality in the -world. She had “seen better days,” evidently; but although she -did not flaunt the fact unduly, it perhaps gave her a little additional -aggressiveness of manner, so that, in spite of her kindness, Olivia -felt that one must be hard up for companionship to seek Mrs. Warmington’s -society. The girl was indeed struck by the difference between -the warm kindliness the old woman showed to herself and the -rather off-hand manner in which she alluded to her employer. She -began to puzzle her head as to the reason of this, and grew very -anxious to find out in what esteem the clergyman was held by his -solitary dependent. After a little conversation by the fireside, during -which the warmth came gradually back to her shivering limbs, -she put out a feeler in this direction.</p> - -<p>“It’s a very lonely life that you and Mr. Brander lead up here,” -she said, looking into the fire, and hoping that she did not betray in -which of the two lives she took the greater interest.</p> - -<p>“You may well say lonely. It’s a godsend to see a human creature<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> -about. I could have blessed the rain to-day for bringing you -here.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose it’s even worse for you than for Mr. Brander, because -he has his parish duties?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m of a more contented turn of mind than he,” said -Mrs. Warmington, with the same coolness that she had previously -shown on the subject of her master. “But, then, to be sure, perhaps -I’ve a better conscience.”</p> - -<p>There was silence for some minutes. Mrs. Warmington gave the -impression of being ready to be questioned, but Olivia was shy of -taking advantage of the fact. The housekeeper glanced at her from -time to time, as if hoping for some comment on her words. At last, -as none came, she looked her visitor full in the face, and said—</p> - -<p>“I see you know the story. Every one does, more or less; though -there are not many who know the rights of it as well as I do.”</p> - -<p>Olivia’s heart seemed to stand still.</p> - -<p>“But you don’t think him guilty?” burst from her lips, in a tone -which expressed more anxiety than she guessed. “You know him, -perhaps, better than anybody; you know that he isn’t capable of -anything so cruel, so base.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Warmington pursed up her withered lips in a judicial manner, -poked the fire, and put on a fresh supply of coal, all with an air -of being the chosen keeper of some great mystery. Olivia watched -her, but without asking any more questions; she felt heartsick, -miserable. Other people might guess; this old woman probably -knew. At last the housekeeper solemnly broke silence.</p> - -<p>“It’s hardly a tale for a young lady’s ears: perhaps it almost seems -like a breach of confidence on my part to touch upon my employer’s -secrets at all. But he has never made a confidante of me, and if -there’s any one in the world who might use the knowledge I possess -to Mr. Brander’s disadvantage, I know it is not you.”</p> - -<p>The young girl felt a shamefaced flush rising in her cheeks. This -woman spoke in a significant tone, implying that the depth of the -interest Olivia took in her master was not unknown to her. The girl -turned her head a little away, and stared at the fire with statuesque -stillness while her companion continued—</p> - -<p>“To begin with, I may tell you that the Branders are distant relations -of mine. It does not make me love them the more, but it -will prove to you that I have no interest in making them out to be -worse than they are.”</p> - -<p>Olivia assented with a slight bend of the head.</p> - -<p>“I don’t deny that I have noticed the interest you take in my -master, and as you are an inexperienced young girl, with some -warm-hearted, and perhaps rather quixotic, notions, I think it right -to put you in possession of the facts of this business, as I know -them.”</p> - -<p>Olivia glanced at the woman, and saw that, in spite of the dry -hardness of her manner, there was a kindly look in her eyes. Indeed, -Mrs. Warmington, whose heart was a little parched towards the -world in general, had taken a fancy to the bright-cheeked, handsome -girl.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you know,” she went on, “that the Branders pride<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> -themselves upon being what is called a ‘good’ family. -You will also know that in all ‘good’ families there is -generally more than one ‘bad lot.’ Although I am a connection of -theirs, I must confess that there has been quite an exceptional -number among the Branders. And, awkwardly enough, it happens -that the family interest lies chiefly in the Church. The Branders -have been clergymen for generations, generally with little credit to -themselves. Here and there has been an exception, but never more -than one in a generation; the exception in our time is Meredith. -His two brothers, Vernon and one who is now in China, showed from -the very first how unfit they were for their calling. I don’t blame -them much; I don’t praise Meredith much; their temperaments are -different, and it can scarcely be called their fault that only one of -the three is a round peg in a round hole. Well, you know that -both my master and his brother, Meredith, fixed their choice on the -same lady, and that Meredith married her. After that, Vernon, who -was no particular credit to his cloth before, grew wilder than ever. -It was not long before his constant visits to the Hall Farm became -the talk of the village; for Nellie Mitchell hadn’t the best name in the -world. Before long it was rumored about that the girl had been -seen, late in the evening, in the neighborhood of St. Cuthbert’s.”</p> - -<p>“Did you live here then?” abruptly asked Olivia, who had been -sitting in an attitude of straining attention, with close-shut lips and -heaving breast.</p> - -<p>“I had been here six weeks when—when the end came. Tongues -had been going faster than ever for the last week or two, and, of -course, some of the talk had reached my ears. I knew, from little -things I had seen—a portrait, a glove, slight changes in his manner -when speaking of her—that my master had not yet got over his -fancy for Mrs. Brander, married though she was. Then I heard -whispers of Nellie Mitchell’s jealousy; how she flaunted past the -vicar’s wife in the churchyard on Sunday with a swing in her walk -and a toss of her head which were almost insults; of letters which -were left in a wood close by, some of which fell into strange hands. -I was shocked by these reports, but I looked upon them as partly gossip, -and considered that, in any case, they were no business of mine. -One evening in August I was standing at the window of the front -room watching the sunset, when I saw Nellie Mitchell coming down -the lane past the house. Something in the girl’s appearance and -manner struck me as it had never done before. It was not the first -time that I had seen her come this way; but on all previous occasions -it had been after dark that I had seen a figure which I believed -to be hers slinking past hurriedly, as if anxious to escape notice. -Now the girl walked boldly—one would have said defiantly—with a -flushed face and an expression of reckless resolution. She carried in -her hand a small white packet, and, as she came opposite the house, -she stopped, and, turning so as to face the gate, deliberately untied -the string or ribbon which held her little parcel together, and counted -the letters of which it consisted. One, two, three, four, five, six, -seven. I could see her red lips move as she counted them out to herself, -and then slowly tied them up again with one angry and determined -look up at the windows of this house from her bold black eyes.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> -She did not see me; but it was evident that if a hundred people had -been staring at her out of these empty, shutterless windows, it -would have been all the same to her. I was shocked, horror-stricken. -For the first time the full meaning of all the ugly rumors I had -heard became plain to me: my master had been this woman’s lover!”</p> - -<p>Olivia shivered at the woman’s words, which seemed doubly -shocking from the matter-of-fact, somewhat hard tone in which they -were spoken.</p> - -<p>“As the evening went on, I grew more and more restless and uneasy. -Certain noises I had heard from time to time in the night, -which I had put down to the rats, came back to my mind. It now -seemed to me that they might have been due to another cause. -They had come from one of the front unused rooms. If thoughts of -evil now came into my mind, how could I be blamed? My master -was away, doing his rounds in the parish; he had told me he should -not be back till late. All the rest of the evening I watched from the -window, but I did not see the girl return. The thought came into my -mind to go out and try and find out where she had gone; whether -she was really, as the villagers’ hints suggested, waiting for some -one in the churchyard. But I was afraid; I had no mind to interfere -in other people’s affairs; it has always been my custom not to do so. -For a young girl like you I am ready to break my rule but not for -such as Nellie Mitchell.”</p> - -<p>And Mrs. Warmington’s lips closed pharisaically.</p> - -<p>“Nine o’clock came, ten o’clock, half-past ten; it was quite dark. -Then, as I was walking up and down, with an attack of what I call -the ‘fidgets,’ there came through the open windows a scream so -shrill, so horrible, that I staggered into the nearest chair as if a -blow from a strong man’s arm had sent me there. ‘Nellie Mitchell! -Nellie Mitchell!’ I felt myself saying, hoarsely. Then I think -I fainted, for what I remember next was to find myself hanging -over the chair with my head on Mr. Vernon’s writing-table. I got -up, at first scarcely knowing what it was that had startled me. I -was in utter darkness; in my first spasm of horror I had thrown -down the lamp. As I groped about to find a match, my fingers -trembling so much that they were clumsy and almost powerless, I -heard a footstep outside the door. It was my master, Vernon Brander!</p> - -<p>“I stopped in my search, and drew back instinctively, as I heard -him fumbling at the handle of the room door. It seemed such a long -time before he came in that the whole of this ugly story—the -villagers’ gossip, the sight I had seen, and the sound I had heard that -evening—all seemed to pass quite slowly through my mind as I -stood there waiting for him to come in. At last the door opened -slowly, and my master stood in the room with me. I heard his -breath coming in guttural gasps; I heard the table creak and the -objects on it rattle as he came forward and leaned upon it. I almost -shrieked, middle-aged, matter-of-fact woman that I was, when he -suddenly whispered, in a hoarse voice—</p> - -<p>“‘Who’s that?’</p> - -<p>“I summoned self-command enough to answer, pretty steadily—</p> - -<p>“‘It’s I, sir.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> - -<p>“He got up from the table, and turned towards the door; but an -impulse seized me to learn what I could then. I remembered with a -sort of inspiration, where the matches were, found them, and struck -a light. I was just in time to see my master’s hands as he opened -the door: they were stained with blood!</p> - -<p>“‘What have you done? You have killed her!’ I hissed out -close to him.</p> - -<p>“‘Before Heaven I have not!’ he answered, huskily; but his -teeth were chattering, and his eyes were glassy and fixed.</p> - -<p>“Then, covering his face with his hands with a groan, he turned -and staggered out of the room. As he did so he dropped something, -which I picked up and examined without scruple. I admit that this -was high-handed, but when you are almost a witness to a foul action, -you make new laws for yourself on the spur of the moment. -By this time I had quite recovered myself. I lit a candle, -and read every word of the letters which Nellie Mitchell had -flourished before my face that evening. There were no names used. -The gentleman had insisted upon caution, as the girl over and over -again complained. For these letters were hers, and as each successive -one was full of more and more bitter reproaches against her -lover, I guessed that it was the return of her letters which had at last -goaded the girl to desperation. Her jealousy of Mrs. Brander was -expressed on every page, and the last contained a threat of exposure. -It was evident that, whatever the girl’s character might have been, -she was bitterly in earnest over this passion. In spite of myself, the -burning words, guilty though they were, filled me with a kind of -pity, increased by the awful suspicion which now possessed me. I -felt the hot tears fall upon the papers in my hands, and I was so absorbed -in my reading that I did not hear my master come into the -room again; for the door had been left open. When at last I heard -his tread close behind me I started, but did not attempt to hide how -I was engaged. He did not seem startled to see the letters in my -hand, but, taking them from me, he read them right through, one -by one, and then placed them in his desk. His face was as white as -that of a dead man, and the hands he had just washed were livid -round the nails. He looked the wreck of the man who had gone out -to his work that afternoon in the August sunshine. When he had -shut his desk he turned very calmly to me and said—</p> - -<p>“‘You will leave me to-morrow, of course; but you had better -not go very far, as there will be an inquiry—an inquest; all sorts of -things—and your evidence will be important—against me.’</p> - -<p>“Those last two words decided me. My life was my own. This man -was my own kin. I answered, as calmly as he had spoken to me—</p> - -<p>“‘You are my master, sir, and of my own blood. I shall stay -with you as long as you please to keep me. If your conscience is -bad, I shall be an everlasting prick to it; if it is clear, as I pray -Heaven, you will have at least one friend when you most want -one.’”</p> - -<p>Olivia started up all on fire.</p> - -<p>“That was good of you!—that was noble of you!” she cried, in a -trembling voice.</p> - -<p>“Not at all. It is just the sort of thing a woman likes to do. A<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -little cheap quixotism—that is all; and I secured myself a home for -life, you see. I was no young girl that I should be afraid of him.”</p> - -<p>It was impossible to tell whether it was the cynicism or the kindliness -which predominated in Mrs. Warmington’s motives, or whether -they were there in equal proportions. As Olivia stared wonderingly -into the withered and somewhat inexpressive face, the housekeeper -rose somewhat abruptly from her seat.</p> - -<p>“That is Mr. Brander’s step!” she exclaimed as she turned to the -door. “If you stay here, you will be able to slip out presently without -his seeing you.”</p> - -<p>With these words, leaving Olivia no time to protest, or even answer -her, the housekeeper left the room, closing the door behind -her.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Olivia’s</span> first thought, as the door closed on Mrs. Warmington, was -to follow her out and make a dash for freedom. But as she started -up with this impulse, a sliding movement on the part of the garments -she wore reminded her that she was not in walking trim; and a -glance at the gilt-framed but mildewy glass which adorned the housekeeper’s -mantelpiece showed her such a comical figure that the instincts -of maidenly coquetry would never have allowed her to risk a -meeting with Vernon Brander in that odd disguise.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Warmington’s figure was of the straight-up-and-down sort—long -in the body and short in the limbs. Being a lady of frugal -bent and careful habits, she wore her dresses for so long a time that -they acquired enough of the shape and character of the owner to impart -the same characteristics to any subsequent wearer. Therefore, -Olivia’s glance in the mirror showed her a woman in dark-brown -stuff of slipshod fit, with a substantial square waist, and baggy -sleeves too short in the wrist. After one despairing look out of the -window at the rain, which went on falling in torrents, she sat down -again disconsolately to listen and wait for her hostess’ return.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Warmington had not met her master on her way upstairs, -for Olivia had heard him go into the front room before the housekeeper -left her; that she might be equally lucky on her way down -was the girl’s inward prayer. For there were ominous sounds in the -house suggesting that Mr. Brander was not minded to sit down quietly -to the writing of a sermon or the reading of a good book, as one -had a clear right to expect of a clergyman. Poor Olivia, sitting upright -as a ramrod, with a scared expression of face, heard him come -out of the dining-room into the hall. By the noise he made at the -hat and coat stand, she guessed that he was changing his wet coat -for a dry one. That business over, he ought plainly to have returned -to his room; so it seemed to Olivia. But instead of that, he remained -fumbling at the stand until the listening girl remembered, -with a spasm of terror, that she had left there to dry, by the housekeeper’s -directions, her little hand bag. Perhaps Mr. Brander would -pass it over, taking it for granted that the flimsy little feminine thing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> -belonged to Mrs. Warmington. No woman would have thought so; -but, of course, men are not observant. Her worst fear was that he -would remain there, not making enough noise to put the housekeeper -on her guard, until that lady should come sailing down the stairs -laden with a hat and cloak which evidently did not belong to her. -The girl scarcely dared to draw breath in her intense anxiety. To -be caught sneaking into a gentleman’s house in his absence, warming -yourself at his fire, and even—as she discovered to her dismay on -examining her feet—making free with his slippers, is an awkward -situation at any time. But when you have just been told the secret -of his life, and when your whole soul is warring about him, mercy -struggling with horror, and conviction with doubt, the dilemma -becomes well-nigh tragic.</p> - -<p>Presently Olivia heard him drop some object, and the little crash -it made caused her to shiver and almost to cry out. Then he began -to cross the uncarpeted hall with very slow steps. Olivia strained -her ears and held her breath. He was coming towards the room she -was in. Had he guessed the presence of an intruder, or was he only -coming with the prosaic intention of ordering something to eat? -The girl remembered with remorse how he had been cheated out of -his luncheon. But what should she do? Already she heard him calling, -in a low and, as she fancied, tired voice, “Mrs. Warmington!” -There was no time to escape by way of the kitchen—no corner of the -room where she could hide herself. As she stood up to give one last -hopeless look round, she again caught sight of her disguised figure -in the glass. Seized by a happy thought, she snatched up from the -top of one of the side cupboards, that filled the space between the -fireplace and the walls, a small woollen shawl of rusty black, which -Mrs. Warmington used to wrap round her head when she indulged -in an afternoon doze. Olivia now blessed her fervently for this information. -She had just time to wrap it round her head, to throw -herself back in the rocking chair with her head turned away from -the door, to cross her legs as Mrs. Warmington did, to fold her arms, -and hide her hands in the folds of the baggy sleeves, when the door -opened softly, and Mr. Brander put his head inside.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Warmington!” he called, very gently.</p> - -<p>No answer, of course.</p> - -<p>“Are you asleep?” more gently still.</p> - -<p>His housekeeper’s afternoon doze was a very common occurrence -apparently, for he uttered a little petulant sound, and disappeared -into the kitchen. In the dusk of a wet afternoon the girl’s ruse had -succeeded perfectly. But the obscurity which had favored her was -not equally kind to him, for Olivia heard much chinking of china -and clattering of plate before he re-entered the room. Instead of -going through to his own domain, however, he stood still between -the fireplace and the door, and Olivia, not daring to look, guessed -that he was eating. Trembling as she was with the fear of discovery, -it seemed to her a long time before she heard him take up the poker -and proceed very noiselessly to break the red-hot coals. She seized -the opportunity to turn her head a little, and to steal a frightened -glance at him through her eyelashes. He had on the shabbiest of -threadbare and ragged house coats, and was hungrily eating bread<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> -and cheese and a piece of dry and crumbling cake. When he had -built up the fire to please him, he dragged an old church hassock -from under the table, and seating himself on it, drew as near to the -grate as possible, and went on with his improvised meal.</p> - -<p>He was so close to Olivia that she could detect the coaly smell -which constant contact with his mining parishioners had imparted -to his old clothes; so close that she felt that he was cold as well as -hungry; so close that his hair brushed Mrs. Warmington’s brown -stuff gown as he bent forward, with his elbows on his knees, and -looked into the fire.</p> - -<p>And as they sat thus, in the darkening twilight, side by side, he -unconscious of her presence, she grew less afraid that he should discover -it, altogether less anxious for the safety of her disguise. Her -thoughts turned instead to consideration of his loneliness. What a -cheerless existence was implied in this creeping up to the side of a -rather cold and cross-grained old woman for warmth and companionship! -The close contact seemed to help Olivia to feel her way -into the mind of the solitary man. She pictured him innocent, laboring -under a charge which for some unaccountable reason he was unable -to refute; she pictured him guilty, torn with remorse, and -working out a weary expiation. In the latter case, she began to -feel, even more strongly than before her interview with Mrs. Warmington, -that the horror of the deed was swallowed up in compassion -for the doer. When he had finished his very frugal dinner, he -sat so still that she was able to open her eyes and so gain all the information -concerning the state of his mind which a careful study of -the back of his head could impart. He was dejected, weary, unhappy; -probably smarting still, so she told herself, from the pain her -step-mother’s treatment had caused him. Presently he rested his -head on his left hand, and so came nearer still to her. She could feel -that she was trembling from the force of an aching pity, and that -her hands seemed to tingle with the wish to lie with consoling touch -on his bent head. She had forgotten Mrs. Warmington and the dry -clothes—forgotten to wonder how she was going to get out of the -house and home again without discovering herself to Mr. Brander. -She soon discovered, however, that her feelings were more acute -than those of the object of her pity; for his head tilted slowly further -and further in her direction until at last it rested on her knee. Mr. -Brander, who, after a fierce battle with certain very unclerical feelings, -had tried to subdue the mind to the flesh by a long stretch over -the hills, had succeeded in tiring himself out.</p> - -<p>He was fast asleep.</p> - -<p>And if he had but known it, he might have had sweeter dreams -than he was used to. For the resting-place he had found was the -creature who cared most about him of any in the world.</p> - -<p>Olivia had an inkling of this, and it made the touch of her hand -almost motherly as she bent down and held it very, very gently just -near enough to feel his hair against her fingers. Only thirty-four -or thereabouts, and his hair so grey! She could dare now, as he -slept, to bend right down, and to see by the firelight how thickly the -white threads grew among the dark behind his ears and near the -temples. So curly his hair was, she noticed; quite soft, too, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> -silky, like a child’s: quite out of keeping with the worn, lined face, -that looked so sad and so old as the dancing flames threw deep -shadows upon it. And her fingers moved involuntarily through the -wavy mass, as she thought, as women will, that there had been a -time, long ago, when he lay, a helpless child, depending on the kindness -of a woman. And she tried to fancy what that poor mother -would have felt if she had known what evil rumors would some day -darken the name of her curly-haired boy. Olivia was by nature -more impulsive and passionate than sentimental; therefore these -unaccustomed feelings and fancies instead of finding vent in a -gentle sigh, made her breast heave and her eyes fill, until a broken -whisper slipped through her trembling lips—</p> - -<p>“Poor mother—poor son!”</p> - -<p>She was ashamed of her foolishness the next moment, and raised -her head quickly with a start and a hot, tingling blush, anxious to -jump up and run away, though still not daring to move. She took -out her pocket handkerchief very carefully, dabbed it against her -wet eyes with much fierceness, and then gave another glance, not -at all sentimental this time, at the face against her knee. Horror -and confusion! Was he asleep at all? The expression of his face -had quite changed, and there was a wretched tear—her tear!—on -his forehead. What should she do? Remove that tear, certainly. -For she felt that it would leave a huge stain, unmistakable as ink. -Very nervously she attempted to dry it with her handkerchief; but -the moment the cambric touched his face, Mr. Brander raised his -head and prevented her.</p> - -<p>“Don’t!” he said, huskily. “Why should you? What is there -to be ashamed of in your kindness to me? Do I get too much from -anybody?”</p> - -<p>Olivia did not answer. She felt as if a new acquaintance had suddenly -been sprung upon her. This mood was so different from any -she had seen Mr. Brander in before. The half-cynical self-reliance, -the bright, somewhat bitter humor had disappeared, and given -place to a humility so touching, so gentle, that she felt constrained -to remain where she was rather than risk hurting his feelings by -rising abruptly. But she could not answer his questions, and so she -sat silently, with her head bent down and turned a little away, while -he resumed the position he had first taken, with his arms on his -knees, looking into the fire. After a few moments, during which -the girl had time to wonder that she felt, under these rather awkward -circumstances, so much at her ease, she broke the silence, in a -low, hesitating voice.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Brander,” she began, “I should like to say something to you -about—about this morning—about Mrs. Denison.”</p> - -<p>Her painfully apologetic tone made him turn his head at once, -with a smile.</p> - -<p>“You may say something to me—in fact anything—upon any other -subject than those two,” he answered, in his usual kindly tone. “Say -something to me about this afternoon and about yourself. Let this -morning—and Mrs. Denison—be buried. Mind, I say, this is no unchristian -spirit.”</p> - -<p>“You are very good,” said Olivia, glancing at him timidly and -gratefully.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> - -<p>“Do you mean that?” he asked, inquisitively. “You have heard -a good deal to the contrary, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but is all that true?” she burst out boldly. “Now, you -have brought that question upon yourself before, and now you deliberately -bring it upon yourself again. Why don’t you satisfy me -by a straightforward answer? I do deserve it; for I always take -your part, to other people and to myself too.”</p> - -<p>“Do you?” he asked, so eagerly, with such a flash of pleasure over -his face that Olivia felt abashed again. Then he paused, and the -light had gone quite out of his face before he went on: “You won’t -be satisfied then with the consciousness that you are a poor beggar’s -solitary champion?”</p> - -<p>“I won’t be satisfied with that if I can get you to tell me any more,” -she answered, simply. “I don’t pretend that I’m not anxious to -know more; but it is not out of curiosity to learn other people’s -affairs, but because there really must be something peculiarly interesting -about a secret which causes your own relations to speak ill -of you.”</p> - -<p>Olivia had suddenly made up her mind for a bold stroke. It cannot -be denied that there was a little malice in her heart; but it was a -small matter compared with her real anxiety to put him on his guard -against one whom she considered a treacherous friend.</p> - -<p>“My relations!” he echoed, with a look of such bewilderment and -incredulity that she began to think he would not believe her.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t a sister-in-law a kind of relation?” asked Olivia, rather unsteadily, -after a pause.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander’s expression changed to one of pain and fear; so that -Olivia watched him in terror, not daring to go on. He looked at her -without answering, and then, as she remained silent and fearful, he -got up and walked to the other side of the little room, where, as her -face was turned towards the fireplace, she could not see him; but she -knew without the aid of her eyes, that he was much agitated; and -when he came back and, standing by her chair, put his hand gently -on her shoulder and spoke to her with calmness which might have -passed for unconcern, she was not deceived by it.</p> - -<p>“And what ill does my sister-in-law say of me?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“She told my step-mother an old story, and said you were not a -proper acquaintance for—young girls.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she said that, did she?” returned Mr. Brander, in a measured -voice. Then he said, abruptly, after a silence, “You are sure -of this?”</p> - -<p>“Quite sure.”</p> - -<p>Then it appeared to the girl that he stood beside her without a -word for a very long time. For the fire seemed to die down, and the -murky light outside to fade perceptibly, before he even changed his -attitude. At last she found courage to look up timidly into his face, -and saw that his eyes were staring towards the window with the -blind look of a seer whose vision is only keen for the fancies and -phantoms in his own mind. And Mr. Brander’s fancies must have -been of the gloomiest kind, for his face startled the girl into uttering -a little exclamation, which roused him from his abstraction, and -woke him to the fact that his hand had been laying all this time on -the young girl’s shoulder.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” he muttered, as he withdrew it as hastily as -if it had been red-hot iron.</p> - -<p>The blood rushed to Olivia’s face. The touch of Mr. Brander’s -hand had not offended her; the knowledge that it had been unconscious -did. And a most acute pang shot through her heart, as she realized -that it was because his mind was full of another woman’s treatment -that he was oblivious of her. She was jealous. In such an impulsive, -energetic girl as she was, vivid feeling found vent in hasty -action. Rising from her chair, and quite forgetting that her odd -costume made dignity impossible, she said, very coldly, that she must -go home now; her father would be anxious about her, and the rain -was less violent. Even as she spoke the wind dashed a clattering -shower against the window in disproof of her words. She did not -notice it herself; neither, apparently, did her host. For he opened -the door for her at once without any semblance of a wish to detain -her, and without seeming to remark her singular apparel.</p> - -<p>Olivia darted out of the room and up the stairs in a tempest of excited -feelings which found vent in an outburst of indignation against -Mrs. Warmington for leaving her so long alone with Mr. Brander. -The housekeeper met her at the top of the stairs, looking herself -pale and frightened.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you come down?” asked Olivia, impatiently.</p> - -<p>The old woman glanced nervously down into the hall, and answered -in a soothing tone of apology,</p> - -<p>“I did not dare, Miss Denison. I did not want my employer to -find me talking to you. He would have guessed what we were talking -about. We get so sharp, we people who live much alone, and -he would never have forgiven me. Ever since I heard him go into -the room where you were I have been walking up and down the landing -in a fever. You did not tell him what we had been talking -about, did you?”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Olivia. “He didn’t ask me.”</p> - -<p>“Thank goodness!” said the housekeeper with such a depth of relief -that the girl’s curiosity was roused.</p> - -<p>“Why should you mind so much?” she asked. “He seems quite -used to having his affairs discussed, and takes it for granted that -people should think the worst of him.”</p> - -<p>This thought moved her as she spoke, and caused her voice to -tremble sympathetically. The housekeeper examined her face -narrowly as she answered, with great discretion—</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t have minded about any one else, Miss Denison: -but it’s different with you.”</p> - -<p>“Different—with me!” echoed the girl, very softly.</p> - -<p>Without more words, Mrs. Warmington, after once more listening -and glancing down into the hall to assure herself that they were not -likely to be disturbed, crossed the landing on tiptoe, and beckoned -Olivia to follow her. Then throwing open the door of one of the -front bedrooms without noise, she said—</p> - -<p>“That is Mr. Brander’s room. Do you see by his bedside a set of -hanging shelves on the wall?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And a box in the middle of the bottom shelf?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> - -<p>As she spoke, the housekeeper was crossing the room. Taking -down the box, she returned to the door with it, and, raising the lid, -showed Olivia the tray of an old-fashioned workbox with well-worn -fittings.</p> - -<p>“It was his mother’s, I believe,” she whispered. Then, as the -girl drew back, shocked at having been inveigled into prying among -Mr. Brander’s treasures, she went on: “Have you ever seen this?” -And lifting out the tray of the workbox, she thrust under Olivia’s -reluctant but astonished eyes an indiarubber golosh, which Miss -Denison instantly recognized as one she had lost on her way back -from the Vicarage on the evening of her arrival at Rishton.</p> - -<p>With a little cry of astonishment and annoyance, Olivia put out a -hasty hand to recover her lost property. But Mrs. Warmington prevented -her, shutting the box hastily, and restoring it to its place.</p> - -<p>“I can’t take, or allow you to take, anything out of my employer’s -boxes in his absence,” she said, drily.</p> - -<p>“But it’s mine; it’s of no use to him, and I want it!”</p> - -<p>“You will have to do without it, unless you care to go and fetch it -yourself. But I think, on second thoughts, you will be satisfied that -enough honor has been paid to your old shoe.”</p> - -<p>Olivia blushed, and moved her shoulders with vexation.</p> - -<p>“It was such a huge thing!” she exclaimed, impatiently. “They -were always sizes and sizes too big for me.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Warmington’s thin lips relaxed into a smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she said; “perhaps you only wish to put a smaller one in -its place.”</p> - -<p>Olivia felt that she had, as her brothers would have termed it, -“given herself away,” and she was glad to let the subject drop. -Following her conductress into her bedroom, she put on her own, -now dry, clothes, in silence and much meekness, thanked her in a -subdued voice for her hospitality, and begged, as a final grace, the -loan of an umbrella.</p> - -<p>“It won’t be necessary. Mr. Brander will see you home.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, indeed,” broke out Olivia, hastily. “I want to slip out -of the house quietly without his seeing me again.”</p> - -<p>“Do you really want that?” asked the old woman, with a searching -look which set the younger blushing. “Because, if so, I can -take you down this way by the back staircase. It is never used, -but—”</p> - -<p>“Then, perhaps, the stairs will creak,” interrupted Olivia, and -without more delay she made, softly indeed but deliberately, for the -front staircase.</p> - -<p>“I can’t thank you enough for your kindness,” she whispered, -when they both stood in the hall.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Warmington shook her head with a drily amused smile.</p> - -<p>“I had a motive,” she said. “I am too fond of my own comfort to -put myself out of the way without one.”</p> - -<p>“A motive!” echoed Olivia.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I wanted to know you better, and I wanted you to know -Mr. Brander better. Now nobody can deceive you about him, and -nobody can deceive me about you.”</p> - -<p>“Why, who would try?” asked Olivia.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> - -<p>“Nobody, perhaps. Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>With one glance towards the open door of the front room, from -which they both heard the sounds of a man’s tread, the housekeeper -shook her guest’s hand, and, abruptly leaving her, disappeared into -her own domain at the back of the house.</p> - -<p>Olivia, who was highly offended at this discovery that she had been -“managed” and made the victim of a little trick, walked to the front -door with her head held high, and a firm intention of not even glancing -in the direction of the study. But a sound inside the room, as -she passed the door, broke her resolution, and she gave a swift glance -that way. The look revealed Mr. Blander standing beside the black, -empty fireplace. That was all. He saw her, and saw the proud turn -of her head as she instantly averted her eyes. Then he heard the -latch of the front door as her hands fumbled with it; he heard the -door open, and shut again immediately, very softly. The next moment -there was a hesitating step back across the hall, and the young -girl’s face was looking into the dingy room.</p> - -<p>“Please will you open the door for me, Mr. Brander? I—I don’t -quite understand the lock.”</p> - -<p>He came at once, and did the little service without a word. She -looked out; it was still raining persistently, the heavy downpour -having been succeeded by a fine drizzle.</p> - -<p>“It hasn’t left off yet,” she said, timidly.</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>They both stood still, looking out into the gathering darkness.</p> - -<p>“Shall I lend you an umbrella?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you would, I should be so glad. I will be sure to bring—send -it back.”</p> - -<p>He brought an umbrella from the stand, and opened it thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“If I lend you this one—it is the best, the lightest; the one I use -when there’s a bishop about—I shall want it again early to-morrow -morning—”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be sure to—”</p> - -<p>“Very early,” he continued, without heeding her.</p> - -<p>“Then let me have the old one.”</p> - -<p>“It’s full of holes. Besides, one of the ribs is broken.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, never mind. I can quite well get back without one at all.”</p> - -<p>“It might be managed,” suggested Vernon, guiltily, when he had -produced and examined carefully the second best umbrella, which -proved to be only a little better than its reputation. “If I were to -walk part of the way back with you, it might clear up, and you -might be able to get home without one; and I could bring it back, -you see.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t like to trouble. I’m always imposing,” murmured -Olivia.</p> - -<p>However, the half permission had been enough for Mr. Brander, -who was by this time slipping into his rough overcoat with the -alacrity of the British workman at the sound of the first stroke of six.</p> - -<p>Worse conditions for a pleasant walk through the fields and lanes -can scarcely be imagined than a March evening after a pouring wet -day, a fine rain falling, the ground ankle-deep in mud, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> -darkness already so thick that an occasional slip into a puddle was -unavoidable. They had to walk in most uneven, jolting fashion to -find a path at all through the steepest part of the lane. Sometimes -Olivia had to take Mr. Brander’s arm to keep her footing at all, and -once he had to help her to jump over a miniature torrent. They -scarcely talked at all, but a warm sense of human sympathy and -mutual help grew so strong between them that when they came to a -particularly ugly quagmire their eyes would meet with a smile and -a nod, and they would go on again very happily. At last, when -they got to the top of the hill, and both instinctively stopped for -breath at the same moment, Olivia looked up and said, shyly and -simply—</p> - -<p>“Did you know it was I—all the time?”</p> - -<p>“I knew it was you when I felt—something on my face. I was -asleep, and it woke me.”</p> - -<p>“I’m so sorry,” murmured she.</p> - -<p>“Don’t apologize. You may cry over me just as much as you -like.”</p> - -<p>She laughed a little, and then they went on again, but without exchanging -any more looks, until they came suddenly, without having -realized that they were so near, to the bottom of the Vicarage hill. -He glanced up it, and Olivia caught the expression of his eyes.</p> - -<p>“You are not going there—to the Vicarage?” she burst out, -impulsively.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am,” he answered, with a dogged look of anger and scorn -on his face.</p> - -<p>The girl, drawing a long, sobbing breath, retreated a step without -speaking.</p> - -<p>Vernon stopped and looked into her face almost with the boldness of -a lover.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” he asked, in a voice little above a whisper.</p> - -<p>“Why not, indeed, Mr. Brander!” she said, coldly, but without -succeeding in hiding a break in her voice; “if the friends you can’t -trust are of more value than those you can.”</p> - -<p>“It is not a question of that, Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it?” she broke in, quickly. “I think it is. You will go in -all cold indignation, and come out all hot remorse and repentance. -And you will never see that lessons in patient self-sacrifice are all -the good you will ever get out of the Vicarage!”</p> - -<p>Vernon started violently, and fell to shivering.</p> - -<p>Shocked at the strong effect of her bold words, Olivia remained -silently and humbly waiting for the reproaches she expected.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Olivia Denison’s</span> outburst against the Vicarage folk and their treatment -of Vernon Brander seemed to overwhelm the latter with consternation. -He stood before the impulsive girl as if benumbed by -her vehemence; and it was not until her restless movements and -bending head showed that she felt uncomfortable and ashamed of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -herself that he tried to speak and to reassure her. For it was evident -that she thought her boldness had deeply offended him.</p> - -<p>“You do them injustice, Miss Denison. Though I know it’s only -through your kind feeling for me. There is nothing my brother -would not do for me; he always takes my part most valiantly.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, your brother, perhaps. But Mrs. Brander! She doesn’t. -And a woman can do you more harm by raising her eyebrows at the -mention of your name than a man could by preaching a course of -sermons against you.”</p> - -<p>“But why should she? Miss Denison, I can’t believe it.”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe what I tell you, that Mrs. Brander warned my -step-mother against admitting you into her house?”</p> - -<p>“I must believe it, since you say it is true. But I am sure there -must be some explanation—”</p> - -<p>“Of course there will be an explanation; and one that will satisfy -you perfectly, I have no doubt,” interrupted Olivia, impatiently. -“Mrs. Brander will be able to explain everything, and make you -see how entirely right and natural it is that you should have no -friends but those at the Vicarage.”</p> - -<p>She saw by the change in his face that she had succeeded in sowing -the seed of what she considered a wholesome suspicion in his -mind; and rather afraid of trusting herself to further speak on a -matter which lay nearer her heart than she cared to show, she held -out her hand abruptly, saying with a break in her voice—</p> - -<p>“Good-night, Mr. Brander.”</p> - -<p>She knew he was grateful for her interest in him; she knew he -had that day been happy in her society. But she was quite unprepared -for the flash of passionate feeling which suddenly shone out of -his dark, thin face at the touch of her hand. It was like the wild gratitude -of a starving man for food, which he seizes ravenously, and for which -he can utter no articulate thanks. Olivia was almost frightened by -it, and her hand trembled as he clutched it in his.</p> - -<p>“Good-night,” he said; “good-night. I had forgotten what such -a thing was—as a friend—until, until you came. They are very -good—my sister-in-law, and even my old housekeeper. But they -are cold; at least, they are not like you. There is something in the -very touch of your hand, in the kindness of your eyes, that warms -one and makes one feel—human again. God bless you, Miss Denison!”</p> - -<p>He had hurried out his words so fast, in such a low, hoarse voice, -that Olivia scarcely heard more than half. But what she did hear -touched, melted her, made her heart open with a yearning tenderness -she had never felt before, even for her beloved father in his -troubles. She let Mr. Brander hold her hands in the grip of a moment’s -passionate happiness, and only sighed out a faint protest -against his fervent words. It was he who first woke from the entrancing -pleasure of that moment’s mutual sympathy. Letting the -girl’s hand drop, he stepped back as abruptly as if they had been -interrupted, leaving her confused and ashamed at her involuntary -show of feeling.</p> - -<p>Through long years of self-control on his side, through pride on -hers, they both recovered their outward composure so quickly that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> -a very keen observer, who happened to pass a moment later, could -detect no sign of unusual emotion in either of them. This passer-by -was Ned Mitchell, who touched his hat to Miss Denison with a -significant air of being determined to remark nothing, and nodded -to the clergyman with a side glance of no great favor. As she -caught sight of him, Olivia drew a deep breath and shivered, as if -some forgotten horror had become suddenly vivid. Instead of allowing -Mr. Brander to take a formal farewell of her, as he was about -to do, she detained him by a gesture until the colonist was out of -hearing, and then made an impulsive step nearer to him, with a -face full of deep anxiety and excitement.</p> - -<p>“I had forgotten—quite forgotten,” she panted out. “That man—do -you know who he is?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know why he is here?”</p> - -<p>“No—o. But I have sometimes made ugly guesses.”</p> - -<p>“They were right; they were true. He is the brother of Nellie -Mitchell.”</p> - -<p>She communicated this intelligence in the lowest of whispers, and -he received it without a perceptible movement. She did not know -what to do next—whether she should attempt to comfort and reassure -him, or whether she should quietly slip away while he was apparently -absorbed in his own thoughts and unconscious of her presence. -She decided on a middle course.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Mr. Brander,” she said, in a gentle and timid voice. -He started, and as he turned towards her, she noted narrowly the -expression of his face. Whether the waning daylight had now -grown too faint for her to see properly, she could not be sure; but it -seemed to her that there was more relief than alarm in his eyes, -which were glowing with keen excitement.</p> - -<p>“When did you find this out?” he asked, very quietly.</p> - -<p>“This afternoon, on my way to St. Cuthbert’s,” she answered, -promptly.</p> - -<p>“On your way to St. Cuthbert’s,” he echoed, very softly. Olivia -blushed and bit her lip, but she answered readily enough, holding -up her head with some dignity—</p> - -<p>“You had been insulted by my people. I came to apologize for -them. That was only natural, as you were my friend.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander smiled. He seemed already to have quite recovered -from any shock her alarming information might have been supposed -to cause him.</p> - -<p>“That was generous of you—and like you,” he said. “But it -was very unwise. Do you want to set all the old women’s tongues -wagging?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care,” murmured Olivia defiantly, though she cast down -her eyes; “besides, I didn’t stop to think.”</p> - -<p>“But you ought to stop to think. You haven’t always some one -at your elbow to do it for you, as I verily believe a woman ought -to have.”</p> - -<p>He had fallen into the tone of playful reproach which was natural -to him when he was moved to tenderness.</p> - -<p>“But I was in the right,” said Olivia.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know about that. However, we will leave that unsettled. -How came this man to speak to you?”</p> - -<p>“He saw that I wanted to get into the churchyard, and so did -he.”</p> - -<p>“And he told you he was Nellie Mitchell’s brother?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Olivia, who felt the hot blood burning in her face -as he mentioned the dead girl’s name.</p> - -<p>Both were silent for some moments, during which Mr. Brander regarded -the girl intently, trying to fathom the thoughts in her mind.</p> - -<p>“And you thought it would interest me to know this?” he asked, -very gently.</p> - -<p>“I—I was afraid so,” she burst out, and impulsively hid her face -for a moment in her hands.</p> - -<p>She heard his breath come fast; she seemed to feel that his hands -were near her, hovering over her, almost touching her; and she remained -motionless. But when she looked up he was some paces -away, busily employed digging holes in the ground with the point of -his umbrella. As she looked up, their eyes met.</p> - -<p>“Yes. You were right. It does interest me,” he said, gravely. -Olivia’s face fell. At sight of this change in her expression, Mr. -Brander’s composure suddenly gave way again—broke up altogether. -He showed himself suddenly in an entirely new light, swayed by excitement -so tempestuous that the girl realized for the first time the -depths of passion which still remained in this man under the burnt-out -crust. In a moment she recognized the fact that he was capable -of impulses and of acts which she could neither measure nor -understand. For good or for evil, his was a nature deeper and -stronger than hers. This knowledge, so suddenly borne in upon her, -gave her a new interest in, and respect for, him, even while it made -her reluctantly admit that the possibility of his having committed a -great crime was far clearer to her than before. All this flashed into -her mind in a second of time, as his agitated face turned towards her -just before the feelings which surged within him broke on his lips in -hoarse, incoherent speech.</p> - -<p>“I must tell you—Oh, God! Why should I not tell <em>you</em>? Who in -the whole world deserves to hear the truth as you do? Listen!”</p> - -<p>No need to tell the girl that. Her heart was in her eyes. She -held her very breath in the intensity of a rush of feelings, which -made her wet and cold from head to foot as she stood, unable to utter -a word, waiting for the fatal explanation. He had come a step nearer -to her, the first words of his confession were on his lips, when a -bright, high, woman’s voice broke upon their ears. The sound acted -on Vernon Brander like a stroke of paralysis. His right hand, raised -in eager gesture, fell to his side; into his excited face came suddenly -the vacant stare of idiotcy. As for Olivia, the tension on her weaker -feminine nerves had been too great.</p> - -<p>She drew a long sigh, and burst into tears. Then, before he could -recover himself sufficiently to offer one word of comfort or apology, -she muttered a hasty “good-night,” and hurried through the farmyard -gate towards her home.</p> - -<p>Vernon could only watch her retreating figure a little way, as an -angle of the big barn that stood opposite the farmhouse soon hid her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -from sight. Then he went on with slow, dogged footsteps to meet -his sister-in-law; for it was her voice which had disturbed his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tete-a-tete</i> -with Miss Denison. The suspicions of the latter had already -bore some fruit in his mind; for he asked himself whether Mrs. -Brander had not come out on purpose to interrupt them. What -other motive could bring that comfort-loving lady out into the damp -and cold of a wet April evening? He dismissed the idea from his -mind almost as soon as it entered; nevertheless, it was a just one.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander had called on Mrs. Denison that afternoon, and had -learnt, through the indiscretion of the latter’s husband, enough of -the morning’s proceedings to fill her with anxiety and annoyance. -The vicar managed to restrain her first impulse, which was to go -straight to St. Cuthbert’s and see Vernon.</p> - -<p>“You will be putting yourself in the wrong if you do that, my -dear,” said Meredith, quietly. “If he thinks he has any cause of -complaint against you, he is not the man to nurse it up silently. He -is sure to come straight here on the first opportunity to ‘have it -out’ with you. And then I have no doubt of your powers of making -the rough places smooth again.”</p> - -<p>Evelyn Brander submitted to her husband’s judgment, with a -doubt which he made light of. A few months ago she could have -made her brother-in-law take her own view of any matter; now -there was an unpleasant possibility that he might take somebody -else’s.</p> - -<p>As the afternoon wore on, therefore, and Vernon did not appear, -she went the length of watching for him at one of the drawing-room -windows which commanded the best view of the road; and when the -tenant of the adjoining cottage returned home, she threw up the sash, -and asked him if, in the course of the rambles round the parish -which he was known to be in the habit of taking, he had that day -met the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s. The colonist, being an observant -man, noted the lady’s anxiety, and the unusual courtesy towards -himself to which it gave rise.</p> - -<p>“Your brother-in-law, madam,” said he, bluntly, “is standing at -the bottom of the hill. He has been standing there some time, I believe.” -Then the idea of a little experiment crossing his mind, Ned -Mitchell made a pause to give the more effect to his next words. -“He is with Miss Denison, of the farm down yonder.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander’s handsome eyes flashed; with what feeling, whether -jealousy, or anger or disquietude, he could not be sure. She bestowed -upon him a little polite smile of thanks for his information, and -said it was an unpleasant evening. But it was evident that her interest -in him was gone; and as he had nothing more at present to obtain -from or to impart to her, the colonist gave the off-hand touch to his hat -which was the most respectful form of salutation he ever bestowed, -and retreated into his cottage. Mrs. Brander shut down the window -with one vigorous pull, and in two minutes was sallying down the -hill through the mud and the drizzle, her handsome dinner dress -held at a height more convenient than graceful, her kid shoes encased -in stout goloshes, an old macintosh of her husband’s buttoned -round her with the sleeves left swinging and a huge carriage umbrella -held over her head. She was a practical woman, and if one liked to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> -wear handsome clothes, there was no reason why one should spoil -them for the sake of a more picturesque appearance for ten minutes -on a wet evening. As she passed the end of her neighbor’s garden, -that gentleman, who was on the watch underneath his porch, addressed -to her an admiring word.</p> - -<p>“Well done, ma’am!” cried he. “As long as you parsons’ ladies -do your husband’s district visiting in such weather as this, you’ll -stave off disestablishment, I reckon.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” she called out in answer, being in one of those anxious -moods in which the proudest woman is afraid of giving offence to a -fellow mortal; “you don’t know yet what weak woman is capable -of.”</p> - -<p>These were the words she was uttering when the faint sound of -her voice startled Vernon and Olivia as they stood together at the -foot of the hill.</p> - -<p>When Miss Denison left him, Vernon had only a few steps to take -before he met his sister-in-law, who greeted him with the kindly affectionate -manner of a relation with whom one is on perfectly good -terms. She gave her umbrella to him to hold, and passed the disengaged -hand lightly through his arm. Instead of proceeding up the -hill with her, however, he stood still, remaining as stiff as a wooden -soldier.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you coming up to the house?” she asked, with innocent -peremptoriness, shaking his arm persuasively.</p> - -<p>“No, thank you,” said he coolly, but with a coolness utterly different -from hers, as it arose from the chilling of a warm nature, not -from the innate frigidity of a cold one.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you must! I was peeping out of the drawing-room window -when the bear next door came back to his den and told me you -were out here, talking to Miss Denison. So I rushed out hoping to -catch you both, and drag you in to dinner; the pretty farmer’s -daughter to amuse Meredith, and you to entertain me.”</p> - -<p>With the audacious coquetry of a cold woman, she pressed his arm -with her hand, and bending forward looked into his face with her -great gazelle-like eyes, which, by a turn of her head, she could make -divinely alluring while ordering the details of a custard pudding. -But Vernon was not now to be allured. He withdrew his arm -boldly under the pretence that it required two hands to hold the heavy -umbrella at the proper angle.</p> - -<p>“Miss Denison has gone home,” said he. “And I’m going home: -thank you.”</p> - -<p>“What, without an umbrella? Come as far as the house, and I’ll -give you one. It’s sure to rain before you can get back.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Denison has got mine. I can go to the farm to fetch it.”</p> - -<p>“Well, perhaps you won’t mind seeing me as far as the door first. -I can’t hold that great thing and keep my dress up too. I won’t insist -on your coming in; that will do some other time. I had something -to say—to ask you about my Katie; but never mind now. I -see you are thinking of something else.”</p> - -<p>“Katie!” exclaimed Vernon. “What about Katie?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she doesn’t seem very well to-day, and I thought perhaps—”</p> - -<p>“You thought what? Is there anything I can do?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> - -<p>“There might have been. But I can’t ask favors of you in such a -mood as you are in to-night. We are losing you day by day. You -will soon have no place in your heart even for Katie.”</p> - -<p>“I think you misjudge me, Evelyn. A child may forget her -friends when they are absent. But at least she does not speak ill of -them.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander stopped short in the mud, and looked at him with -proud indignation.</p> - -<p>“Of course I see you are insinuating that I have done so. Your -new friends have been turning you against the old!”</p> - -<p>“No. It seems, though I can scarcely believe it, that my old -friends have been turning my new ones against me. Now, Evelyn, -you are honest, aren’t you? Did you, or did you not, warn Mrs. -Denison against me, as not being a proper friend for a young girl?”</p> - -<p>Now, Vernon Brander only did his sister-in-law justice when he -called her honest. Her blunt frankness, which made little account -of other people’s feelings, had often been counted against her as a -fault. Moreover, it was one result of her husband’s profession that, -though not by nature over-scrupulous, lying should now seem a -great sin to her. But the issues at stake seemed to her so great that -it cost her only a moment’s hesitation to reply—</p> - -<p>“I did not. I told her I understood you did not think of marrying. -Was I wrong?”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Vernon, in a very low voice.</p> - -<p>Evelyn’s great eyes were meeting his with the simple, direct stare -habitual to her, which seemed to preclude the idea that she could lie. -A weaker, a more sensitive, or a more modest nature would have -shrunk from the gaze of his burning, pleading eyes. But her character -was not built on complex lines; she felt that she was doing the -best possible thing under the circumstances for herself and for everybody -else, and so, her conscience being, as usual, free, there was no -need for any airs of disquietude or remorse. And so the guileless -man was caught at the first throw of the line, and was carried off to -the house safe and subdued, while she informed him that Katie was -not well, and that if he and his old housekeeper were willing to take -charge of the little girl at St. Cuthbert’s for a fortnight, she thought -the change would do her good.</p> - -<p>The vicar’s wife had not overrated the effect of this proposal. To -have his darling niece in his own care for two whole weeks was a -bribe which would have tempted him to condone any wrong. By -the light which came into his face as he quietly said he should be -glad to have the child, Mrs. Brander knew that her trump card had -been very well played, and that she had an influence ready to her -hand which might be reckoned upon to counteract the dangerous one -of Olivia Denison’s youth and beauty.</p> - -<p>The tenant of the cottage watched the pair curiously as they -passed his garden on the way up to the Vicarage. Nothing in the -demeanor of either escaped his penetrating eyes. Absorbed as he -was in one object, every smallest incident which occurred in his -neighborhood was regarded by him as having a possible bearing -upon it.</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” he said to himself, as they turned the corner into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> -private road at the top of the hill, “what is the reason of the interest -that parson’s wife takes in her husband’s brother? Pretty strong it -must be to bring my lady out into the puddles in those finicking -togs of hers! Love, passion, anything of that sort? She ain’t built -that way; and if she had liked him best, she would either have -married him or she’d have given ’em something to talk about by -this time. I should like to think there was a woman in the secret—my -secret; it would make my work seventy-five per cent. easier.”</p> - -<p>In the meantime, Mrs. Brander and Vernon had reached the house, -and had been met at the door by the vicar, who seemed placidly -amused by the triumph and satisfaction he saw on his wife’s face, -and by the subdued and even hangdog expression on that of his -brother.</p> - -<p>Dinner was waiting; and the vicar, who was as much disturbed -by such an occurrence as he ever was about anything, hastened to -lead the way to the dining-room, gently murmuring disapproval of -his wife’s conduct in leaving the house at such a critical moment. -The meal passed uncomfortably; for the unexplained uneasiness -under which Vernon was evidently laboring could not fail to effect, -in some degree, even his rather stolid brother. When they all adjourned -to the drawing-room, the constraint of his manner became -so apparent that Meredith, used to an atmosphere of calm respect -for himself and content with things in general, laid his hand on his -brother’s shoulder and asked him, with benevolent peremptoriness, -if there was anything the matter.</p> - -<p>Vernon who was standing by a table, turning over the leaves of -a magazine with unmistakable lack of interest, started violently, -and caused his sister-in-law to look up from the needle work with -which her handsome, industrious fingers were nearly always employed. -Her quick eyes discovered, at a glance, that there was -some more serious reason for his melancholy than she had supposed. -She rose and with a thrill of vague anxiety laid aside her -work and crossed the room towards the two brothers. Vernon’s -eyes met hers, and the expression she saw in them caused her to -stop abruptly.</p> - -<p>“Well, what is it? Do speak out, Vernon. We are not fools. We -are ready to hear anything,” she said, in impatient, almost querulous -tones.</p> - -<p>Her brother-in-law cleared his throat, looking from the one to the -other with a strange yearning in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I will speak; I will tell you,” he said huskily. “I have learnt -to-day something which may cause you some alarm—for me,” he -added, hastily, as husband and wife looked anxiously each at the -other. “I don’t know whether you have ever troubled yourselves -about the man who has come to live next door, or made any inquiries -about him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, who is he? What is his name?” asked Evelyn, while her -husband remained silently watching his brother.</p> - -<p>“He is Ned Mitchell, the brother of—”</p> - -<p>He stopped. There was dead silence in the room. Not one of the -three seemed to dare to meet the eyes of another. Evelyn was the -first to speak. Her voice was low and husky, quite unlike her usual -bright, imperious tones.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> - -<p>“You are sure?” she said.</p> - -<p>“Quite sure.”</p> - -<p>Another silence.</p> - -<p>Then the vicar spoke. His voice was not affected by the alarming -announcement, except that it was, perhaps, unusually gentle and -kind. He laid a sympathetic hand on the shoulder of his brother, -who still remained, with head bowed down, unable to meet their -eyes.</p> - -<p>“And, of course, you think he is here about that unfortunate business -of ten years ago?”</p> - -<p>Evelyn shuddered, and glanced first at her husband and then at -the broken-down man on the other side of her. Her lips moved, imploring -Meredith to be kind, to be careful. Vernon raised his head, -looking still at the carpet.</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” he answered, in a husky voice. “Not that we -need trouble ourselves. What can he really do? Nothing. I—I am -as safe as ever.”</p> - -<p>The vicar withdrew his hand. Calm as he had remained, he -seemed to breathe more freely at this assurance.</p> - -<p>“I hope so, indeed,” he said, solemnly; “for all our sakes.”</p> - -<p>Vernon rose, and his eyes met those of his brother for the first time. -He tried to speak, but only a dry, choking sound came from his -parched mouth. He seized the hand his brother held out to him, -and wrung it till the clasp of his thin, nervous fingers left livid marks -on the soft pink flesh.</p> - -<p>“God bless you,” murmured the vicar, in his warmest tones of -encouragement and sympathy.</p> - -<p>Again Vernon tried to speak: again he failed. With a hasty side -glance at his sister-in-law, full of a plaintive, dumb sort of gratitude -and entreaty, he crossed the room rapidly, with almost a staggering -gait, opened the door with clammy fingers, and hurried out.</p> - -<p>Husband and wife, thus left face to face, said not a word, but each -gave a strange look of searching inquiry into the face of the other.</p> - -<p>“Poor fellow!” said the vicar, gently.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander did not answer. With a woman’s keener sympathy, -she was listening to her brother-in-law’s footsteps in the hall outside. -All there was of warmth in her somewhat cool nature was brought -to the surface to-night. As she heard the hall door open, she uttered -a little cry, and, leaving the room quickly, came up with Vernon -before he had got out of the house, and put a warm, loving hand -upon his arm.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Vernon, Vernon! I wanted to say God bless you too!” she -whispered, with tenderness most unwonted in the self-contained -woman.</p> - -<p>Vernon looked in her face with astonishment. There were tears -in her great brown eyes; tears which, if he had seen them a few -months ago, would have set his blood and his brain on fire. Now -the sight of them filled him with astonishment and gratitude, but -left him calm.</p> - -<p>“You are too kind, dear,” he said, pressing her hand affectionately -in his. “You must not trouble your head so much about me. Indeed -there is no need. Good-night, good-night.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> - -<p>He stooped and kissed her hand very gently, very reverently, -and left her, hurrying down the lane without a look behind.</p> - -<p>Evelyn Brander stared out into the darkness for some minutes -after he had disappeared from her sight. For the first time, perhaps, -in all her life she felt a vague sense that there might be something -in existence more serious, more interesting than what we should -eat, and what we should drink, and wherewithal we should be -clothed.</p> - -<p>“If I had only known,” she murmured to herself; “if I had only -been able to know!”</p> - -<p>Then she looked curiously at the hand Vernon had kissed, seeming -surprised to find no change in its appearance. The next moment, -raising her head to its usual proud angle, with a little laugh at her -own folly, she shut herself into the house.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> once the secret concerning the identity of the stranger at the -cottage had been let out, it spread mysteriously throughout the -length of the straggling village with astonishing rapidity. Ned -Mitchell had come back; and, remembering the character for pigheaded -obstinacy he had borne at home when he was a boy, it was -safe to prophecy that there would shortly be a “shindy” somewhere. -Two or three old people now declared that they had recognized him -from the first, though they had been too discreet to make known the -fact; and towards the close of the day following that on which he -had revealed his name to Miss Denison, it became plain to him, from -the whispers of young girls and the curtsies of old women, that he -was the hero of the hour.</p> - -<p>In the evening he had the honor of a call from the chief of the -village busybodies, a superannuated postman, who clung to his old -trade of news carrier to the community. As Ned Mitchell lived by -himself, and locked up his house when he was out, the visitor had to -sit on a broken horse trough which stood on the green under the -trees opposite to the cottage until the colonist returned from one of -his long daily rambles.</p> - -<p>“Good-evening, squire,” said the old postman, rising with fussy -respect, and hobbling quickly to the gate lest his unwilling host -should shut him out before he could reach it.</p> - -<p>Mitchell glanced towards him, and jerked at him an indifferent -nod. The old man was not to be rebuffed. He had that quality of -dogged and patient energy which we can most of us show in other -people’s business.</p> - -<p>“Pardon, squire,” he said, with a beggar’s humility. “Don’t be -affronted with me for wishing to be one o’ t’ first to pay my respects -to ye.”</p> - -<p>“Respects!” echoed Mitchell, shortly, thrusting his hands into his -pockets with an instinctive perception that these contained his most -respect-worthy attribute.</p> - -<p>“Ay, squire. I’m proud to be one o’ t’ first to welcome ye back to -yer owd home.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> - -<p>“Old home! What, do you call this wretched little heap of mouldy -bricks and worm-eaten boards a home for me?” asked the colonist, -contemptuously.</p> - -<p>“Noa, squire; leastways it didn’t ought to be. But as them as -have no right to ’t have got t’ Hall Farm instead o’ them that was -born and bred there, it’s summat to welcome ye back to t’ village -that’s proud to have you belonging to it.”</p> - -<p>“Proud! Why proud?” asked Mitchell, bluntly. “If the village -has got to be proud of me, I ought to be ashamed of it, I should think. -And who can have a greater right to the farm than the man who’s -paying the rent of it.”</p> - -<p>The old postman was not abashed. Each snub administered to -him did but increase, in his eyes, the importance of the administrator. -He felt, too, that the opportunity he gave the colonist of -sharpening his wit upon him was inclining that gentleman to look -upon him with favor.</p> - -<p>“Very true, squire. You that travel get a different way o’ looking -at things from what us stay-at-home folk do. All t’ same, squire, I -hope as I may be allowed to give you a bit of a hint that may, or it -may not”—and the old man nodded with mystery and importance—“be -of use to you on your business here.”</p> - -<p>“My business here! And what’s that?” asked Mitchell, abruptly.</p> - -<p>“Well they do say as how it were on account of summat as happened -ten years ago that were never cleared up.”</p> - -<p>“Oh?”</p> - -<p>“And if so be as that’s true, which I don’t say—neither do I say -otherwise, as it aren’t true, why then what I say is,” went on the -old man, whose style grew more involved the nearer he came to the -point, “that Martha Lowndes, as were her foster-sister, and them -two always as thick as thieves, which that is a party as knows more’n -she tells.”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell, who had been taking nuts from his pocket, opening -them with a penknife, and devouring them ravenously, shut up his -knife and laid his hand on his garden gate without the smallest sign -of interest in the information he had received.</p> - -<p>“Is that all?” he asked, feeling his pockets to make sure that not -one nut still lurked in the corners.</p> - -<p>“Well—” began the gossip, rather disconcerted, but ready to -make the best of a bad business.</p> - -<p>“Ah, it is all, I see,” interrupted Mitchell.</p> - -<p>And with a nod of stolid indifference, he turned and strolled up -the cottage path.</p> - -<p>But Ned Mitchell, though he had no notion of being grateful for -the old man’s information, was not long in making use of it. No -sooner had the April evening closed in than he, having already found -out Martha Lowndes’ dwelling, knocked at the door of a small, -tumble-down cottage, where he was admitted at once by a woman -who looked about fifty, and whose face was careworn and deeply -furrowed.</p> - -<p>“Martha Lowndes?” said Ned.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered the woman, looking at him curiously.</p> - -<p>“I thought you were younger.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span></p> - -<p>“I’m thirty-five,” said the woman, shortly. “You’re Ned -Mitchell, I suppose. I’d forgotten you; but they told me you were -about; so I suppose it’s you.”</p> - -<p>“Right you are.”</p> - -<p>“Come in, then.”</p> - -<p>He at once accepted the not very gracious invitation, and sat down -on one of the wooden chairs, which she dusted for him.</p> - -<p>“And so you’re come at last. You didn’t hurry yourself.”</p> - -<p>“No, I didn’t hurry myself, but I meant to come.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I thought it was odd if you didn’t, and her your favorite as -she always was.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s true. But that was in the old days, when I was sentimental. -If it had happened when I first went away, with nothing but -the shirt on my back and my mother’s Bible, I should have worked -my passage home by the next boat, and run amuck among these -fine gentlemen till I got the right one by the throat. But when it -did happen, I’d got sheep farms of my own, and a wife and family, -and was making my pile. So I let justice wait till my liver wanted -a change. But it’ll be justice none the less for that.”</p> - -<p>The woman stood with her arms akimbo, regarding him solemnly. -Indeed all capacity for gaiety or even cheerfulness seemed to be dead -in her.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, presently, “and what do you want with me?”</p> - -<p>“You can tell me something, or else I’ve been made a fool of.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s right enough. I can tell you something. It’s been -on my mind this ten year, and it’s what has made an old woman of -me before my time. You remember me, ‘flirting Mattie’ they -called me then, and I don’t say but what I was as good as my name. -There were a pair of us, they said; and we were together a good -deal. ‘Birds of a feather,’ you know. But Nell was always closer -than me; if I fancied anybody, all the world might know. But -she, she’d carry on with half a dozen, and you might never know -which was the one she’d a liking for, or if it was in her to care for -anybody. It wasn’t for a long time I myself guessed there was -something up—not till she grew mopish and fidgety like, and set me -wondering. For awhile she’d own to nothing, and it wasn’t till one -day I took her unawares like that I found out how serious it was with -her.”</p> - -<p>“Serious?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. As serious as it could be. I taxed her with it quite sudden -one day as she was sitting there on that same chair like as it might -be you. And she turned quite white and confessed, and said as how -it wasn’t that as troubled her most, but that he’d got tired of her, -and wanted to get shut of her, and was crazy at the thought of the -exposure and disgrace. ‘Why, it’s you that’s got the worst of that -to bear; not him!’ cried I. And all on a sudden she gets quite quiet, -and as it might be bites her lips together, so as no words she didn’t -want to use mightn’t force themselves through. ‘Why don’t you -speak to your brother?’ said I; ‘he’d get the fellow to do the right -thing by you.’ But she only shook her head, and got up, and began -to walk about, and just said in a low voice that I didn’t understand. -And I began to guess it was a gentleman.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> - -<p>“You taxed her with that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. She took it all in the same sullen way, and would name no -names. But she said he loved another woman, and she’d have forgiven -him anything but that.”</p> - -<p>“But you should have got her to say who he was, woman!”</p> - -<p>“Do you think, if wild horses could have dragged it from her, I -shouldn’t have known? I tell you I never knew before what was in -the girl; how obstinate she could be, nor what strong feelings she -had. It was something quite different to what I’d ever felt, and I -wasn’t the same with her as I’d been before. When she passed -through this door that evening, it seemed as if a fierce, revengeful -woman had gone out where just a giddy girl like myself had -come in.”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell was not moved by this recital to any show of deep -emotion, but the woman could see that he was touched, and she went -on in a voice less studiously cold—</p> - -<p>“I didn’t see her again for some days—not for near a fortnight, I -think. But when I did, it didn’t need her words to point out the -change in her. I didn’t dare ask her many questions that time, but -I’d got some inkling by then as to who those might be that was -bringing her to this pass. I thought I’d try to get at the truth in a -roundabout way if I could; so I began, ‘I didn’t see you at church -on Sunday evening, Nell.’ Her face grew sullen at once. You see, -sir, I’d heard of a certain clergyman that was often at the Hall Farm -of an evening.”</p> - -<p>“You mean Vernon Brander, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. And how Nell had been seen late o’ nights down by St. -Cuthbert’s.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now, I think his coming openly to the farm is more in his -favor than not.”</p> - -<p>“Unless it was a blind.”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I dursn’t say more then, but presently, as she sat at tea -with me, I caught her eating some green gages that was on the -table in an oddly ravenous way, stones and all. ‘What ever are -you doing, Nell?’ says I. ‘You’ll be ill for sure if you swallow -those stones like that.’ And she looks at me with an odd smile. -‘I’m practising,’ says she. ‘I may have to swallow worse than that -some day.’ I stared at her, thinking perhaps her trouble had -touched her head, poor thing! And then I got quite cold, fancying -perhaps she had it in her mind to make away with herself. And I -says, ‘Nell, if ever you feel tempted to do a mischief to yourself, -think of them that cares for you truly—of poor Ned, away across -the seas!’—yes, I said that, Ned—‘and of me, that’s always cared -for you like as if you’d been one of my own!’ Then up she started -from her chair, and began to roam about the room again, restless -like, just as she’d done the last time. ‘Don’t be afraid, lass,’ says -she to me, in a voice she meant to be rough. ‘I’m not going to do -anything foolish—not more foolish than I’ve done already, that is. -While there’s life there’s hope, they say, though perhaps there’s not -much of either left for me!’ ‘What do you mean, Nell?’ says I, -frightened. She didn’t answer me for a minute; then suddenly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -she turned, with her great black eyes flashing, and said, ‘If I’m -found dead, Mattie, you’ll know I didn’t put an end to myself. -And I tell you I’ll let others know it too, if my body lies buried fifty -years first.’ Oh, Ned, I shall never forget her face. It was white -like death, and the lips all drawn back from her teeth. ’Twas as if -all life and the wish to live were burning out of her. ‘Why, Nell, -this man, whoever he is, he surely never threatened to kill you!’ -‘Not in words, no,’ says she, with her eyes fixed in front of her. -‘But there was murder in his eyes the last time I saw him. If he’s -past caring for me, he may kill me; I don’t care. But he shan’t -live happy with the love of that other woman; I swear it. I’ve -been true to him. I’ve done for him what there’s hardly a girl in -England would have done; I’ve held my tongue when just to speak -would have ruined him. But I’ll not die, and be put out of the way, -and him go unpunished!’ I was that frightened, Ned, I could -scarcely speak. I told her not to have such dreadful thoughts, and -I reminded her again of you, and how fond you were of her. ‘Yes,’ -says she, with a queer smile that made me feel cold; ‘Ned would -see me righted if any one tried to wrong me. And whether I’m -alive or dead he will.’”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell did not move. His face was set like a rock, and, beyond -the fact that he was deeply attentive to every detail, it was impossible -to guess what effect the story had upon him. He nodded to -the woman to go on.</p> - -<p>“‘Alive or dead, Nell!’ says I, when I could speak for trembling. -‘What makes you harp so on death, if you mean rightly by yourself -and them that love you? As for the rascal that’s brought you to this, -if you won’t make a clean breast of it to your brother Sam, you’d -best keep out of the creature’s way, seeing you think so ill of him as -to believe him ready to do you a mischief. It’s no good of courting -harm. You’ve no need to give way. If Sam was to turn against -you when it all comes out, you could go away to Ned; he’d receive -you fast enough, whatever you’d done, I’ll warrant. Keep a heart in -you, my girl.’ But she took no notice, and went on eating the green -gages, stones and all, in just the same way, till I tried to take the -dish away. Then she threw back her head with a hard laugh, -and, says she, ‘Look here, Mattie, you may as well leave those -things here. I’m not cracked; I’ve a reason for what I’m doing. I -shall go and meet him again; I tell you I’m that mad about him I -can’t keep away when he tells me to come. But if he tries any tricks -with me, I’ve made up my mind that I’ll find a chance to swallow -something of his, if it’s but a shirt stud or a button, so as my body, when -it’s found, shall bear witness against him just as well as my tongue -could if I was alive. Now you remember that, Mattie, if things -come to the worst.’</p> - -<p>“And with that she was off and out of the house. But I ran after -her, and caught up with her, and, ‘Nell,’ says I, ‘when are you going -to see this man?’ For I had it in my mind to stop her. And -she gave me a queer look out of the corners of her eyes. ‘I’m going -to meet him to-morrow night,’ says she. And she snatched away -her arm and ran off. That was the last I saw of her, alive or -dead.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> - -<p>There was a short pause.</p> - -<p>“Then you might have saved her,” said Ned Mitchell, at last, in a -rasping voice.</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that, Ned,” pleaded the woman in low tones. “Many -and many’s the time I’ve said that to myself, and reproached myself. -But, remember, she said, ‘To-morrow night’—”</p> - -<p>“Well, you might have known it was only a blind, with her -heart set on the fellow like that. I should have known. However, -it’s no use wasting words over it now. You thought you would see -about it next day, and when next day came it was all over with -the girl.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve no right to be so hard, Ned; you that were content to -let the man who murdered your sister lie peacefully in his bed these -ten years!”</p> - -<p>“That’s different. If I’d come over next day I couldn’t have -brought her back to life again,” said he, in a dogged tone. But the -man’s conscience was uneasy, and this made him the more harsh towards -Martha. “Why didn’t you tell this yarn you’ve been pitching -me to somebody that would have seen into things?”</p> - -<p>“I did tell it to Sam. But you know Sam, how timid he was, and -slow at things. And his wife never could abide Nell, and nothing -would ever persuade her the girl hadn’t gone off with somebody; -and, indeed, many people believe that now, and say Nell Mitchell -was always a light sort, and it was just what they’d expected, for -her to make a bolt of it with somebody. But I know better.”</p> - -<p>“How about the parsons? How did they take it?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can tell you the rights of a little story that’s not generally -known. Next morning, before anybody knew Nell had disappeared, -Parson Vernon was at Matherham Railway Station in time -for the first train to London. His brother Meredith, who’d been called -out of his bed in the small hours to see a dying man, came up -with him while he was standing on the platform. My cousin Dick—you -remember Dick, the miller’s son—saw the meeting; and he -says he never saw such a contrast between brothers as those two -made; the one coming up all fresh and smiling, and surprised; the -other pale and ghastly, with bloodshot eyes, and a wild, hunted look -in his face already. ‘Why, Vernie,’ says the vicar, ‘what are you -doing here at this time in the morning?’ Dick says the other looked -as scared as if the hangman’s rope was about his neck. He stammered -and said something about a morning paper; for Dick had -edged near enough to hear. But then the railway ticket fell from -his fingers on to the ground, and Mr. Meredith picked it up sharp as -a needle. Dick saw by the color it was a third class ticket to London. -Then the brothers looked at each other, and Mr. Vernon saw it -wouldn’t do. The other took his arm and led him from the station, -and I suppose Vernon made a clean breast of it, and told him how -bad it would look for him to run away. And sure enough, when -the inquiry was made, the best point in Vernon’s favor was that he -had done nothing to escape it. Dick kept his own counsel, except to -me that he could trust; and the few people that was about just then -had no wish to come forward. For though Mr. Vernon was looked -upon as a bit wild for a parson, he was popular too in a way, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span> -then if not for him they’d have held their tongues for the vicar’s -sake. So there was just a fuss and a scandal and an inquiry, and -Mr. Vernon was had up on suspicion, because some one had heard -cries of ‘Murder!’ near St. Cuthbert’s that night. And then it all -died away, and everything was the same as before except Mr. Vernon -and me; the shock made me what you see; and as for Mr. Vernon, -he’s been a changed man, and he’s that loved now that if you -was to have him up again, on something stronger than suspicion, it’s -my belief the miners would lynch you.”</p> - -<p>“I shall take my chance of that,” said Ned Mitchell, stolidly, as he -rose to go. “So this precious vicar that everybody thinks so much -of does all he can to shield his brother?”</p> - -<p>“You can hardly blame him for that. You’d do the same yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Blest if I should! Let those suffer that do wrong, say I. My -sister did wrong; but she had her punishment, else I’d not have -lifted a finger for her. As for these sermon vampers, it would be -small harm if they both swung together, I expect. I’ve not much -respect for parsons out of their proper place, the pulpit.”</p> - -<p>But Martha looked scandalized at this speech, and seemed to regret -her frankness.</p> - -<p>“You’ll not go insulting the vicar, I hope, Ned,” she said, uneasily. -“‘By their works ye shall know them,’ the Scripture says, and if so, -you’ve got nothing against the vicar but a weakness for his own -flesh and blood.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what are his ‘works?’ What does he do? Does he live -in a poor house, to have more to spare for folks poorer than himself? -Does he deny himself a wife and children, that he may be a better -father to his flock? Or, if he despises temporal things for his -parishioners, if not for himself, does he trudge it on foot, all weathers, -to give spiritual consolation to people too ill to come for it?”</p> - -<p>“No-o; that’s Mr. Vernon that does all that. But Mr. Meredith is—just -what a vicar ought to be.”</p> - -<p>“A pretty figure for a pulpit? I see. Oh, I’ll let him alone. -Nothing I shall say shall take a single one of the well-to-do creases -out of his fat face. I’ve other fish to fry than to go hurting the feelings -of your pretty vicar: never fear. Good-evening.”</p> - -<p>He did not wait for his curt salutation to be returned; but slightly -touching the hat it had not occurred to him take off, he opened the -door, and walked out with his usual ponderous, deliberate step. But -after going a few paces he stopped short, and returning to the cottage, -thrust open the door and addressed Martha again—</p> - -<p>“You say some one heard the cry of ‘Murder!’ on the night my -sister disappeared. Who was it?”</p> - -<p>“A lass that was coming back from Sheffield with her young man—Jane -Askew. They’re married now, and she’s Mrs. Tims. They -both heard it.”</p> - -<p>“And they saw nothing, and looked for nothing?”</p> - -<p>“They couldn’t agree as to where the sound came from; and perhaps -neither of them’s over brave, and near a churchyard at night -too. But going along they met somebody that knew more than -them, they think; for he was limping along at a great rate with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> -scared look on his face, and he came straight from the churchyard.”</p> - -<p>“Hey, and who was that?” asked Mitchell, with strong interest.</p> - -<p>“A tramp called Abel Squires.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps he was mixed up in it?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, I hardly think that. She was a strapping lass, and he’s -a poor crippled fellow with only one leg. Besides, what should he -do it for?”</p> - -<p>“Anyhow, where is he to be found?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that’s just what nobody knows. He used to be seen about -here often enough, but since that night he’s only been caught sight -of once or twice, and then always in company with the same person.”</p> - -<p>“And that person is—”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Vernon Brander!”</p> - -<p>“Thanks. That’ll do for me, I think.”</p> - -<p>And with that he left her as abruptly as before, and this time -walked straight back to his own dwelling without a pause, or so -much as a glance to right or left of him.</p> - -<p>For some days after that, the stolid figure of the colonist was -missed from the village. People began to think that he had decided -that the object of his stay was hopeless, and that he had slunk away -quietly to avoid the humiliation of owning that his dogged obstinacy -had been beaten. The old woman who swept his rooms and washed -up his tea things, though much questioned, could tell nothing. He -had paid her up to the day of his departure, and had simply told her -that he was going away. But whether for a day, a week, or forever -he did not say. No board, however, was put up before the cottage -to announce that it was to let; so that speculation was in favor of -his return. Martha Lowndes was the only person who rightly -guessed on what errand he had gone. She alone would have felt no -surprise if she could have followed the track of Ned Mitchell as he -wandered about the country spending a day here, three days there, -always stolidly unsociable, and yet always contriving to get more -information out of his neighbors than the chattiest and cheeriest of -travellers could have done. He was tracking a man down with the -feeblest of clues—a wooden leg and a Yorkshire accent. But he was -gifted with a dogged energy and patience which nothing could -daunt, and so in the end he found his man. The place was a common -lodging house; the time was three weeks after he started on his -search; the man was Abel Squires.</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell, when he found himself face to face with the crippled -tramp, thought that his work was practically done—a witness found -ready to his hand. But he was mistaken. Luckily for his object, -he broached the matter with the caution of a skillful diplomatist, so -that Abel had no idea of the interest he took in it. But the Yorkshireman -in tatters was as keen and canny on his side as the Yorkshireman -in broadcloth was on his; he was impervious to attack, either -direct or indirect, and at the mere suggestion of bribery he grew -closer than ever. Mitchell, however, did not give up the game, and -at last he hit upon the means of opening the tramp’s mouth. Poor -Abel had a partiality for strong liquor, and the temptation to indulge -in it was more than he could resist. The wily Ned was cautious,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> -and contrived to treat his ragged companion, not wisely but too well -without exciting his suspicion. But even under the soft influence -of rum and water, the tramp was more difficult to manage than his -tempter would have supposed possible. It was not until after a long -convivial evening that, Abel’s rough head having fallen at last on to -the table in a drunken sleep, Ned Mitchell was able to stand over -him and say to himself, with a gleam of savage and doubtful satisfaction -breaking through the heavy stolidity of his expression—</p> - -<p>“You miserable, tattered old beggar! Have I got all out of you -that you have to tell, I wonder? Anyhow, I think I know enough -to hang the right rascal by. But I shall have to work, work, -work.”</p> - -<p>On the following day, just three weeks after he left Rishton, Ned -Mitchell was again seen leaning over his little cottage gate, smoking -a bad cigar, and staring placidly at the broken stocks in the village -green. The first persons to note his return were the vicar and his -brother Vernon, who strolled through the churchyard together -while he was standing at his gate. The younger man changed color -at the sight of the colonist; the elder wished him a cheery “Good-day.”</p> - -<p>“Ha, Mr. Mitchell, you can’t keep up your incognito any longer. -We thought you had gone back to Australia without bidding us -good-bye.”</p> - -<p>“Never fear, Parson Brander,” returned Mitchell, drily, looking -straight into the clergyman’s kindly eyes; “there’s another man -has got to say good-bye to you all before I go back.” He glanced -from one brother to the other as he uttered these words. Vernon -kept his eyes on the ground, but he looked livid. The vicar smiled, -and gently shook his head.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to tell me this riddle by-and-by,” said he, in his genial -tones.</p> - -<p>“Whenever you please, vicar,” said Ned.</p> - -<p>And as the two clergymen passed on, Ned Mitchell, without deigning -so much as to glance at the younger, raised his hat to the Reverend -Meredith Brander, a most unheard-of mark of respect for him -to bestow on any dignitary of the Church.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> the first day of his return to Rishton was over, Ned Mitchell -had to submit to the threatened interrogatory of the vicar.</p> - -<p>Ned had strolled into the churchyard, and was examining with a -rather cynical expression a beautiful marble monument, one of the -chief ornaments of the enclosure, on which were set forth, at great -length, in gilt letters, the many virtues of his late brother, “Samuel -Robert Mitchell, of Rishton Hall Farm, who departed this life February -the eighteenth, eighteen hundred and——, aged thirty-nine. -He was a kind husband, a devoted father, a loyal citizen, a faithful -member of the Church,” etc., etc.</p> - -<p>And below was a similar epitaph for “Lydia Elizabeth, relict -of Samuel Robert Mitchell.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> - -<p>At the foot of this was a text, cut in larger letters than the rest: -“In death they were not divided.”</p> - -<p>“They were in life though,” murmured Ned, shaking his head -slowly. “Never a meal passed but they were at it, hammer and -tongs, about something or other. Marble had need to be tough or it -would split up into shivers under the weight of lies we put on it.”</p> - -<p>At that moment he became aware that the vicar, who had come -over the grass from his house, was standing behind him looking -much amused.</p> - -<p>“Thinking aloud!” said Mr. Brander. “A bad habit, Mr. Mitchell. -Imagine what it might lead to if one had any crime on one’s conscience.”</p> - -<p>“But parsons are supposed never to commit crimes, aren’t they?”</p> - -<p>“Or never to have any consciences?”</p> - -<p>“No, I won’t say that. The only criminal of your cloth that has -happened to come in my way has felt many a prick of conscience, -I’m ready to wager.”</p> - -<p>The vicar looked at him inquiringly, and did not attempt to hide -that he felt some anxiety as to the other’s meaning.</p> - -<p>“Whoever he may be, I hope so, for the credit of my order,” said he, -gravely.</p> - -<p>“Yes, vicar, and for the credit of your family,” retorted Ned, -drily.</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander did not look surprised, but only deeply grieved. He -laid his handsome white hand on the colonist’s shoulder, and addressed -him in tones of almost fatherly expostulation and entreaty.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he said; “I don’t want to preach; there’s nothing I -dislike more than preaching out of the pulpit. But I must say a few -words to you now I have the chance; and you may be angry with -me if you like.”</p> - -<p>“All right, vicar, fire away—I mean go on,” he corrected, respectfully. -“Let me tell you, it’s not many men of your profession I -would listen to (except in church, where you all have a prescriptive -right to do your worst on us.) But I’ve learnt something about you -quite recently which makes me think you’re different from the rest. -So, sir, when you please, I’m all attention.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” began the vicar in his most persuasive tones, -“don’t you think it’s very uncharitable of you to come over here -with the fixed intention of ruining a man? And all for what? What -good can it do your unfortunate sister now to have the past raked -up, and her sins as well as those of others dragged again into the -light? Now, do you even think, going to work in the spirit you -do, that you are sure to light upon the right person to punish? -Isn’t it possible that, acting with such a vindictive feeling as animates -you, you may make an innocent man suffer, for lack of finding -the guilty one?”</p> - -<p>“No; to be plain with you, vicar, I don’t think anything of the -kind. As for the feeling which animates me, I think I ought to understand -that better than anybody; and I’ll let you know what it is. -I’m not a generous man, parson; years ago I might have been, perhaps, -at least as far as my favorite sister was concerned. But I’ve -roughed it a good bit in the world since then, and all the pretty bloom<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -has been rubbed off my character, d’ye see? But I’m a just man: -and I don’t see why, if a man and a woman sin, the woman should -get all the kicks and the man all the halfpence. That’s a vulgar -way of putting it, but you’ll know what I mean. My poor sister -goes wrong. I don’t say she was worth much sympathy; and my -private feeling has nothing to do with it; but she had her punishment. -She was ruined, and then brutally murdered. Yes, don’t -tell me any humbugging stories about her going away of her own -accord; I know better. Whatever happened, poor Nell was not the -girl to slink off like that, and never be heard of again. She’d have -come over to me, if she’d had to work her own passage in men’s -clothes, as they say the lasses do sometimes. Well, that’s the woman’s -end; now for the man. He gets the woman’s love, for what -it’s worth. I don’t put much value on such things myself; but anyhow, -he gets it. Then when he’s tired of it and of her, and the girl -grows importunate and her love inconvenient, he quietly puts her out -of the way, and no questions asked—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but there were questions asked, and very inconvenient ones -too,” interrupted the vicar, gently.</p> - -<p>Then he bit his lips, as if he had not meant to say so much.</p> - -<p>“Aha, vicar, it looks very much as if you had a notion who it is -I’m driving at!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t pretend to deny that you mean my unlucky brother,” said -the vicar, gravely. “To admit that is really to admit nothing, as -everybody knows he was suspected, just as they know too that I myself -never believed he did it.”</p> - -<p>“You judge him by yourself, I expect. You, being of calm and -well-regulated temperament, can’t understand how a member of -your family can be so different from yourself.”</p> - -<p>“There you are mistaken, Mitchell, as others have been mistaken -before you. People think I am calm because I am fat. As a matter -of fact, I have been so worried over these suspicions of my brother -that my wife has caught me pacing up and down the -room in my sleep, too much disturbed on his account to be able -to rest.”</p> - -<p>“It does you great credit to be so fond of him; I don’t blame -you in the least for it. You do your duty as a brother, and I’ll do -mine.”</p> - -<p>“And I believe you’ll soon come to the conclusion that it is your -duty as a brother to let the unhappy girl and her history be forgotten -as soon as possible.”</p> - -<p>“My duty as a brother is to leave your brother alone, in -fact!”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I told you I believe him to be as innocent of this business -as I am myself? But these suspicions, which he can’t ignore—for -you take no pains to hide them—are demoralizing in the extreme. -They make him silent, sullen, mistrustful; in fact they -breed in him all the appearances of guilt.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, that they do.”</p> - -<p>“Supposing that he had committed the crime, don’t you believe -in atonement? After ten years of self-denial and hard work and -sacrifice, might not a man reasonably suppose that his sin was,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span> -humanly speaking, washed out, and that he might indulge -the hope of some human happiness with a woman who loved -him?”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell turned at this, from contemplation of the highly ornamental, -castellated tower of the little church, to curious consideration -of his companion’s face.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he said very drily, “I didn’t know you were encouraging him -to marry.”</p> - -<p>A deep flush overspread the vicar’s face at this speech. Even his -striking amiability was not quite proof against the quiet sneer. No -annoyance, however, appeared in his tone as he said—</p> - -<p>“Certainly I should not think of encouraging him to marry while -these cruel rumors continue to be spread about him. It would only -be misery for both of them. But if once the evil reports were -silenced and forgotten, I should urge him to find happiness in what -I have myself found to be the surest and best place to look for it—domestic -pleasures.”</p> - -<p>Ned appeared to consider this proposition thoughtfully for some -moments. Then he said—</p> - -<p>“It’s curious that you should be the first of your family that I -ever heard to be of your way of thinking, parson, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>Again Mr. Brander reddened. It was an annoying thing for a -popular spiritual autocrat to be questioned in this inquisitorial way -by a man in no way qualified to be a judge of him or his family. -But his patience was equal even to this trial. He said, very -mildly—</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am afraid—that is I believe that is so.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I think it’s too much to expect to find another in the -same generation.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause; the vicar looking mildly grieved, Ned munching -a bit of stick with much relish, while he regarded his companion -out of the corners of his eyes.</p> - -<p>Evening was closing in rapidly. A thin mist was gathering under -the trees on the top of the hill, enshrouding the tombstones and -softening the outlines of the little white stone church and of the -pretty ivy-grown Vicarage. Not a sound was to be heard in the -near neighborhood; and the noises of the village—children’s voices, -lowing of cattle, and the carter’s cry to his horses—came up faint -and subdued from below.</p> - -<p>Suddenly this peaceful stillness was broken by a long and dismal -howl, which startled the vicar and caused Ned Mitchell to turn his -head attentively in the direction of his cottage. A minute later it -was repeated, and before a word had been exchanged between the -two men on the subject of this strange interruption, a yelping and -barking began, and mingled with the howls, which still continued, -until the air seemed to vibrate with the discordant -sounds.</p> - -<p>“You’ve brought back a dog with you, I perceive,” said the -vicar.</p> - -<p>“H’m, yes. I’ve brought two. Fond of dogs, vicar?”</p> - -<p>“Very. Are you going to offer me one of yours?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so. They’re not exactly the sort Mrs. B. would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> -fancy poking about her pretty garden. They’ve got queer ways -have my dogs.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve had them some time?”</p> - -<p>“Ten hours. But they were being prepared for me beforehand. -In fact, they have been some time in training.”</p> - -<p>“Sporting dogs, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and trained for a particular sort of game.”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell was rubbing his chin slowly and listening to the -harsh duet with much satisfaction. There was a quiet significance -in his words and manner which kept alive the curiosity of the -vicar.</p> - -<p>“I should like to see these dogs, Mr. Mitchell,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Well, sir,” said Ned, with great heartiness; “choose your own -time.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose, then, we say now?”</p> - -<p>“Now it is, then.”</p> - -<p>Ned removed his arm from the tombstone against which he had -been leaning, and led the way out of the churchyard with alacrity.</p> - -<p>“This place gives me the horrors towards night time,” he explained -as, with unwonted civility, he opened the gate for the vicar -to pass out first.</p> - -<p>“Why, surely a man of your sound practical sense doesn’t believe -in the ghosts and goblins that keep the ignorant out of churchyards -at night?”</p> - -<p>“No: but such things can be done in lonely churchyards, under -cover of the popular horror. You agree with me there, vicar, don’t -you?”</p> - -<p>This pigheaded colonist would harp always upon the same string. -As plainly as if he had mentioned the name, his tone intimated St. -Cuthbert’s churchyard and the murder of a girl there by Vernon -Brander. But the vicar was learning how to “take” him, and he -assented at once. They crossed the little village green, under trees -whose bare branches began now to show small tufts of delicate young -leaves. There was a strip of garden in front of the cottage; it had -little space for flowers, but was well filled with shrubs and evergreens, -which grew close up to the lower windows and almost shut -out all light from the tiny sitting-room on the left-hand side of the -door. Ned Mitchell, leaving the path, forced his way through the -evergreens, and, holding the branches apart with his hands, beckoned -his companion to the window, before which the vicar perceived a -couple of strong iron bars had been put up.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said he, as he picked his way daintily over the moist -mould, “is it a menagerie of wild beasts you have in there?”</p> - -<p>“Something very like it,” answered Ned, as a couple of brute -faces, with hanging jaws and bloodshot eyes, dashed up against the -window, licking the dusty frames with long red tongues, and jostling -each other with hungry eagerness. “Whoa!” cried Ned, as he -pushed up the window, and stretching a fearless hand through -the bars, stroked and patted their sleek heads with an assured -strength and coolness which told them he was their master. “I -must have the glass taken out of these panes—what there’s left of it—or -my pets will be hurting themselves.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p> - -<p>“Your pets!” said the vicar, as he peered into the room, felt their -hot breath on his face, and listened to their hungry growling, -“Well, Mitchell, you have an odd taste in your choice of domestic -favorites. If my inclination lay in the direction of a couple of fierce -hounds like that, I think I should consider that old kennel in the -back garden a near enough abode for them.”</p> - -<p>“What, for friends I count upon to do me a great service!” exclaimed -Ned, grimly. “Oh, no! my hounds are already more to me -than his pig is to an Irishman. No place that’s not good enough for -me is good enough for them. Besides, if they were put into the -kennel they would be almost close under some of your windows, and -would disturb you and your good lady at night. They make more -than a lapdog’s yapping when they are uncomfortable, I can tell -you,” he added, turning with admiration to his hounds, who were -snapping savagely at each other, and sniffing the air with dilated -nostrils.</p> - -<p>“They seem to be hungry,” said the vicar, who, if he did not -share their master’s admiration, was much interested in the brutes.</p> - -<p>“Well, which of us wouldn’t be, if he’d had nothing to eat all day? -It’s a part of their education, that,” he went on, as he drew back -from the window and took up an iron spade which stood inside the little -porch. “Now I’m going to show you how accomplished they are, if -you care to see. If I bury an old bone with next to no flesh on it in -any part of this garden, they’ll hunt it up. That is, they will if they -answer to the warranty I had with them. That’s the accomplishment -I bought them for.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, very curious,” murmured the vicar, with great interest. -“And this is your first trial of them?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I only brought them back with me in the small hours this -morning, and they’ve been without food ever since.”</p> - -<p>“And are you sure of getting them out of that room without their -making a meal of you?”</p> - -<p>“I must chance that. I didn’t buy them for lapdogs, and I think -I can manage them. Anyhow, I intend to try. I suppose, vicar, -you’ve no mind to help me,” he added, rather maliciously, as he -turned to go into the cottage. “It isn’t work for gentlemen of your -cloth, I know. I don’t suppose anything fiercer than a toy terrier is -allowed by the Thirty-Nine Articles.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no mention of bloodhounds in them, certainly; but I’m -willing to help you all the same, if I can,” said the vicar, mildly, -preparing to follow his host into the cottage.</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell looked surprised. Then he glanced rather contemptuously -from the plump hands and neat white cuffs to the handsome, -placid pink face, and said, drily—</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid they’ll make rather a mess of your linen, parson, if -they don’t of you.”</p> - -<p>“I must chance that, as you say yourself,” said the vicar, calmly.</p> - -<p>Ned nodded, and saying he would be back in a moment, he disappeared -through the porch with a grim chuckle. When he returned, -a few minutes later, holding in his rough fingers a handful -of mouldy bones, the vicar was leaning against the porch, thoughtfully -turning up his cuffs and his coat sleeves with the most scrupulous -neatness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p> - -<p>“Not a very tempting feast that, one would have thought.”</p> - -<p>“Well, if they want anything more tempting than that to make -them hunt with a will, I’ve been deceived in them, that’s all, and -back they go to the man I bought them from.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he took up the spade, and began to search for a suitable -place in which to bury the fleshless bones. He decided on a -spot in the back garden, under the prickly leaves of an auricula. -There, right under the branches, he dug a deep hole, not without -much damage to his hands and his clothes. Into this hole he threw -the bones, covering them carefully with the displaced earth. The -vicar laughed as Ned flattened down the mould and stamped upon it.</p> - -<p>“You are expecting too much of those unlucky brutes,” said he. -“I quite believe that they might grub up a nice fresh leg of mutton, -or the body of a newly-killed rabbit. But old bones like that, and -under two feet of earth! No, my dear Mitchell, it’s not in reason.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Ned, putting his hands in his pockets. “If you -think my little experiment is not worth watching, I won’t trouble -you with my company or my dogs.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but of course I must see the end of this. And if your hounds -do answer your expectations after all, I quite agree with you that -the best room in the house is not too good for such clever beasts.”</p> - -<p>They went round to the front of the cottage again, and through -the porch into the narrow passage. Ned brought a lighted candle -from the kitchen, and proceeded to search among a bunch of large -keys which hung from a nail in the wall. Meanwhile the dogs, disappointed -at the disappearance of their master, from whom they had -expected food, howled and yelped with redoubled vehemence, and -flung themselves against the door of the room in which they were -confined until it shook and creaked on its old hinges. Ned glanced -at the vicar with a sardonic smile.</p> - -<p>“Have you still a mind to go in there, parson?” he asked, rather -maliciously. “You clergymen are holy men, as we all know, but -things have changed since Daniel’s time, and I doubt, no offence to -you, whether he’d have got off so well if he’d been pitched into a -lion’s cage at the Zoo as he did among those old Persians!”</p> - -<p>The vicar looked nervous, certainly. But he still stuck to his -resolution of going into the room. Ned shrugged his shoulders, and -whistled softly, staring into his companion’s face as he fumbled with -the keys, and seeming rather to enjoy the notion of the change -which would come over that pink, plump, mildly jolly countenance -when the fangs of one of the hounds should meet in the clerical -anatomy. He felt quite sure that it was the vicar’s entire ignorance -of hungry bloodhounds and their little ways which gave him such -an appearance of placid pluck.</p> - -<p>“Are you ready?” he asked, as he put the key in the door. “We -shall have to dash in pretty quick to prevent the brutes from coming -out.”</p> - -<p>The vicar nodded, and came close up beside him. Ned gave him -a last and, as it were, a farewell look, and opened the door. The -hounds, with hungry growls and jaws dripping with foam, rushed -at the opening. Ned Mitchell was too quick for them; he was in -the room, with the door closed behind him, before either of the brutes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> -could get so much as his nose outside. Quick as he was, however, -the portly vicar was before him, and was well in the middle of the -small room by the time the door closed.</p> - -<p>Then Ned Mitchell found, cool as he was, that in fancying himself -able to master these two fierce brutes, he had reckoned without his -host. In a moment he discovered that it was only when satisfied with -food and carefully muzzled, as they had been for their journey in the -small hours that morning, that he could attempt to cope with them -successfully. Both together they now flew at him, springing, the -one at his throat, the other at his right hand. The attack was so -sudden, so fierce, that he staggered back against the door, in danger -of being overpowered, and struck out with unsure aim, failing to -beat them off. He had been forced to drop his candle when the -hounds set upon him, and it was almost in darkness that the struggle -went on, the man cursing and the animals growling, while they bit -at and worried him with the savagery of ravenous hunger.</p> - -<p>The vicar was standing, motionless, in the middle of the room. -Ned saw his portly figure in outline between him and the faint light, -and in the midst of his own occupation wondered, not having any -great respect for the physical powers of the Church, that Mr. Brander -did not edge further away from the scene of combat, or show -some other sign of nervousness.</p> - -<p>“Shall I help you?” asked the vicar, tranquilly, when the struggle -between man and hounds had gone on for several exciting moments.</p> - -<p>Ned was too busy, trying to keep off the dogs, to express the -astonishment he felt at these words and the tone in which they were -spoken.</p> - -<p>“Yes, for Heaven’s sake, yes, if you can!” he panted out.</p> - -<p>He had scarcely uttered these words in answer, when the vicar -came to his aid with a promptitude and dash which a professional -tamer of beasts could scarcely have exceeded. Seizing by the throat -first one of the hounds and then the other, he choked them off his -half-bewildered companion, and held them, yelping and gurgling, -while Ned, savagely angry at “the parson’s” superiority more than -grateful for his timely help, picked up and relit the candle with affected -unconcern.</p> - -<p>“Well done, vicar!” said he, in a tone which betrayed that he was -not particularly well pleased. “If you can manage to hold the -brutes while I find the key, we’ll soon be shut of them.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t hurry on my account,” said Mr. Brander, quite pleasantly.</p> - -<p>His bland tone made Ned’s blood boil. The colonist resolved, since -he seemed to like his occupation, not to curtail his pleasure. He -took twice the necessary time to find the key and place it in the lock. -Then, before turning it, he inclined his head over his shoulder, and -asked, maliciously—</p> - -<p>“Getting tired?”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit!” said the vicar, mildly.</p> - -<p>“Hang you!” muttered Ned below his breath.</p> - -<p>The next moment he heard a rush and a growl, and felt the teeth -of one of the hounds meet in his right leg.</p> - -<p>“Hallo!” cried Mr. Brander; “can’t you manage him?”</p> - -<p>Ned did not answer. Between pain and rage, indeed, he would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> -scarcely have been articulate if he had done so. He gave the dog -a vicious kick, which sent him howling away, and, turning the key -in the lock, beckoned to the vicar to follow him out. Before doing -so, however, Mr. Brander had to dispose of the animal he was still -holding. His arms, strong as they were, had begun to ache with -the strain, for the dog had writhed and struggled the whole time. -Then Ned, holding the candle high, and examining the vicar’s face -with exceeding interest and equal malevolence, saw upon it an expression -very different from its habitual, placid mildness. The blue -eyes were flashing; the handsome mouth was drawn in a tight, -straight line; the clear-cut features seemed to have in a moment lost -their plumpness, and to have become hard and cruel; while the soft, -white hands looked strong and sinewy as they clasped the dog’s -throat. Ned watched him curiously. The vicar looked into the -animal’s bloodshot eyes with the expression not merely of a master, -but of a tyrant. Lifting him with both hands high into the air, he -gave the dog such a shaking as set him gurgling and howling and -twisting his body with pain, and flung him to the far end of the -room to join his companion. Then he crossed the room without any -haste, and went out at the door, which Ned shut and locked.</p> - -<p>“And now,” said the vicar, “how about the experiment?”</p> - -<p>Mitchell, who was engaged in an examination of his injured leg, -looked up quickly.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he muttered, in unwilling admiration, “you are a cool -hand, I must say.”</p> - -<p>“Cool!” exclaimed the vicar as pleasantly as ever; “one needs to -be cool with acquaintances who invite one into a sitting-room furnished -with a couple of bloodhounds and nothing else. Ugh!” he -cried, as he suddenly noticed the condition of his hands, which were -smeared with blood and foam, “what a mess those brutes have made -me in!”</p> - -<p>Ned laughed shortly, and continued to stare at him with the deepest -interest.</p> - -<p>“It looks very unsuitable now, that same mess, when you are all -the parson again,” he said, drily. “But, curse me with book and -with bell if I don’t think that a minute ago you looked as if you could -stand the sight of blood as well as any soldier.”</p> - -<p>“And why not?” asked Mr. Brander, who had this time wiped -his hands, pulled down his cuffs, and almost recovered his usual exquisite -appearance. “People seem to forget that we parsons were -not born in the surplice, and that we have all been through the same -training as other men from whom a little readiness with wrists and -fists is expected at a matter of course.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true, parson. But we’d always looked upon you as one -of the meek ’uns. Now if it had been your brother——”</p> - -<p>“Ah, poor Vernon! I think all the spirit has been badgered out of -him.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but, parson,” said Ned, still gazing at him with the same -steady and curious stare, “I think you have spirit enough for two.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brander turned and met his look straight, eye to eye.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said quietly and firmly; “and when it comes to an attack -upon my brother, you’ll find that spirit a more serious thing to -deal with than you expect.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> - -<p>They had come through the porch out into the garden again, and -were standing very near together, with the setting sun throwing a -weak and watery light upon their faces. A passer-by, noticing their -attitudes, looks, and tones, would have guessed that a challenge had -been thrown down and taken up.</p> - -<p>The two men bade each other good-night in a manner which -showed on each side both caution and mutual respect. And having -retired each to his house, they instinctively tried to get a sight each -of the other. The clergyman went to his study, and seated himself -with a book at the window; Ned Mitchell took the air at his back -door. The vicar remained calm and smiling, and looked amused -when he caught Ned’s anxious look. The colonist took things less -easily.</p> - -<p>“That parson’ll be a very difficult beggar to tackle,” he said to -himself almost despondingly. “I could manage Vernon by himself, -but with this old ‘Soap-your-sides’ behind him it’ll be a long job—a -very long job.”</p> - -<p>But he comforted himself before going to bed by a look at his -bloodhounds!</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Reverend Meredith Brander had not been Vicar of Rishton and -compulsory student of the wiles of frail humanity for fourteen years -for nothing. When from his study window he saw Ned Mitchell—after -many yawns, several sleepy stretchings out of his arms, and an -occasional nod of the head—retire from his back door and shut himself -in, it seemed to the vicar by no means certain that his neighbor -had gone to bed. So he withdrew a little way into the shelter of his -window curtains, and remained on the watch, beguiling the time by -composing a very pretty opening for next Sunday morning’s sermon, -wherein the rising moon, as it showed more and more of his laurels, -was used to typify the grace of repentance illuminating the dark -places of the heart.</p> - -<p>And the result justified Mr. Brander’s doubts. Ned Mitchell did, -it is true, go to bed, but he speedily got up again, impelled to this -freak partly by the pain in his injured leg and partly by his unsatisfied -curiosity concerning the accomplishments of his dogs. The -vicar smiled as, after an hour and a half’s watching, he saw Ned’s -candle glimmering weakly through the blinds; first on the upper -floor of the cottage, and then on the lower. Presently Ned himself -re-appeared at the back door, which he set wide open, before proceeding -to draw on his hands a pair of stout leather gloves. Then -he retreated into the cottage again, and gave the vicar time to open his -window a little way very softly. As he did so, sounds of yelping and -scuffling reached his ears from the cottage, and a few moments later -the hounds rushed out into the garden.</p> - -<p>The month was May, and in this cold north country the trees -both in the vicar’s garden and in that of his neighbor were as yet -only thinly covered with leaves; so that there was little to hide the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> -movements of the animals, which, after a preliminary scamper -round the house and an attempt to get through the bars of the gate, -began to sneak about close to the walls and under the shrubs, sniffing, -prowling, scratching, like uncanny creatures half seen in the -moonlight, making the branches of the evergreens sway and rustle, -and uttering from time to time a yelping, whining sound, as they -grubbed and searched restlessly for food. The vicar pulled aside his -curtain and watched with great interest. The hounds were getting—whether -by accident or led by scent he could not yet tell—nearer -and nearer to the shrub under which Ned Mitchell had buried -the untempting bones. Ned himself, from the upper floor of the -cottage, was intently watching them. Hither and thither the brutes -roamed, in apparently random search for something to appease their -hunger. With nose pointed always to the earth they crept slowly -along, or bounded a few paces, sometimes raising the night echoes -by a deep howl, more often uttering the low, wolfish sounds of half-starved -savage creatures. But aimless as their wanderings seemed -to be, often as they deviated from a straight course to it, they did -both come, slowly but surely, nearer to the auricula. The vicar -rose from his chair; Ned Mitchell hung his whole body out of his little -window. As the animals drew closer to the place where the bones -were hidden, they seemed to the careful eyes of the watcher to grow -more excited, to yelp and whine more savagely, to sniff the cold -earth with keener nostrils. At last the muzzle of one of the hounds -touched the prickly leaves of one of the lowest branches of the auricula. -He drew back with a snort of pain. A minute later, however, -drawn by his irresistible instinct, he returned, and, making a furious -attempt to pass under the low branches, retreated again, whining -and savage from the effect of the pricks he had received. The -third time both dogs drew near together, and this time—regardless -of the scratches inflicted by the thorny boughs on their backs—they -pushed their way under the auricula, and began to grub and to -scratch up the earth with might and main.</p> - -<p>In an incredibly short space of time, considering the depth of -earth with which Ned had covered them, the bloodhounds had dug -up the buried bones and were crunching them ravenously with -their powerful jaws. Ned, uttering a short laugh of triumph, raised -his head and caught sight of the vicar, who now, regardless of -concealment, was pressing close to the window panes of his study a -face which looked of a greenish pallor in the moonlight. Ned watched -him with an intent, glaring gaze for a few seconds; then, shutting -his little window rapidly and noiselessly, he slipped out of the -cottage by the front door, and, making his way round to the back -stealthily under cover of the evergreens, crept along in the shadow -under the dividing wall until he stood, unseen by the vicar, almost -under the latter’s window. After the lapse of a few moments his -curiosity was rewarded.</p> - -<p>“Poor Vernon! My poor brother!” murmured the vicar with a -heavy sigh.</p> - -<p>Then Ned, hugging himself and indulging in a knowing smile of -satisfaction, heard the study window close.</p> - -<p>He crept back into his little house by the way he had come, narrowly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> -escaping the attentions of his hounds, which, having quickly -finished the scanty meal the dry bones afforded them, seemed inclined -to try, as more nourishing, the person of their master. He went indoors, -armed himself with a plate of raw meat in one hand and a short -whip in the other, and calling them into the house succeeded in shutting -them up once more in the room they had previously occupied.</p> - -<p>“Good dogs! good dogs!” he said, approvingly, as he stood at the -crack of the door and watched them snarling over the food. -“That’s nothing to the meal you shall have when you’ve hunted out -the next lot of old bones I shall set you grubbing for.”</p> - -<p>And with another grim chuckle as he closed the back door and -gave a glance at the now deserted study window of the Vicarage, -Ned Mitchell retired for the night with a light heart and a good conscience.</p> - -<p>Next morning Ned was early on the watch, in spite of the fact that -the wound in his leg gave him a good deal of pain. He saw the -vicar go out a couple of hours earlier than usual; and instead of -walking, as was his custom in the morning, he was on his cob. Ned -nodded to him as he went by, and timed his absence by a ponderous -gold watch which was with him night and day.</p> - -<p>“An hour and twenty minutes,” he said to himself, as Mr. Brander -returned at an ambling, clerical pace, and, meeting the nurse -with his little son descending the hill for their morning walk, gave -the boy a ride in front of him as far as the stables. “Yes, parson; -just long enough to ride to St. Cuthbert’s, catch your brother before -he started on his parish work, have a quarter of an hour’s chat—about -the weather, let us say—and be back in time for your own -morning walk.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps Ned Mitchell’s shrewd face betrayed his suspicions; perhaps -the wily vicar’s knowledge of men was greater than any that -books on divinity could impart; for, seeing the colonist leaning as -usual over his garden gate, his shrewd eyes lazily blinking in the -spring sunshine, Mr. Brander nodded, wished him good-morning, -and added, cheerfully—</p> - -<p>“On the watch, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, vicar,” answered Ned, touching his hat, with a knowing -twinkle in his eye.</p> - -<p>“How are the pets this morning, after their night’s work?”</p> - -<p>“Night’s work?” echoed Ned, who had entertained the mean suspicion -that the vicar would not own to his nocturnal observations.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I did a little bit of spying too last night,” answered Mr. -Brander, who seemed to take a frank and boyish delight in an open -and declared warfare with his neighbor. “How’s the leg this morning?”</p> - -<p>Ned, who chose to think that the vicar might have prevented the -injury to his limb if it had so pleased him, answered with a tone -which was in marked contrast to the good humor of the other.</p> - -<p>“It’ll do,” he said, shortly. “How’s your brother this morning?”</p> - -<p>Again Mr. Brander seemed to take a buoyant pleasure in his antagonist’s -cuteness.</p> - -<p>“My brother is very well,” he said, smiling. “And I’m sure, -whatever you may think, that he would be quite pleased to hear of -your kind inquiries.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, we shall see about that,” said Ned. “Now, come, parson,” -he went on, persuasively, “you might just as well confess what I -know—that you rode over to St. Cuthbert’s this morning to put him -on his guard against my tricks.”</p> - -<p>“And may not one with good reason put an innocent man on his -guard against an avowed enemy?”</p> - -<p>“I am not your brother’s enemy, Mr. Brander. I am the enemy -of the man who murdered my sister. It is you who are saying that -they are one and the same.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, no!” broke out the vicar, with vehemence unusual to -him. “The fact is, you have come here with what you consider a -strong case against the poor fellow, and everything you hear goes to -pad up that case. If I believed in my brother’s guilt, do you suppose -I should leave my little daughter in his care, as I have done for the -last week, and intend to do for another fortnight?”</p> - -<p>“Why not parson?” said Ned, very quietly. “Neither you nor I -are simple enough to think the worse of a man because he happens -to have made a little slip by the way. The man who murdered my -sister didn’t say to himself, ‘I will change my whole course of life -and become a murderer,’ as if it were a profession. No, he is going -about the world at this moment just like you or me, doing his daily -duty as well as he can, and perhaps feeling sorry enough for that -little slip to better his life in atonement for it.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, indeed he is,” broke in the vicar, earnestly. “If you -could see how my brother works: how he tries by every means—”</p> - -<p>“Hadn’t we better leave your brother’s name out of the discussion?” -asked Ned, with a touch of dry insolence. “You are not -anxious to fix the noose round his neck yourself, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>The poor vicar looked beyond measure crestfallen and disconcerted. -After all his assertions of his brother’s innocence, to have betrayed -himself like that! He stammered and tried to explain away his unfortunate -admission; but not succeeding very well, he made haste -to cut short the conversation and retreat into the house with his little -son.</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell was not left long without an object to interest him. -He remained sunning himself at his garden gate for some minutes -after Mr. Brander’s disappearance, and then retired into his cottage, -from one of the tree-shaded windows of which he soon saw a person -approaching, at sight of whom his rugged features seemed to tighten, -the only sign they ever gave of unusual excitement. It was Vernon -Brander. From the curious glances which the clergyman cast in -the direction of the room in which the bloodhounds, now asleep after -a good meal, were still confined, it was clear he had been fully informed -concerning them. He stopped before the garden fence, peering -among the evergreens with evident interest. But as Ned appeared -at the door, with the intention of a little talk with him, he -hurried on towards the Vicarage without another glance at the cottage. -Ned looked after him with a curling lip.</p> - -<p>“I suppose some people would admire that fellow, with his lanky -face and his good deeds. But I never did have any fancy for your -martyrs, especially when their private life won’t bear looking into.”</p> - -<p>And after watching the clergyman until he had turned into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> -private road, Ned directed his attention to two visitors, who, attracted -by certain rumors about the occupant of the cottage, and the -menagerie he had set up there, had joined their forces on the way to -pay Mr. Mitchell a morning call.</p> - -<p>These visitors were Mr. Denison and Fred Williams. Fred had by -no means got the better of his violent admiration for Olivia Denison. -But having found her persistently “out” when he called at the farm, -and persistently curt when he met her out of doors, he had consoled -himself for her frigidity by taking a trip to New York, whence he -had now not long returned. To signalize his recent achievements in -the way of travel, he wore a wide-brimmed hat and a sea-sick complexion, -and carried a revolver in a leather belt. This was his first -meeting with any of the Hall Farm people since his return, so that, -on coming face to face with Mr. Denison, who was passing through -the farmyard gate, he overwhelmed him by an outburst of effusive -cordiality which astonished that gentleman beyond measure, but -raised his spirits, and soothed him with the feeling that here was a -friend.</p> - -<p>Mr. Denison was one of those simple-natured men who are only too -ready to find a friend in any one who addresses to them a kindly -word. Things had been going badly with him. Having started -farming with all the skin-deep energy of the enthusiastic amateur, -he had long ere this discovered the perversity of the whole animal -and vegetable kingdoms: the determination with which sheep die of -the rot, pigs take the measles, beans and peas refuse to come up at -the proper time and crops fail on the slightest provocation, or on -none. A suspicion had begun to take root even in his ingenious -mind that there was more in farming than one would have thought -while going over a farm; and a stronger suspicion still that, if -things did not soon “take a turn,” his new profession, instead of -making his fortune, would land him in the Bankruptcy Court. He -could not fail, moreover, to be alive to the sturdy animosity of his -rival, John Oldshaw, and to the ever-increasing pleasure which that -amiable person showed on meeting him, as his own prospects of -finally getting the Hall Farm at an easy rent seemed to grow better. -Olivia, who understood her father’s temperament too well to communicate -to him the smallest fact which was likely to trouble him, -had never uttered the name of Fred Williams in his presence, except -to say with much haughtiness that he was a quite insufferable -person. But Mr. Denison, who never disliked anybody, would have -been quite ready to set her aversion down to groundless prejudice -when Fred listened sympathetically to a rambling account of the -last outbreak of the feud with Oldshaw.</p> - -<p>“The fellow’s such a cad, too,” complained Mr. Denison, mildly. -“Not that I should think the worse of him for not being a gentleman,” -he added. “His son is a nice lad, a very nice lad, and we -get on together admirably. If he were only in one’s own class there -might be a Montague and Capulet end to the business, I fancy; for -if he were a little better educated I should almost fancy he was in -love with my daughter Olivia. You may have seen Olivia?” he -continued, naively, with a touch of paternal pride.</p> - -<p>Yes, Mr. Fred Williams might have seen Olivia, but was wise -enough not to own to more than this at present.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, the use that young fellow has been to me—me, a man old -enough to be his father—is something remarkable. In fact, I don’t -mind telling you” (Mr. Denison didn’t mind telling anybody), “that -if it hadn’t been for his hints, I should never have been able to carry -on the farm at all. Why, if I give him—on the strict Q. T. you -know, for it mustn’t come to his father’s ears—a commission to buy -me a few sheep, or a well-bred shorthorn, and his father sends him -to market for the same purpose, he’ll contrive to get me the best, Mr. -Williams—me the best—I assure you.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” murmured Fred, with a deferential courtesy entirely -new to him.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I assure you it is so. Now I am not one of those old fools -who fancy that a young man will do such a thing out of friendship -for a man of his father’s generation. I see there is something behind -it,” continued Mr. Denison, astutely. “And I confess,” he -went on, growing more confidential as his small friend, while listening -more sympathetically than ever, linked his arm within that of -the farmer, “that I almost wish my daughter hadn’t been ‘brought -up a lady,’ as the saying is, when I see what a very good thing -young Oldshaw and I could have made of it together—he with his -knowledge of practical farming, and I with my—with my knowledge, -my—er—my knowledge of the world, in fact.”</p> - -<p>“A very good idea, sir—a very good idea,” assented Fred, enthusiastically. -“At the same time you might find a son-in-law who -could help you without looking so far beneath you. I say so far,” -he went on, “because there is a something about you that—er—makes -you sort of different from other people, you know; a dignity -or high breeding or something; and perhaps your daughter may -have a touch of it. I say perhaps, you know, because I scarcely -know Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mr. Denison, swallowing the bait with all simplicity, -“I suppose there is, as you say, a certain <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cachet</i> about a man who -has lived so much in town or near town as I have. And whatever is -best about me my Olivia has certainly inherited. But whoever my -child marries, it must be for her own good; not for mine.”</p> - -<p>Simple, selfish Mr. Denison thought there was something rather -praiseworthy in this declaration. Fred listened shrewdly.</p> - -<p>“It must be much worse to be badly off, or—or not to be exactly -flourishing, when one has a family to care for and provide for,” he -suggested.</p> - -<p>Mr. Denison seized his hand.</p> - -<p>“My dear lad, that’s just it,” said he, almost earnestly and in all -sincerity. “A man on a farm by himself must be in heaven. On -the same farm, with a family, he may be in—in quite another -place.”</p> - -<p>“I see, I see,” murmured Fred, pressing his arm against that of -the older man. “Money market tight, and all that.”</p> - -<p>“Tight, I believe you!” assented Mr. Denison, bubbling over with -his confidences, as weak men do when they have had to exercise an -unwonted self-repression. “You would scarcely believe what the -tightness amounts to sometimes. A young man in your position -couldn’t realize it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, I could though. Nothing of that sort that you have -ever borne is as bad as what my guvnor’s gone through lots of times. -It was before he was blessed with me, and of course he don’t talk -about it; but you may take my word it’s true.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me!” said Mr. Denison, as if this was almost inconceivable. -Though in truth the airs of patronage the elder Mr. Williams liked -to assume had often caused him to jibe gently in the bosom of his -family at the waste of pounds by men who were better used to pence.</p> - -<p>“But it seems worse for you, you know—don’t seem natural somehow. -Seems as if it were the right and proper thing for you to have -lots of money. Makes me uncomfortable to hear you haven’t, and—and -all that sort of thing, you know.”</p> - -<p>He gabbled out this broken speech with an air of modest confusion -which touched Mr. Denison, whose finances were at a distressingly -low ebb. He pressed the young fellow’s arm in silence—rather -awkwardly, but with much feeling. Fred went on, -quickly—</p> - -<p>“Now don’t be offended; you mustn’t be offended. I’m not of -enough account in the world for a man like you to be offended with -me. But if you wouldn’t mind—you needn’t think anything of it—if -you should be tight, I mean strait, anything like hard up, in fact, -I should really feel it quite an honor if you would—”</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Denison was quite broken by this offer, which came -upon him unexpectedly. He protested, stammered, grew red in the -face, and dim in the eyes. He was a gentleman, sensitive, and not -without pride. But he was weak-natured—harassed by difficulties -he saw no way out of. Although he repeatedly refused Fred’s repeated -offers and with perfect sincerity; he did so in a tone which -encouraged the young man to think that his yielding was only a -question of time and of an adroitly chosen moment.</p> - -<p>“At any rate, you’re not offended with me for making the suggestion?” -Fred asked at last.</p> - -<p>He was glad to see that Mr. Denison looked rather disappointed to -think that he was taken at his word.</p> - -<p>“Offended! No, indeed, my dear boy. One can’t afford to be -offended at a friendly offer nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“I daresay, you know, I haven’t put it as nicely as I might, and -that’s why you go on refusing. Of course my manners are not up -to yours. You’re refined; I’m not. But I mean what I say, and -that’s something; if you can’t be refined and all that, any way it’s -something to be sincere.”</p> - -<p>“It’s everything, in my opinion. I shall not forget your disinterested -kindness, Williams. But what put it into your head I can’t -think.”</p> - -<p>“Came like a flash, you know,” answered the young fellow, -promptly. “Gentleman—handsome, dignified gentleman, credit to -the parish—looks humped. What’s the cause? Sure to be the old -thing—money. Besides, we’ve a mutual interest, you and I; you’re -fond of dogs. I suppose you’ve come up to see those hounds they -say Mitchell’s got?” he suggested.</p> - -<p>For, on reaching the garden paling of Church Cottage, they had -both stopped, as if their journey were at an end.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, yes—no; I had come to see Mitchell, certainly; and I had -heard about these hounds he’s brought back with him. But that -wasn’t altogether my reason for coming.”</p> - -<p>He would have babbled out his reason with his usual ingenuousness -if Ned had not interrupted the conversation by calling “Good-morning!” -approaching them in a leisurely manner at the same -time.</p> - -<p>“I know what you’ve come for,” he said, with a nod to the younger -man. “They’re in there. Don’t be too familiar, unless you want to -leave a pound of flesh with them.”</p> - -<p>And he jerked his head back in the direction of the room where -the bloodhounds were kept. Fred Williams did not wait for further -conversation, but raising his hat with great ceremony to Mr. Denison, -and shaking his hand warmly, he went through the gate and -up to the cottage window. Ned threw at him with some disdain -what may be described as half a glance.</p> - -<p>“Unlicked cub, that!” he said, not much caring whether the subject -of his remark heard it or not.</p> - -<p>The guileless and grateful Mr. Denison demurred at this, and Ned -did not think the point worth discussing.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you didn’t come up to talk about dogs?” he asked, -drily.</p> - -<p>“Why, no. As a matter of fact,” said Mr. Denison, with the hesitation -of a person unused to come straight to the point, “I have -heard odd reports about; I—I—”</p> - -<p>“Have come to the wrong shop, Mr. Denison, if you expect to hear -any village gossip from me.”</p> - -<p>“Quite so, quite so. But everybody knows now why you’re -here,” said Mr. Denison. “And as the man they say you’re after is -an admirer of my daughter’s—”</p> - -<p>“‘They say’ a lot of things, Mr. Denison, which I’d advise you -not to listen to.”</p> - -<p>“But I’ve been quite discourteous to this gentleman on the strength -of your suspicions!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I should find some stronger ground to go upon before I -was discourteous again.”</p> - -<p>“Then you don’t believe these dreadful stories?”</p> - -<p>“I know nothing of any dreadful stories.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Mitchell, I beg you to be plain with me. Am I right in refusing -to have anything to say to—a certain clerical neighbor of -ours?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Denison, if my advice is worth anything, have nothing to -do with any clerical neighbors.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mr. Mitchell, that is enough for me. I see you wish -to steer clear of libel. But I understand your warning, and I thank -you. Vernon Brander shall not enter my house again.”</p> - -<p>He wished the colonist good-morning, and went back to his farm -with a more satisfied conscience. His wife, then, had not been so -far wrong in her estimate of the Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s, though her -treatment might have been open to criticism. But Ned Mitchell -looked after him with the tight-lipped smile of contempt with which -he was always so ready.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span></p> - -<p>“Does he really think a few mumbling words from him will turn -that strong-willed lass, I wonder?” thought he.</p> - -<p>And dismissing the subject with a short laugh of derision, his -thoughts turned to his hounds, and to a plan which he was nourishing -very near his heart.</p> - -<p>That very day he resolved to put it into practice. In the early part -of the afternoon, therefore, he strolled down to St. Cuthbert’s, found -the churchyard gate securely fastened, and, making a circuit of the -walls, discovered a point where it was of no very formidable height.</p> - -<p>“I think my beauties could do that!” chuckled he to himself. And -returning straight to his cottage, he remained within doors until the -sun began to go down.</p> - -<p>Then, going, as he now did without fear, into the room where the -hounds, again ravenous with hunger, were yelping and savagely -howling, he cowed them with a small whip, which he did not scruple -to use cruelly, and securing the animals in a leash, left his little -dwelling with them. The hounds were fierce, strong, and difficult -to manage. Ned, who still limped in pain from the effects of the bite -one of them had given him the night before, cursed them below his -breath one moment and burst out into enthusiastic praises of them -the next. He made his way with them direct to St. Cuthbert’s, going -over the fields. It was growing dusk; the walk was a lonely one; -he did not see a single human being as he made his way slowly along, -surprised at the ever-increasing pain his wounded limb caused him.</p> - -<p>At last he came in sight of the ruined tower, the patched-up walls -of which bulged out dangerously, threatening constantly to fall, a -mass of ill-assorted fragments of brick and stone, wood and tiles, into -the disused graveyard beneath.</p> - -<p>“Steady, my beauties, steady!” said he to the yelping hounds. -“Your work is going to begin, my dears! Steady now, steady!”</p> - -<p>And he made his way, with the hounds still straining at the leash, -to the spot he had picked out that afternoon.</p> - -<p>“There are some old bones for you in there, or I’m much mistaken, -that will be worth a king’s ransom to me, and a good home -for the rest of your days to you, my beauties.”</p> - -<p>The hounds growled and sniffed, and leaped up about him, as if -madly eager to begin their grim hunt. Close up to the wall of the -old graveyard he came, and peered over at the irregular mounds, -overgrown with rank grass and weeds. There was little daylight -left, but his keen eyes could still see dimly into each dark corner, -filled with old stones and decaying vegetation. His hands were -trembling, stolid as he was, with his eagerness to let the hounds go. -His eyes were hungrily roaming over the neglected enclosure where -he believed the clue to his secret to lie, when suddenly a sound came -to his ears which paralyzed his arms and seemed to stop his fast-drawn -breath. It was the voice of a little child.</p> - -<p>Looking again more intently than before into the chaos of broken -and misplaced tombstones, he saw, peering out from behind a tuft of -shaggy briar and weed, the face of a little child. It was tiny Kate -Brander. Ned looked at the fierce brutes and shivered. Another -moment and they would have been loose in the graveyard, ravenous -and blood hungry. Then the expression of his face changed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, he has got the best of this move; curse him! But the -game’s not played out yet.”</p> - -<p>And, with a lowering face, and slow, heavy gait, he turned, with -his yelping brood, towards the road home.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> stolid calmness of Ned Mitchell’s every-day demeanor, which -was but a mask for strong passions and still stronger resolutions, -broke down entirely under his disappointment. If the mouldy old -graveyard of St. Cuthbert’s had been a paradise of sweet sights and -sounds and scents, he could not have been more maddened by the -impossibility of entering it. Even the innocent child herself, whose -presence among the ruined graves had prevented him from letting -his hounds loose, shared his anger.</p> - -<p>“They can’t keep the brat there always, that’s one thing,” he said -to himself, as he limped along.</p> - -<p>He found the return journey over the fields more tedious than he—a -strong, healthy man, used to bear great fatigues without any -ill effect—could have thought possible. The hounds were growing -every moment more troublesome, straining harder at the leash, -snapping and yelping the while. The wound in his injured leg was -beginning to smart and burn, the muscles were swelling most painfully, -and long before he reached Rishton Hill every step was causing -him acute agony. The last field he had to cross brought him -out into the road almost opposite the farmyard gate of Rishton Hall. -Leaning against the gate and stroking the shaggy head of a poor -old mongrel which had attached itself to the farm since she had -been there, was Olivia Denison. She looked very sad, and stared -out at the fields and the grey hills beyond with a face out of which -all the bright girlish vivacity seemed for the moment to have gone. -She started and blushed on seeing Ned Mitchell, who had succeeded -in reducing his unruly pets to something like submission, but whose -temper had been by no means improved in the task.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried, running through the gate and coming fearlessly -within the range of the leash, “are these the dogs I’ve heard -about?”</p> - -<p>“How should I know what you’ve heard?” snapped Ned. “But I -know what you’ll feel in a minute if you come within reach of the -brutes’ jaws.”</p> - -<p>For answer to this speech, Olivia stooped and laid her hand with a -firm touch on the head of the animal nearest to her. Whether he -had been cowed by Ned’s course of treatment, or whether there was -something peculiarly sympathetic to the animals in her bold manner -of approaching them, the dog only gave an ungracious growl, but -made no attempt to resent her advances more actively.</p> - -<p>“And are these—bloodhounds?” she asked, almost with bated -breath.</p> - -<p>“Yes, that’s what they are,” answered Ned, as if he had been -challenged.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> - -<p>Olivia’s breath came more quickly as, still looking down at the -brutes, and even playing with the ears of one of them, she listened -and evidently read the meaning of his tone.</p> - -<p>“What have you got them for?” she asked, raising her head suddenly, -and looking at him askance.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got them to play sexton for me in St. Cuthbert’s churchyard; -to dig up some bones there that were buried with less ceremony than -they ought to have had.”</p> - -<p>“There are a good many bones in that old churchyard. How do -you know your hounds will dig up the right ones?”</p> - -<p>“It’s sixty years since any body was buried there—until ten years -ago.”</p> - -<p>“And if you should happen to come upon these bones, and even -be sure they are the right ones, how will you be sure who put them -there?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t say I shall. But at any rate it will be a step in the right -direction. And I shall have my eye on any likely folk who may be -about, and see how they take the discovery.”</p> - -<p>“It seems to me you’re no better than a detective,” burst out -Olivia, hotly.</p> - -<p>“Well, I hope I’m no worse,” said Ned, laconically.</p> - -<p>Olivia turned her head away, looking hurt and anxious.</p> - -<p>Ned, who liked and admired the girl, felt a little sorry. He moved -off with his dogs, and began to whistle; but the pain of starting -again made him break short off and draw his breath sharply through -his teeth. This attracted Olivia’s attention; she watched him as he -labored up the hill, and before he had gone very far she ran after -him.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you, Mr. Mitchell?” she asked. “You -walk lame to-night. Have you hurt yourself?”</p> - -<p>“No. And what’s that to you if I have?” he answered curtly.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, if you don’t think sympathy worth having.”</p> - -<p>Ned stopped. The strong-limbed, plucky women he had got used to -in Australia, and from whom he had chosen his own wife, were -rather lacking in graceful feminine ways; so this pretty speech and -gentle tone, coming from a girl whose spirit he admired, touched and -softened him.</p> - -<p>“What are you up to now?” he asked, gruffly enough, but not -without betraying signs of a gentler feeling than he would have -owned to. “I know better than to think you’d trouble your head -about an old bear like me if you didn’t want to get something out -of me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I want to get the pain out of you—and perhaps a little of -the surliness too,” she added, archly.</p> - -<p>“The first would take a doctor, and the second would take a -magician.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going to have a doctor?”</p> - -<p>“No. I can’t go after one myself, and my establishment doesn’t -include anybody I could send.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll send for one. I’ll get one of the farm boys to go; or, if there -isn’t one about, Mat Oldshaw will go, I know.”</p> - -<p>Ned looked at her cynically.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> - -<p>“Poor Mat,” said he. “And to think I was fool enough myself -once to run errands for a girl who thought herself as far above me -as heaven from earth. When all the time she was dying of love -for another chap too. Just the same—just the same.”</p> - -<p>Olivia blushed and looked annoyed, but she answered, quietly—</p> - -<p>“Mat would do a kind deed for any one, Mr. Mitchell. And I -should be sorry for him to think that it is a sign of great wisdom to -be discourteous to a woman.”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” said Ned grimly. “Sorry I haven’t time to let you -exercise your wit on me a little longer. Good-night.”</p> - -<p>He hobbled up the hill with great and evident difficulty, his dogs -slinking behind him. He was absolutely faint with pain by the -time he reached home.</p> - -<p>It was quite dark in the cottage when he arrived, and he made his -way at once to a shelf in a passage where a box of matches and a -candle were kept. But he felt from end to end of the shelf without -being able to find either. The dogs, having become excited since -their entrance, sniffed about the floor, yelped and pulled afresh at the -leash, impeding his movements. He had shut the front door on entering, -relying on his candle and match box; so that he could not even -see the forms of the struggling animals to avoid them. Two or three -times he stumbled and set them growling as he groped his way towards -the room where he kept them shut up. A dizziness was -creeping over him, which seemed from time to time almost to overcome -him, while occasionally for a moment it seemed to leave his -head again perfectly clear. He remembered, or thought he remembered, -that he had left the door of the room wide open for ventilation; -but now he went the whole length of the wall, feeling with his disengaged -hand, without finding any opening.</p> - -<p>The hounds meanwhile were growing more excited—more troublesome -than ever; so that, in his dizzy and wearied condition he could -not move or even think with his usual precision. Their behavior, -however, at last roused a suspicion in his mind.</p> - -<p>“Somebody’s been in here,” he muttered to himself. “And the -dogs know it by the scent.”</p> - -<p>He had grown bewildered in the darkness, and no longer knew in -what part of the passage he was standing, as the dogs, still straining -to get free, pulled him from side to side. Suddenly he heard the -faint creaking of a door. The dizziness was coming upon him again, -and he turned, in a half-blind, stupefied way; saw, or thought he saw, -a faint light come as if through an open door, and the next moment -found himself lying on the floor, while the sound of the hasty shutting -of another door behind him fell upon his dull ears. After this -he became unconscious. When Ned came to himself, it was a long -time before he could remember, even in the vaguest manner, the experiences -he had just gone through. He fancied himself in one of -the dungeons he had read about in his boyhood, which bold, bad -barons built under their castles for unlucky prisoners who fell into -their hands. In strange contrast to the prosaic reflections which -occupied his mind in every-day waking hours, the most fantastic -fancies now passed through his brain; that he was a prisoner, flung -down here by an enemy; that fetters of red-hot iron had been fastened<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> -to one his legs. He thought he heard the sounds of every-day life, -muffled by the thick stone ceiling between, in the castle above him; -the noises of animals; sounds of a man’s voice; then of a woman’s. -He recognized the tones of the latter, he felt sure, though he could -not remember the possessor’s name. Then suddenly a light was -struck in his dungeon and a hand touched him, and it flashed upon -him that he had come back, that he was in his own cottage lying on -the stone floor of the passage, with a grey-bearded man kneeling beside -him, and a woman’s skirt brushing against his feet.</p> - -<p>“He must have fallen very heavily,” whispered the woman.</p> - -<p>And Ned’s senses came fully back to him.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” he murmured to himself, “it’s Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>“He can’t have fallen as heavily as that unassisted,” said the -grey-bearded man, whom Ned now knew to be the doctor.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean that he was thrown down?” asked Olivia, in a -whisper of tragic earnestness.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Look at the blood on the stones.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” The girl’s teeth chattered with horror.</p> - -<p>There was a pause, while the doctor lifted him gently.</p> - -<p>“That’s the leg he limps with,” said the girl.</p> - -<p>The doctor touched the wounded limb gently, but the action made -Ned moan.</p> - -<p>“What shall I do with the dogs?” asked Olivia, presently, in the -same low voice. “I think they are kept in one of these rooms. My -father said so.”</p> - -<p>“Turn the brutes loose in the garden.”</p> - -<p>But Ned, though the movement caused him acute pain in his injured -leg, struggled up on one arm and shook his head feebly.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he said, in a weak, husky voice; “I’m going to be ill, -I know. Take me upstairs to my room, and put the dogs into the -room on the opposite side of the landing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, come, we can’t have that. It wouldn’t be a proper arrangement -at all—most unhealthy,” objected the doctor.</p> - -<p>Ned glared at him, and instantly began to try, in a dogged manner, -to get up.</p> - -<p>“If you won’t do it, or let it be done, why, hang you! I’ll do it -myself,” he panted out.</p> - -<p>“I’ll do it, Mr. Mitchell,” said the girl’s clear voice.</p> - -<p>Ned heard her go upstairs, soothing and encouraging the hounds, -which scrambled and shuffled up after her.</p> - -<p>“That’s a good plucky ’un,” he then remarked to the doctor.</p> - -<p>And satisfied now that his savage pets were safely disposed of, he -fell back on the doctor’s arm. For there was a curious buzzing -noise in his ears, and his head felt alternately very heavy and very -light. He wanted to keep his senses clear until the young girl -should come down again, but it was only by a strong and exhausting -effort that he succeeded. As soon as she reached the bottom -stair, Olivia heard him addressing her in a faint voice.</p> - -<p>“Thanks—thanks for what you’ve done. I’m not ungrateful. -Now get me some one—to look after me—who’s got a little nerve. -For I don’t care—how they treat me—but they must take care—of -my dogs. For somebody wants to get at my dogs, I know. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> -they must be prevented—prevented. You’ll see to this. Promise -me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will, I promise,” said Olivia, in a firm voice, afraid that -she was speaking to a dying man.</p> - -<p>She had scarcely uttered the words when he again became insensible.</p> - -<p>Olivia was in sore distress as to the manner of fulfilling her promise. -On the one hand, she had to keep her word by finding a -nurse for him who would not be afraid of the hounds; on the other, -she was particularly anxious that, if he should grow delirious, his -ravings should not be heard by any one who would chatter about -them.</p> - -<p>“We must get him to bed,” said the doctor, as she stood debating -this difficulty. “The young man who came for me—is he about?”</p> - -<p>“Mat Oldshaw? Oh, yes, I expect so. He stayed in the garden -when we came in. He wouldn’t go away without asking if there -was anything more he could do.”</p> - -<p>“Ask him to come in, if he is there, please.”</p> - -<p>Olivia went out into the garden. As she passed under the porch, -she saw a man slink limping away from the side of Mat, who was -standing near the gate, and pass behind a bushy screen of evergreens. -She sprang forward to the gate, but the man had gone out -of sight.</p> - -<p>“Mat,” she asked, in a frightened voice, “who was that?”</p> - -<p>“Nobbut a tramp,” he answered. “Nobody to freight yer. It’s -ten yeer an’ more since he wur in these parts.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, it isn’t,” said Olivia, decidedly. “He was here four -months ago. His name is Abel Squires, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, that be his name, sure enough,” answered Mat, with surprise. -“Wheer did you happen upon him?”</p> - -<p>“Never mind. I want to know what he’s doing about here.”</p> - -<p>“He wants to get a sight o’ Mester Mitchell, he says.”</p> - -<p>“But what did he sneak away like that for when he saw me come -out, instead of waiting to ask if he could see him?”</p> - -<p>“He doan’t want to be seen aboot here, he says.”</p> - -<p>“Mat,” cried the girl, earnestly, after a few moments’ thought, -“Mr. Mitchell has been knocked down and hurt. The doctor wants -you to help carry him upstairs. I wonder if it was this tramp who -did it.”</p> - -<p>“Noa, Miss, but Ah knaw who did,” said a rough voice so close to -her that it startled her.</p> - -<p>She turned and saw the one-legged man whose conversation with -Vernon Brander she had overheard in the churchyard. The ground -was so soft with recent rains that his wooden leg had made no noise -as he approached. Olivia drew her breath sharply through her -teeth and felt cold with terror as she looked at his weather-worn, -strangely inexpressive face. Here, she thought, was the man whose -silence about that miserable night’s work of ten years ago Vernon -had had so much difficulty in procuring. And he had come with -the express purpose of seeing Ned Mitchell, whom she looked upon -as Vernon’s avowed enemy.</p> - -<p>“You know who knocked Mr. Mitchell down?” she said, faintly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Abel Squires, with a nod.</p> - -<p>She had a fancy that this man was trying to implicate Vernon, and -she scarcely dared to frame her next question.</p> - -<p>“You mean that you saw him do it?” she asked after a short -pause.</p> - -<p>“Ah werr standin’ in’s bit o’ garden at back theer,” said he, jerking -his head in the direction of the cottage. “An’ Ah see a mon go -in, and after a bit Ah see him coom aht. An’ if Mester Mitchell wur -knocked deaun,” he went on, doggedly, “Ah say Ah knaw t’ mon as -did it. An’ it beant no good to ask me who t’was, for Ah mean to keeap -me awn counsel; Ah’m used to’t.”</p> - -<p>Olivia did not know what to make of the man. Though his voice -was rough, his manner of speech was mild, and betrayed no hostile -feeling towards anybody.</p> - -<p>“Are you a friend of Mr. Mitchell’s?” she asked tentatively.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” nodded Abel, good-humoredly. “He’s never done naw harm -to me.”</p> - -<p>Seized with a bold idea, Olivia scanned the man narrowly from -head to foot.</p> - -<p>“Will you tell me what business brought you to see Mr. Mitchell?” -she asked, frankly.</p> - -<p>Abel Squires examined the girl’s face closely in his turn.</p> - -<p>“What do you knaw abaht it?” he asked, shortly.</p> - -<p>“I know that he is trying to find out a secret; a secret which I -think you know.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe Ah do; maybe Ah don’t; anyhow, Ah doan’t prate abaht -it!”</p> - -<p>“Then what do you want to see Mr. Mitchell for?”</p> - -<p>“Ah think he got summat aht o’ me last toime Ah see him; Ah -want to knaw how mooch.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s face cleared.</p> - -<p>“Could you nurse a sick man?” she asked. “Mr. Mitchell is ill, -delirious, and I don’t want to trust him to any prattling old woman.”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Abel, promptly; “Ah can do’t.”</p> - -<p>“Come in with me, and let us see what the doctor says,” said -Olivia, leading the way into the cottage with eager footsteps.</p> - -<p>She was surprised at her own daring in taking this step; but she -argued with herself that if the tramp, possessing Vernon’s secret, as -she knew he did, should wish to turn informer, there was no possibility -of preventing him, while he would be within reach of Vernon’s -influence as long as he was attending on the sick man. If, on -the other hand, he was loyally anxious to keep it, there could be no -better person to watch over the man from whom she wished to -keep the truth.</p> - -<p>The doctor asked Abel a few questions, and agreed that he might -be tried as sick nurse. Tramp though he was, Squires was a man of -some intelligence, and had picked up many a scrap of practical knowledge -in the wanderings in which his life had been almost wholly -spent. Before the doctor and Olivia had left the house, they felt -that the patient was in no unskilful hands, while the hounds were -under control of a man entirely without fear.</p> - -<p>As she left the cottage, after listening fearfully for some minutes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> -to the incoherent mutterings of its unlucky tenant, Olivia met Mat, -who was dutifully waiting in the garden to learn whether she had -any more work for him. She stopped short on seeing him, and said, -“Oh!” in some confusion.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” asked Mat, whose loyal admiration for her made -him quick of apprehension. “You want summat more done. Whatever -it mebbe, Ah’m ready to do ’t.”</p> - -<p>“You are good, Mat,” she said, gratefully, with a bright blush. -“Nobody is ever as ready to help me as you, or so quick to know -when one wants help.”</p> - -<p>“Ah knaw more’n that,” said Mat, encouraged by her praise. “Ah -knaw, Ah guess, what you want done.”</p> - -<p>The color in Olivia’s cheeks grew deeper than ever. She said nothing, -however; so Mat, after a short pause, went on—</p> - -<p>“You want somebody to knaw what happened.”</p> - -<p>Olivia laughed bashfully. “You’re an accomplished thought -reader, Mat. Who is the person?”</p> - -<p>“Parson Vernon.”</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t you think he ought to know, as—as he’s a friend of -Mr. Mitchell’s?”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Mat. “Ah’ll go straight off to him neow.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mat. And be sure you don’t forget to tell him that -Abel Squires is going to nurse him.”</p> - -<p>“Ah’ll mahnd that. Good-night, Miss Olivia.”</p> - -<p>“Good-night, Mat. I don’t know what I should have done without -you this evening.”</p> - -<p>Mat blushed. “You knaw, Miss,” he said, in a bashful, strangled -voice, “you’re as welcome as t’ flowers in Meay to aught as Ah can -do—neow and any toime.”</p> - -<p>And he pulled off his cap awkwardly without looking at her, and -ran off down the hill before he had even stopped to replace it; while -Miss Denison, much more leisurely, started on her way home to the -farm.</p> - -<p>Long before Ned Mitchell’s illness was over, poor Olivia had grave -reason to repent her choice of an attendant. Old Sarah Wall, who -had been in the habit of coming in for a couple of hours daily to do -the cleaning, was now installed permanently on the ground floor, -which she had all to herself. The front door was kept on the chain, -and to all inquirers it was Mrs. Wall’s duty to answer that Mr. -Mitchell was getting on very well, but was not allowed to see any -one. If any further questions were put to her, or a wish expressed -to see his attendant, she put on a convenient deafness, and presently -shut the door. No one was admitted but the doctor, even when Ned -was well enough to sit up at the front window, with one or other of -his fierce hounds at the side of his chair, and his odd-looking attendant -in the back ground. The evident good understanding which existed -between master and man filled Olivia with foreboding, and -caused still deeper anxiety to Vernon Brander, who, having called at -the cottage day after day, and failed to extract any information from -Sarah Wall, deliberately walked round to the back garden and climbed -into one of the windows of the upper floor by means of the water -butt. Here he came face to face with Abel Squires, who, hearing the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> -noise, came out of his master’s room to find out the cause. He tried -to retreat on seeing Vernon, but the latter seized his arm and detained -him.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” said he, in a low voice, but very sternly; “you’ve -broken faith, I see.”</p> - -<p>Abel’s wooden face never changed.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said he doggedly, “Ah doan’t say Ah haven’t. Boot it -was forced aht o’ me when Ah wur droonk. That’s all Ah have to -say.”</p> - -<p>And to demonstrate this he folded his arms tightly, and met the -clergyman’s eyes stubbornly and without flinching.</p> - -<p>“So that man knows everything?” asked Vernon, in a low voice, -glancing at the door of Ned Mitchell’s room.</p> - -<p>“Pretty nigh all as Ah knaw.”</p> - -<p>Vernon’s face was livid. He leaned against the window-sill and -looked out fixedly into the Vicarage garden.</p> - -<p>“He can’t do anything,” he muttered.</p> - -<p>“He means to try,” said Abel. “Hast tha seen t’ dogs?”</p> - -<p>“No, but I’ve heard about them; and they won’t help him much,” -answered Vernon, quietly.</p> - -<p>“Tarn’t easy to trick ’un,” said Abel, warningly. “He’s none -so over sharp, but he’s sure.”</p> - -<p>Vernon said nothing to this; after a short pause, he bade Abel -good-day very shortly, and went downstairs. Old Sarah Wall was -standing at the door, in colloquy with some one outside. She cried -out when she felt a man’s hand on her shoulder; and Vernon, hastily -telling her to be quiet, drew back the chain and let himself out. He -started in his turn on finding himself face to face with Olivia Denison. -Being overwhelmed with anxiety on his account, it was only a natural -result of her girlish modesty that she should appear freezingly cold and -distant in her manner towards him, even though her curt greeting -caused him evident pain. After the exchange of a very few indifferent -words, Vernon raised his cap stiffly and left her; while she, -angry with him, still more angry with herself, walked slowly down -the hill, more anxious, more miserable on his account than ever.</p> - -<p>It was on the ninth day after the beginning of his illness that Ned -Mitchell, whose impatience to be well materially retarded his recovery, -could at last bear confinement no longer, and seized the -opportunity of a short absence of Abel’s in the village to make his -way once more down to St. Cuthbert’s churchyard. He wanted to -take his hounds with him, but decided that it would be rash to do so -until he was more sure of his own powers of reaching his destination. -For he found, much to his own disgust, that he felt weak and giddy. -However, he set out on his walk as quickly as he could, taking his -way over the fields to escape observation. Evening was closing in—an -evening in late June, warm and balmy. He chose to set down -to the summer heat the dizziness which he felt creeping over him -long before the ruined tower of St. Cuthbert’s came in sight.</p> - -<p>When he reached the lane which divided the last field from the -churchyard, his head swam and he staggered across the road and -caught the gate for support. After a minute’s rest, he raised his -head and looked over into the enclosure. Was he delirious again?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> -Had the wild fancies of his illness come back to torment him? He -saw before him, instead of broken, moss-grown headstones, rank -weeds, and misshapen mounds of earth and rubbish, a churchyard -as neat and trim as that of Rishton itself, with tombstones set straight -in the ground, well gravelled paths, and borders of flowers. The -churchyard wall was garnished along the top with broken glass, and -two notice boards, respectively at the right- and left-hand of the gate, -bore these words: “Visitors are requested not to pluck the flowers,” -and “Dogs not admitted.”</p> - -<p>This last inscription reassured Ned as to the state of his own brain. -He laughed savagely to himself, and after a few minutes’ rest, -which he spent in grim contemplation of the altered churchyard, he -turned to go home.</p> - -<p>Whether he had “got his second wind,” or whether the rage he -felt stimulated his powers, Ned returned home much faster than he -came. Just outside the cottage gate he met Sarah Wall, wringing -her hands and muttering to herself in deepest distress.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with the woman?” asked Ned, in his surliest -tones.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir! the dogs, the dogs! It warn’t my fault; it warn’t -indeed! How they got out I know no more than the babe unborn!”</p> - -<p>“Get out!” shouted Ned, with fury. “What the d——. You -wretched old woman. Are they lost? Have they got away?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir, don’tee speak like that; don’tee look so; it warn’t my -fault. Abel should have been there to look after ’em.”</p> - -<p>Ned kept down his rage until he got out of her what he wanted to -know.</p> - -<p>“What happened then? Tell me at once, quietly. Where are the -dogs?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir, they’re in there,” said the old woman, pointing with a -trembling finger to the cottage. “And now if you was to flay me -alive could I tell you how—”</p> - -<p>But Ned did not stay to listen. He was up the garden path and -through the porch before she could utter half a dozen words. An -oath and a howl of rage burst from his lips at the sight which met -his eyes. Stretched on the floor of the stone passage lay the dead -bodies of the two bloodhounds, foam and blood still on their jaws, -their attitude showing that they had expired in great agony. Ned -hung over them for a moment, touched them; they were scarcely -cold. Then he stood bolt upright with a livid face.</p> - -<p>“They have been poisoned!” he whispered, in a harsh, gurgling -voice.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Ned Mitchell</span> was not the sort of man to waste much time in the -indulgence of an outbreak of passion. After a few minutes’ contemplation -of the dead bodies of his hounds, he pulled himself together -and prepared for action. There had flashed into his mind the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> -recollection of the evening on which his illness began. He had forgotten -until that moment all the details of his arrival home, his groping -about for a light, the sounds he had heard as of a person moving -in one of the rooms, and the glimpse he had caught of an opening -door as he fell senseless to the floor. It now occurred to him for the -first time, as he went over the small incidents of that night one by -one, that the fall from the effects of which he was suffering was -caused by a heavy blow from some one who had forced an entrance -into the little cottage during his absence.</p> - -<p>“A murderous blow!” he muttered to himself as—alone, in the -dusk, with his dead hounds encumbering the ground at his feet—he -staggered along by the walls, reproducing the sensations he had felt -just before his fall. “It must have been in here that he was hidden,” -he went on to himself, as he found himself at the door of the room -where he had first kept his hounds. “For it was on my right hand -as I came in that I heard the noise; I am sure of it.” Speaking thus, -slowly, to himself, he at last turned the handle and went into the -unused room. It was musty and close, and he had to open the windows -before he could breathe easily. He had a match box in his -pocket; striking a light, he examined every corner of the empty -room with the utmost care, and discovered at last, close to the wall -in a nook where the light from the windows scarcely penetrated, two -dried-up, evil-smelling scraps of meat. “Ah!” said he to himself. -“Poisoned, of course! And as the first attempt wouldn’t do, he had -to try again.”</p> - -<p>He removed the meat carefully from the room, and hid it away for -further examination. Poor, trembling Mrs. Wall having by this -time returned to her place in the kitchen, he went in and asked her, -in a dry voice, if she had heard anybody about the place in his -absence.</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” quavered she. “Indeed I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>“You were out, of course?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir; at least, I’d only gone just half-way down t’ hill as far -as t’ post office, to get in a pound of sugar because you’re out of it, -sir; and I give you my word, sir, I’d never ha’ gone if I hadn’t ha’ -thought as Abel was upstairs, and—”</p> - -<p>“And you came back just a minute or two before I did?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; not so very long.”</p> - -<p>“Not long at all, or you’d have had the whole village up here, -poking and prying into every corner, I know,” said Ned, grimly. -“And when you opened the door you saw the dogs lying as they are -lying now?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“And you’ve heard nobody about?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir; at least, no, not to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Not to-day! Then you have heard somebody in the place since I’ve -been ill?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, sir, not nobody to matter—nobody at all. Only one day, -as I wur talking to Miss Denison from t’ Hall, as wur at t’ door asking -about you, I wur pushed aside quite sudden like; and when I -looked it wur parson Brander.”</p> - -<p>She lowered her voice to a whisper as she uttered the name. For<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> -in spite of her cautious way of putting it, Sarah Wall felt a decided -suspicion that the Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s, against whom her prejudice -was strong, was at the root of this business.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know where he come from, sir,” she croaked on, rather -mysteriously. “But it wasn’t through t’ door, for it wur on t’ -chain.”</p> - -<p>Ned, having got out of her all she had tell, turned with an abrupt -nod, left the kitchen, and again went out into the garden. Abel -Squires, who was hobbling up the hill on his crutch, redoubled his -pace when he saw his master at the gate.</p> - -<p>“So ye’re aht, Ah see,” he called out, as soon as he was near -enough. “Ah guessed how ’t would be as soon as ma back wur -turned.”</p> - -<p>As he drew nearer he saw by his master’s face, not only that he -was greatly fatigued, but that something serious had happened.</p> - -<p>In a few short sentences Ned told him the events which had occurred -in his absence: his visit to St. Cuthbert’s, the finding of the -dogs’ bodies, and the discovery of meat which he believed to be -poisoned.</p> - -<p>“Wall tells me,” said he, “that Vernon Brander got into the place -one day while I was laid up.”</p> - -<p>Abel nodded.</p> - -<p>“Reight enough: so he did. Got in at t’ ooper floor by t’ water -boott.”</p> - -<p>“What reason did he give?”</p> - -<p>“Wanted to knaw heow mooch you knew. So Ah told him. He’s -been going abaht loike a churchyard ghost ever since. Ah met ’un -just neow on’s way oop to t’ Vicarage.”</p> - -<p>“To the Vicarage?”</p> - -<p>“Ay.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going up there now.”</p> - -<p>And he turned and began to walk up the hill. Abel hopped after -him, assuming his most persuasive mien.</p> - -<p>“Doan’t ’e, Mester Mitchell—doan’t ’e,” he entreated. “It’s naught -but cruelty to him as hasn’t done it; an’ as for him as has, you’ve -got plenty in store for him wi’out worriting of him now.”</p> - -<p>Ned paid not the slightest heed to these remonstrances, but went -on his way, still closely attended by Abel the length of the Vicarage -garden wall.</p> - -<p>Abel redoubled his pleadings as they caught sight of the two -brothers and Mrs. Brander walking in the garden.</p> - -<p>“Look ’e here, Mester Mitchell,” said he, in a rough voice that, -plead as he would, could get no softer. “Ah’ve kept away from -Rishton ten year fur to please parson Vernon, ’cause Ah’m t’ only -chap as see what happened that neight, an’ he wouldn’t trust me to -hawd ma toongue. What Ah could do fur ten year, couldn’t you do -fur a neight?”</p> - -<p>Still Ned walked stolidly on, vouchsafing no answer, until the -party in the garden caught sight of them, and the Vicar of Rishton -came down to the side gate to meet them. As he drew near, Abel, -after one futile attempt to drag Ned bodily away, tried to escape -himself. But Mr. Brander was too quick and too strong for him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> - -<p>“Why, who have we here?” he said, curiously, seizing Squires -by the arm, and looking into his wooden face. “Isn’t it Abel -Squires, the man who picked up my father’s signet ring on the -Sheffield road?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, sir,” said Abel, very bashfully, while he persistently avoided -meeting the vicar’s eye.</p> - -<p>“I thought so,” said the vicar, good-humoredly. And without -noticing the lowering expression of Ned’s face, he turned and shook -his hand. “Glad to see you about again, Mr. Mitchell. I must tell -you a story about our friend here,” he continued, putting a kind -hand on the tramp’s shoulder. “Years ago, when I was scarcely -more than a boy, my father lost a signet ring one night as he was -returning home from a sick bed. It was an old-fashioned thing; much -too large for his finger. He never expected to see it again; but a fortnight -afterwards who should turn up but Abel Squires, inquiring of -the servants if anybody in the house had lost a ring. He had picked -it up, and having no means of advertising his find, had perseveringly -called at house after house on the outskirts of Sheffield where he -found it, until he at last got directed to my father as the owner. -He was so much struck by the circumstance that he declared it -should be treasured up for ever by the head of the family as a reminder -that the world had contained at least one ideally honest -man.”</p> - -<p>“You’re t’ head of t’ family, yet you don’t wear it though, parson,” -said Abel, glancing at his hands.</p> - -<p>He had listened in much confusion to the account, changing from -his wooden leg to his sound one and back again, and looking as if -the vicar’s speech contained some revelation particularly painful for -him to hear.</p> - -<p>The vicar, who had been touched by his excessive modesty, was -surprised at this retort.</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t wear it now,” he said, laughing genially. “I did -though, until I had the misfortune to lose it myself, some years ago. -It was too large for me, as it had been for my father, and I never -knew how it had gone. And you were not about to find it for me.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, sir,” was all Abel said, with one shy glance at the bystanders.</p> - -<p>They had formed a strange group while the vicar’s recital lasted. -Each one seemed to know that something serious was impending, -and to listen, in silence not all attentive, to the vicar’s innocently -told reminiscences. He was the only person at ease in the little -circle. Ned was standing solid and square, listening to Mr. Brander’s -little story with a contemptuous face; Vernon Brander, who -seemed of late to be growing daily more lean, more haggard, kept -his eyes fixed upon Ned with an expression of undisguised apprehension; -while Mrs. Brander, whose great black eyes were flashing -with excitement to which she allowed no other vent, looked steadily -from one to the other of the rest of the group, as she stood a little -away from them all, motionless and silent, like a beautiful statue.</p> - -<p>When the vicar’s prattle had come to an end, there was a pause. -He seemed himself to become at last aware that the minds about -him were occupied with some more serious matter, and he turned to -Ned with a look of inquiry—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> - -<p>“Is anything the matter, Mr. Mitchell?” he asked. “You look -less happy than a man should do who has just been released from the -confinement of a sick bed. Can I advise you or counsel you in any -way? Would you like to come into my study?”</p> - -<p>Ned raised his head and looked at him like a bull in the arena.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, savagely, “the garden will do for what I have to -say. It’s only this: My bloodhounds have been poisoned”—a little -shiver of intense excitement seemed to run through the group—“And -by the same hand that killed my sister. Now I give the man -who did both those acts till this time to-morrow to confess publicly -that he’s been a great hypocrite for ten years, with good words on -his lips and bad thoughts in his heart. But if in those four-and-twenty -hours he don’t confess, then he shall be buried at the country’s expense -before the year’s out.”</p> - -<p>There was dead silence after this speech, which Ned delivered, not -in his usual coarse, loud tones, but in husky, spasmodic jerks, and -with the manner of a man bitterly in earnest. The vicar listened -with great attention; Abel Squires seemed to wish, but not to dare, -to move away; Vernon shook from head to foot with high nervous -excitement; while Mrs. Brander moved to the side of her brother-in-law, -and stole her hand within his arm.</p> - -<p>Not a look, not a movement, was lost on Ned, whose features suddenly -broke up into a grim and horrible smile as he noted the action -of the lady. It was a smile of cunning, of mockery. But Mr. Brander -had treated him with dislike and contempt.</p> - -<p>“You think,” said the vicar of Rishton at last, “that the man who -poisoned your dogs was the same who made away with your sister?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think; I know.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to be hard on you, Mitchell. But it seems to me -that you feel the latter loss the more acutely of the two.”</p> - -<p>“It showed,” returned Ned, doggedly “that the fellow is no better -minded now than he was then.”</p> - -<p>“You might say so if they were human beings whose lives he had -taken,” said the vicar, continuing his gentle remonstrance. “As -they were only dogs, I am inclined to take a more lenient view; -while admitting that this unknown person——”</p> - -<p>“No, not unknown,” interpolated Ned.</p> - -<p>The vicar went on without noticing the interruption.</p> - -<p>“—had no right either to trespass on your premises or destroy your -dogs, allowance must be made for the state of mind of a desperate -man, who believes, rightly or wrongly, that these animals will be -used to discover his guilt.”</p> - -<p>“Well, vicar,” said Ned, who had been staring straight into the -clergyman’s face with a cynical smile, “I’ve said my say; that’s -what I came here for. Now it’s done, I’ll wish you, and your good -lady, and Mr. Vernon there, a very good-night.”</p> - -<p>The vicar held out his hand.</p> - -<p>“Good-night. You will not be offended with me for saying that I -hope Heaven will soften your heart,” he said in a low voice, in the -gentle, almost apologetic tones which he always used when touching -upon religious matters.</p> - -<p>“No, I’m not offended,” said Ned, in a hard, mocking voice.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> - -<p>“And will you come to our haymaking to-morrow?” Mr. Brander -continued in a lighter tone. “It will be a very simple sort of -festivity, but it may serve as a change from your hermit-like solitude -and your gloomy reflections.”</p> - -<p>Ned began to shake his head rather contemptuously, muttering -something rather surlily about being “too old to pick buttercups.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Williams, of the Towers, will be here,” went on the vicar, as -pleasantly as ever. “He is exceedingly anxious to make your acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>The expression of Ned’s face changed.</p> - -<p>“Is that the Mr. Williams who has been bothering so about repairing -the old church down there—St. Cuthbert’s?” he asked, with -affected carelessness.</p> - -<p>And the vicar’s expression changed also.</p> - -<p>“I believe he did talk about it at one time; but as my brother objected -to it, he had to give up the idea,” he said, in a low voice, -glancing at Vernon, who was talking to Mrs. Brander.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Ned, with a look down at his boots and a nod. “Yes, -I’ll come, vicar, and thank you kindly for your invitation,” he said, -more graciously. “I can’t make hay, but I’ll be most happy to -stand about and look pretty,” he added, with a short laugh.</p> - -<p>Raising his hat ceremoniously to Mrs. Brander, whom he admired, -and whose indifferently concealed dislike therefore irritated -him, Ned Mitchell turned on his heel without so much as a glance -at Vernon, and made his way down the hill to his cottage, leaning -on the arm of Abel Squires, who had bade “t’ gentle fowk” a humble -and bashful farewell, and hastened to the support of his patient, -upon whom the fatigue and excitement of the evening had begun to -tell heavily.</p> - -<p>Solemnly and almost in silence, Meredith Brander and his wife -then parted from Vernon, who took his lonely way over the fields in -a state of suppressed excitement so acute that on reaching St. Cuthbert’s -Vicarage he was highly feverish, with a burning head, hot, -dry hands, and a mouth that seemed parched and withered. He lay -awake for the greater part of the night. Next morning, his old -housekeeper, not hearing him rise as usual, went up to his room, -and found him in a restless, uneasy sleep. Seeing that something -was wrong with him, and deciding that it was the result of overwork, -Mrs. Warmington applied a characteristically rough-and-ready -remedy. She ransacked his wardrobe, selecting everything that was -fit to wear, and quitted the room as softly as she had entered -it, leaving pinned to his pillow the following note:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“I see you have had no sleep and are unwell. So I have taken -away your clothes and locked the door. If you are ready to promise -to stay in bed all the morning, and not to go out to-day, knock three -times, and I will bring up your breakfast.”</p> -</div> - -<p>When he woke up, Vernon gave the three knocks, after very little -hesitation. He felt so ill that he was glad of an excuse to spend an -idle day—glad too that in this way he could escape the ordeal of the -haymaking at his brother’s, and a meeting with Olivia Denison.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> -For, haunted as he was by the remembrance of her gentle touch, of -her softly uttered words of sympathy as he sat beside her by Mrs. -Warmington’s fireside, he felt that another cold look, another frigid -bow, like those she had given him on their last meeting, would be a -torture more than he could bear.</p> - -<p>Vernon Brander was far too ignorant of the peculiarities of the -feminine character to know the significance of that coldness; he -thought that it meant in her what it meant in him, a firm determination -that all sentiment between them should be for ever at an -end. While, as every one knows, if that had been the case she would -have been gentle, tender, anxious to soften the cruel blow she was -preparing for him, anxious also that there should, after the parting, -be a little sentiment left. As it was, poor Olivia, on her side, was -suffering a good many torments. While never allowing herself to -believe the worst she heard against Vernon Brander, her common -sense was continually warring with her feelings, and calling her -all sorts of unflattering names for her prejudice in his favor. -She hated and despised him, she loved and respected him, all in a -breath. She resolved never to see him again, she determined to encourage -him in spite of all opposition, in the course of the same day. -But the value of the former resolution may be gauged by the fact -that she made it very strongly on the morning of the haymaking, -and was bitterly disappointed when, on arriving with her father and -step-mother at the big field by the churchyard, where the tent had -been put up, she learnt from little Kate that he had sent word to say -he could not come.</p> - -<p>But Olivia was not to go without admirers. Approaching the tent -as she came out of it was Fred Williams, dressed in a light grey suit -of a check so large that there was only room for one square and a -half across his narrow little chest, a very pale brown hat, and a salmon-colored -tie. He greeted Mr. Denison effusively, and asked -Olivia if he might get her a cup of tea.</p> - -<p>“No, thank you,” said she, coldly.</p> - -<p>But her father, surprised and displeased at her tone, interfered.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my dear, I am sure you would like a cup of tea,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Take her to the tent, Fred, and look after her.”</p> - -<p>Then, as the young man, who looked delighted at her discomfiture, -turned to shake hands with her step-mother, Mr. Denison whispered -to his daughter, in as peremptory a tone as he ever used to her—</p> - -<p>“You mustn’t put on these airs, Olivia. Young Williams is a very -good fellow, and has obliged me considerably, more than once. I -insist on your being civil to him.”</p> - -<p>Olivia turned white, and bit her lips. A suspicion of the truth, -that her father was under monetary obligations to this wretched little -stripling, flashed into her mind. She waited very quietly, but -with a certain erect carriage of the head which promised ill for the -treatment Fred would receive at her hands. He, however, was not -the man to be scrupulous about the way in which he attained his -ends. He trotted beside her to the tent in a state of great elation.</p> - -<p>“Awfully slow these bun scuffles, ain’t they?” he said in his most -insinuating tones. “I shouldn’t have come at all if it hadn’t been -for the chance of meeting—some one I wanted to see.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> - -<p>This was accompanied by a most significant look; but unfortunately -Olivia, who was considerably taller than he, was looking over -his head at some fresh arrivals.</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” she said, absently.</p> - -<p>Fred reddened; that is to say, a faint tint, like the color in his tie, -appeared for a moment in his cheeks, and then left them as yellow -as before. He tried again. She should look at him; it didn’t matter -how, but she should look.</p> - -<p>“Those country girls look at me as if they’d never seen anything -like this get-up before. It’s the proper thing down in the south, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I should think so—on Margate ‘excursionists,’” answered Olivia, -briefly.</p> - -<p>Fred was quite unmoved.</p> - -<p>“Now what would your father say if he heard you?” he asked, -good-humoredly. “You know he told you to be civil. Ho, yes, -I’ve sharp ears enough—always catch up anything I want to hear.”</p> - -<p>Olivia said nothing to this, and presently he went on, in a persuasive -tone—</p> - -<p>“You know it’s worse than wasting your time to be rude to me, -because I’m not a bad chap to people I like, and to people I don’t like -I can do awfully nasty turns.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t doubt your power of making yourself unpleasant,” -said Olivia, quietly.</p> - -<p>Still Fred Williams only chuckled. They had by this time reached -the tent, and he gave her a chair with a flourish of satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“There, now you must look up to me to fire off your spiteful little -shots, instead of down at me as if I were a worm or a beetle. It’s -not many men of my size, mind you, that would walk with a girl as -tall as you—it puts a fellow at a disadvantage. And as your six-footers -are not too plentiful in these parts, it would be wiser of you -to make your peace with the little ones.”</p> - -<p>“I assure you,” said Olivia, looking up at him gravely, “that I -could get on very well without either six-footers or four-feet-sixers.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a nasty cut. There’s not many fellows would stand that,” -said the irrepressible one. “But, there, I tell you there’s nothing I -wouldn’t put up with from you. I suppose you won’t insult my -guv’nor if I introduce him to you,” he continued, glancing towards -a corner of the tent where the elder Mr. Williams was engaged in -animated talk with Ned Mitchell.</p> - -<p>“Certainly not;” answered Olivia, “I am told by every one that -you could scarcely be told for father and son.”</p> - -<p>This was true. Mr. Williams, though he was not free from the -faults of the parvenu, was ostentatious in his charities and respectful -towards wealth, had a handsome person and a dignified carriage, -and was in every way his son’s superior. He had been most anxious -to make Ned Mitchell’s acquaintance, feeling that in this man, who -had begun with little and by his own exertions had made it much, -he should meet with a congenial nature. And so it proved. Ned -having the same feeling towards him, they had become, at their first -interview, if not friends, at least mutually well-disposed acquaintances.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> - -<p>When Fred interrupted their <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tete-a-tete</i>, they were deep in a conversation -they found so interesting that Mr. Williams, in reply to -his son’s request that he would come and be introduced to a lady, -waved him away, saying, “Presently, my boy, presently.”</p> - -<p>He came back, laughing at his father’s earnestness.</p> - -<p>“He and that colonist fellow are so thick already that there’s no -separatin’ ’em,” he said to Olivia. “They’re at it, hammer and -tongs, about the old tower down at St. Cuthbert’s, and as the vicar -has just come and shoved his little oar in, I expect they’ll be at it -till breakfast time.”</p> - -<p>“The tower of St. Cuthbert’s!” exclaimed Olivia, rising hastily -from her chair. “What are they saying about that?”</p> - -<p>Fred, who noticed everything, saw how keen was the interest she -showed.</p> - -<p>“Yes. You know my guv’nor was hot on building a new tower -to the place, and paying for the repair of it. He likes things brand -new, does the guv’nor, and he likes tablets and paragraphs with -‘Re-erected by the generosity of F. S. Williams, Esquire, of the -Towers,’ on ’em. And he was put off it, I don’t exactly know how. -So Mitchell’s working him up to it again.”</p> - -<p>“Since your father won’t come to me, you shall take me to him,” -said Olivia, brightly, though her lips were quivering.</p> - -<p>Fred, still watching her carefully, noticed this also. As they crossed -the floor of the tent, he could see that she was straining her ears -to catch what she could of the talk of the three men. For Mr. Meredith -Brander had now joined the other two, and was taking the chief -share of the subject under discussion. This was no longer St. Cuthbert’s -Tower, but the recent loss which the colonist had sustained by -the poisoning of his hounds.</p> - -<p>“My own impression,” the vicar was saying, in tones of conviction, -“is that you must have caused their death yourself during -your sleep.”</p> - -<p>“How do you make that out, vicar?” asked Ned, very quietly.</p> - -<p>Since that outburst of fury the evening before he had been very -subdued—almost amiable.</p> - -<p>“Why, I cannot conceive any motive strong enough to induce -anybody else to make away with them. If they were really dangerous -to some one’s secret, poisoning them was too suspicious an act. -Besides, my brother—I mean the churchyard of St. Cuthbert’s has -just been laid out as a garden, and the wall has been fringed with -broken glass to keep out all unauthorized intruders. Now what -could a man kill your dogs for?”</p> - -<p>“I have my own ideas as to the reason,” said Ned. Then, after a -short pause, he added, “You see, the poisoning of the hounds led -to a delay. Now a hunted criminal lives by delays.”</p> - -<p>“Hunted criminal!” Poor Olivia echoed these terrible words below -her breath. The very sound of them blanched her cheeks and -seemed to check the beating of her heart.</p> - -<p>It was again Ned who spoke—</p> - -<p>“Tell me, vicar, what you mean by suggesting that I poisoned -my hounds in my sleep.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you know,” said Mr. Brander, “how an active man forced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> -into inaction will brood over an idea until it is never out of his -brain? I imagine that you, moved as you certainly were by fears -for the safety of your dogs while you were ill, got these fears so -strongly in your mind that at last you got up one night, and with -your own hands did what it was always in your mind that some one -else would do—laid about the poison which the dogs took as soon as -they by some means got loose.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me! Very ingenious theory—very ingenious!” said Mr. -Williams.</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose,” went on the vicar, modestly, “that the idea -would have come into my head if it had not been that in my own -family there have been marvellous instances of somnambulism. An -ancestor of mine, a very energetic man who loved the sound of his -own voice, had been ordered a rest from preaching by his doctor. -Well, I assure you that after obeying this injunction three months, -he got up one night, got the church keys, let himself in, and was discovered -there by his wife in the pulpit, preaching a sermon in his -dressing-gown and slippers! And there have been numberless other -instances in our family—some within this century.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, that is singular indeed,” said Mr. Williams.</p> - -<p>“A very high-spirited family yours, vicar,” said Ned, who had not -moved a muscle during this recital, “and the spirit is sure to peep -out sooner or later. You, I think, though you’ll excuse my saying -so, are about the only one of the bunch that hasn’t let it peep out -rather discreditably.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps my sins are all to come,” said the vicar with a jolly -laugh.</p> - -<p>And, catching sight of the two young people who were waiting -for a hearing, Mr. Brander himself introduced Olivia Denison to old -Mr. Williams, and left the group to join his other guests.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> haymaking in the glebe field of Rishton Vicarage was an -annual affair, an institution of Meredith Brander’s own, dating from -the young days of his reign. It had been at its origin a thoroughly -Radical institution, a freak of the then very youthful vicar, who had -not yet quite dropped all the wild ideas for the reconstruction of -society of his university days. Rich and poor, gentle and simple, -an invitation had been extended to all; the glebe field was to be the -scene of such an harmonious commingling of class and class as had -not been dreamed of since the dim days of Feudalism. For a year -or two both the villagers and the richer class were represented; the -former sparsely, it is true. But there was no commingling. Then -the villagers, not quite understanding the vicar’s idea, began to have -a suspicion that, besides being somewhat bored and bewildered by -the entertainment and the necessity for putting on “company -manners,” they were being laughed at; and thenceforth they stayed -away altogether. So that the annual haymaking had now become -what Mr. Brander called “a mere commonplace <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">omnium gatherum</i>,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> -where the lowest class represented was that of well-to-do farmers, -whose wives and daughters having replaced the straightforward rusticity -of half a century ago for a veneer of fashion and refinement, -were tiresome guests, captious, self-assertive, and intolerable.</p> - -<p>Among the most prominent members of this last class were the -two daughters of John Oldshaw. Despising their shy, good-hearted -brother Mat as much as they did their coarse-mannered father, they -prattled of Gilbert and Sullivan’s last opera, of the newest shape of -sunshade, of the most recently published novel, uneasily anxious to -show that they were abreast of the times. They hated Olivia Denison -for her easy superiority; and while indignant with their brother -for admiring her, they were still more indignant at the knowledge -that he was too much her inferior for her to treat him with anything -but kindness.</p> - -<p>Olivia, who was always scrupulously courteous to these young -ladies, shook hands with them as she left the tent with her persistent -admirer, Fred Williams, who, with little attempt at concealment, -tried to draw her away from the farmer’s daughters.</p> - -<p>“How charming Mrs. Brander is looking to-day!” said the elder, -in the loud, unpleasant voice which shivered in a moment all her -pretensions to refinement. “She reminds me more of Lady Grisdale -every time I see her.”</p> - -<p>Lady Grisdale was a fashionable beauty, whose photograph, together -with those of the Guernsey Rose and Mrs. Carnaby East, -adorned Miss Oldshaw’s drawing-room mantelpiece in a plush -frame.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” assented Olivia, “she is like the portraits of Lady Grisdale. -How is your brother? Isn’t he coming here to-day?”</p> - -<p>The Misses Oldshaw disliked any allusion to their brother, who, -they considered, did them little credit. And to hear him mentioned -by Olivia Denison was especially galling. It seemed to them to signify, -what indeed was the truth, that she ranked Mat, with his -rough speech and shy, awkward ways, above themselves, with all -their pretensions. Miss Oldshaw therefore answered with a shrill -tartness which surprised Olivia, who had certainly no wish to offend -her—</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s not coming here. His tastes don’t lie in the direction -of either nice people or nice amusements.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed! I should have thought they would when he’s so nice -himself.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course niceness is a matter of taste,” said Miss Oldshaw -with an affected laugh. “Perhaps you would consider the person -he has gone to see nice.”</p> - -<p>“Very likely,” said Olivia, coolly.</p> - -<p>“Dear me,” interrupted the second sister, with a perceptible sneer; -“you forget that Mr. Vernon Brander may be a friend of Miss Denison’s.”</p> - -<p>“If it is Mr. Vernon Brander whom Mat has gone to see, I don’t -think he has chosen his pleasure badly. At least he is in pleasanter -society, than we all have the fortune to meet here.”</p> - -<p>And Olivia, who had remained very quiet during this disagreeable -colloquy, turned away, while her companion burst into a loud fit of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> -laughter, and glancing over his shoulder at the sisters, remarked in -a voice which they were intended to hear—</p> - -<p>“Why does Mrs. Brander invite those people? Everybody knows -they were both sweet on Parson Longface until they found it -was no go.”</p> - -<p>Olivia made no answer to this graceful remark. She was standing -close to the hedge which bounded the field on the side nearest to the -village. The trees grew thickly outside, and even at five o’clock the -sun was strong enough to make the shelter of the overhanging -branches welcome. The devoted Fred had put into her hands a very -fanciful little hay rake; but instead of amusing herself by turning -over the sweet-scented hay which strewed the field all round her, -she only drew the rake listlessly along the ground with an air of being -a thousand miles away.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I bore you,” said Fred at last, in an offended tone, -finding that all his conversational efforts failed to wake the least -sparkle of interest in her eyes; “I should have thought this sort of -thing would have been just what you would like: wants such a lot -of energy, and all that sort of thing, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Olivia, dreamingly; “it wants too much energy -to be wasted on play, when one has serious things to think about.”</p> - -<p>“Serious things!” echoed Fred, pricking up his ears, and rushing -at this opening. “Yes, I’ve got a lot of serious things to think -about too—one thing jolly serious. I say,” he went on, getting -rather nervous, “I’m glad you take things seriously; I like a girl -who can be serious.”</p> - -<p>“Do you?” asked she rather absently. “I should have thought -you liked a girl who could be lively.”</p> - -<p>“Well, yes; I like ’em both. I mean, I like one who can be both—or, -or—”</p> - -<p>“Both who can be one, perhaps,” suggested Olivia, laughing.</p> - -<p>She had had to stave off proposals before from men whom she was -anxious to save from unnecessary pain. But with this grotesque -little caricature of an admirer, she felt no sentiment deeper than a -hope that he would not be silly. Insignificant as he seemed to her, -however, she made a great mistake in despising him, and in forgetting -that a small, mean nature is very much more dangerous than a -nobler one. So that while she was innocently trying to avoid the -annoyance of his love-making with light words and laughter, he -was growing every moment more doggedly bent on doing her the -honor of making known his admiration. Although the possibility -of a refusal had not occurred to him, he felt nervous, as he would -have felt with no other woman.</p> - -<p>“I say, now, be serious a moment, can’t you? Or I shall think I -paid you too great a compliment just now.”</p> - -<p>“As I am not used to compliments, perhaps it got into my head.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course I know you have had plenty of fools dangling about -you and saying a lot of things they don’t mean—”</p> - -<p>“So that one more or less hardly counts,” suggested Olivia, -laughing.</p> - -<p>He would not be angry even then. He thought if he affected to -drop the subject he should soon bring her to reason; so he said, “Oh,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> -well, of course, if that’s your way of looking at it, there’s no more to -be said.”</p> - -<p>But she took him at his word, and, with just a nod of assent to his -last remark, ran to the hedge, with a cry, “There’s Mat!” as she -caught sight of Farmer Oldshaw’s son standing under the trees.</p> - -<p>Fred Williams looked after her with an ugly expression on his -little yellow face.</p> - -<p>“Fancy my not being common enough for her, by Jove!” was his -modest reflection as he saw her shake hands heartily with the young -man.</p> - -<p>Olivia with a woman’s quick perception, had known at once that -Mat had something of importance to tell her.</p> - -<p>“What is it, Mat?” she asked, anxiously, as they shook hands.</p> - -<p>“Mester Vernon: he’s very bad wi’ t’ fever,” said he, in a low -voice. “Ah allers weaite at corner o’ t’ long meadow o’ Thursdays, -an’ walk wi’ him as far as Lower Copse, where he goes to ’s meeting. -An’ to-deay he didn’t coom, so Ah knew summat wur wrong, an’ -Ah went to ’s home, an’ Ah saw him. An’ Ah thowt Ah’d let ye -knaw, Miss Olivia, so Ah coom here to tell ye.”</p> - -<p>Olivia had very little shyness with Mat; he knew her secret, and -he too loved Vernon Brander most loyally. She thanked him in -very few words, but with a look of gratitude in her eyes which -stirred in the young man feelings of pain and pleasure she never -guessed at.</p> - -<p>“I shall manage to get away in a few minutes,” she said.</p> - -<p>“If you’re goin’ to see Mester Vernon, you’ll let me see ye seafe -across t’ fields?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I shall be very glad if you will.”</p> - -<p>With the rapidity of a butterfly, in order to avoid the unlucky -Fred Williams, Olivia sped across the scattered hay to the tent where -she had left Ned Mitchell and Mr. Williams the elder. They were -conversing as earnestly as ever, and certain words which fell upon -the girl’s ears as she stood waiting for a chance of catching Ned’s -attention showed her that they were still on the old subject.</p> - -<p>“You will scarcely believe me, Mr. Mitchell, when I assure you -that nothing but the dissuasions of Mr. Meredith Brander and his -brother have prevented my doing it long before. However, I have -made up my mind not to put up with this sort of thing any longer. -I have no doubt their motives were good—perfectly good. But they -are certainly mistaken in letting a private fad for antiquities interfere -with the comfort of the parishioners.”</p> - -<p>“And they won’t find on every bush a parishioner rich enough -and generous enough to rebuild a church at his own expense,” added -Ned.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, perhaps not,” allowed Mr. Williams, modestly. “Anyhow, -I’ll get Lord Stannington’s permission at once, and the new -St. Cuthbert’s tower shall be an object of admiration in the neighborhood -before the winter comes.”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell was satisfied; he had sowed the seed well. Having -now leisure to look round him, he perceived that Olivia, standing by -herself, with her eyes fixed earnestly upon him, was waiting for -speech with him. With her feminine grace, her high spirit and her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> -devotion, she was a girl after his own heart; what little of amiability -there was in his character always appeared in his face and manner -when he addressed her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, in a low, pleading voice, as he nodded -to Mr. Williams and walked out of the tent with her, “I want to -ask you not to be hard.”</p> - -<p>“Too late—too late by fifteen years, Miss Denison,” said he, not -harshly, however. “But what particular proof of hardness have I -given you just now?”</p> - -<p>“You know,” said she, tremulously: “the new tower—St. Cuthbert’s -tower—”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell stopped short, and made her turn face to face with -him.</p> - -<p>“It seems to me, young lady,” said he, “that you haven’t much -faith in your lover.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Vernon Brander is not my lover,” said she, blushing.</p> - -<p>“Not to the extent of having asked you to name the happy day, -perhaps. But whether you confess it or not, I know that if Vernon -Brander were free to marry, he might have you for the asking.”</p> - -<p>“Well, yes, he might,” said poor Olivia, raising her head proudly -one moment, and the next letting it fall in confusion and shame. -“And I confess I don’t feel sure whether he has done this dreadful -thing or not; and—and that it wouldn’t make any difference if he -had. And it’s because I don’t feel sure that I’m come to beg you not -to have St. Cuthbert’s tower touched. And I’ve just heard that he’s -ill, and I’m very miserable about it. There, there—now I think I’ve -humiliated myself enough to you.”</p> - -<p>They were in the open field, with young men and maidens on -either side making more or less shallow pretences at haymaking. -Olivia could not indulge the inclination that prompted her to burst -into a rage of passionate tears. But she was almost blinded by the -effort to keep them back; and Ned Mitchell had to guide her steps -between the haycocks, which he did gently enough.</p> - -<p>“Look here,” he said, in a tone which could only express feeling -by jerks; “I don’t want to hurt you. There’s nobody I wouldn’t -sooner hurt, I think. You’re a brave girl. I like you. I approve -of you. Hold your tongue, and I’ll promise you something.”</p> - -<p>The last admonition was unnecessary: she was quiet enough.</p> - -<p>“I give you my word. Now, mind, you’re not to shout out!” She -shook her head. “I give you my word no harm shall come to—somebody.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Vernon Brander?” she asked, in a whisper.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Mitchell, you are good, then, after all!” she said, with -naive earnestness and gratitude.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be too sure of that. But I do keep my word. He’s ill, you -say?”</p> - -<p>“Mat Oldshaw has just told me that he is in a fever.”</p> - -<p>“And you are going to see him? What would your father -say?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it. I must: I must. He has no friends to visit -him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, he has. Mark my words: as soon as she hears of it, his -sister-in-law will fly to his side.”</p> - -<p>Olivia seemed to shrink into herself with a shiver at these words. -Her warm-hearted outburst of grateful confidence was over.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean to imply?” she asked, coldly.</p> - -<p>“Nothing: nothing but just what I say. You may tell Vernon -that I am coming this evening to look after him. Here you are. -You can slip through this gate and be off under the trees and down -through the village. And I’ll make up a story for your step-mother.”</p> - -<p>He opened the gate for her, and let her through. Olivia scarcely -dared to believe that he would keep his promise of doing no harm to -Vernon; still, his kindness to herself was encouraging, and, in spite -of doubts and fears, pangs of jealousy of Mrs. Meredith, self-reproach -for acting against her father’s wishes, Olivia felt lighter hearted -since Ned Mitchell’s promise, and congratulated herself, as she approached -St. Cuthbert’s Vicarage, and bade good-bye to faithful Mat, -that she was the bearer of good news.</p> - -<p>Her heart beat fast as she went up the stone pathway of the barren -enclosure before the house. In answer to her knock, Mrs. -Warmington opened the door, and uttered a short exclamation, -whether of surprise, joy, or astonishment, the visitor could not tell.</p> - -<p>“So that’s the answer to the conundrum!” was her rather bewildering -greeting.</p> - -<p>“Is Mr. Vernon Brander at home?” asked Olivia, with some -dignity.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Warmington would have none of it.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, you know he is,” she answered, impatiently. “And, -what’s more, you know he’s ill. And he knows you are coming, -and of course that’s the reason why he wouldn’t go back to bed, when -he knows as well as I do that bed’s the place where he ought -to be.”</p> - -<p>“If he does expect me, it’s only guesswork,” said Olivia, -more softly. “For I’ve sent him no message, and he has sent -me none.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the air carries messages between some people,” said Mrs. -Warmington, impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Who is that?” asked Vernon Brander’s voice from the front -room.</p> - -<p>“It is I, Mr. Brander,” answered Olivia, in a very meek, small -voice.</p> - -<p>She opened the door and entered shyly, with a prim little speech -upon her lips, something about “so many inquiries having been -made for him that she had offered to come and learn how he was.” -But she only got out a few words and stopped. He was still standing -by the door, and she had not yet looked at him. When she modestly -raised her eyes, she read in his face such feelings as put her pretty -platitudes to flight.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she said, softly, and clasped her hands, while her lips quivered -and her eyes filled. But she instantly recovered herself and -became very stately and stiff.</p> - -<p>“Come and sit down,” said he; and, closing the door, he took her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> -hands in both his, and led her to a battered armchair, which stood -beside the worn old sofa from which he had just risen.</p> - -<p>Olivia allowed herself to be led to the chair, on which she sat down -with some constraint. Mr. Brander took an ordinary cane-seated -chair at the other side of the table. There was a silence of some moments. -Then the girl spoke.</p> - -<p>“I am glad you were not at the haymaking this afternoon, Mr. -Brander. The sun was so hot, even up to the time I left, that it was -quite as much as we could do to breathe, without the fatigue of making -hay.”</p> - -<p>She did not look at him while she spoke; but as he only said “Yes” -in a very faint voice, she slowly turned her head and saw that he -was swaying on the table, ashy white and breathing heavily. All -her shyness and constraint broke down in a second. She started up, -and running lightly round the table, put a strong supporting arm -around him.</p> - -<p>“Come to the sofa,” she said, gently. “You are not well enough -to sit up.”</p> - -<p>For answer he laid his head against her shoulder, and looked rapturously -into her beautiful face.</p> - -<p>“I don’t feel ill,” was all he dared to say.</p> - -<p>Olivia blushed, but did not withdraw her arm.</p> - -<p>“That is all nonsense,” she said, imperiously. “You are ill, and -I believe you want a doctor, and I mean to fetch one. I’m turning -nurse to the parish,” she went on merrily; “you know it was I who -got the doctor for Mr. Mitchell.”</p> - -<p>Vernon’s face clouded.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I know,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Brander,” continued Olivia, beginning to stammer and -hesitate. “I—I have something to tell you about Mr. Mitchell; -something he said—to me, this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what was it?”</p> - -<p>“They were talking—he and old Mr. Williams—this afternoon, -about the restoration of—of—”</p> - -<p>“——Of St. Cuthbert’s tower?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Mr. Mitchell was persuading him to build a new tower——”</p> - -<p>“Persuading him! Clever old fox! There’s a proverb about -cheating the devil, but I think it would be stronger to talk of cheating -Ned Mitchell.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was surprised by the coolness with which he said this. -However, she hastened to add—</p> - -<p>“But I don’t think it will be rebuilt after all.”</p> - -<p>It seemed to her that something very like a shade of disappointment -crossed his face at these words.</p> - -<p>“How is that?” was all he said.</p> - -<p>“I spoke to Mr. Mitchell afterwards, and he promised me never to -do anything to harm you,” said Olivia, in a gentle, earnest voice, -quite ignoring, in the excitement of this announcement, how much -of her own feelings she was betraying.</p> - -<p>“Then you think,” said he, very quietly, “that the building of a -new tower at St. Cuthbert’s would do me harm?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> - -<p>“I—I thought,” said Olivia, much confused, “from what I had -heard, that you did not wish it to be rebuilt.”</p> - -<p>“And I suppose you must have some idea why?”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Olivia, quickly.</p> - -<p>“Quite sure?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I have heard what people say.”</p> - -<p>“If I were a wholly innocent man, how could any discoveries -which might be made hurt me?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know; I should have thought perhaps they might.”</p> - -<p>“I can see that your mind is not free from doubts?”</p> - -<p>No answer. He was leaning against her, and speaking with difficulty.</p> - -<p>“And yet you love me all the same?”</p> - -<p>The question burst from his lips in a low, husky, passionate whisper, -while his eyes sought hers, and his hand trembled at the contact -with her fingers. For answer she flung her right arm round his -neck, and pressed her lips tenderly, fervently on his pale forehead. -He shivered in her arms as if seized by a strong convulsion of feeling; -then, by a feverish effort tearing himself from her embrace, -he leaned against the mantelpiece and buried his face in his hands, -murmuring, in a hoarse and broken voice—</p> - -<p>“God bless you! And God forgive me!”</p> - -<p>Olivia’s whole heart went out to him in the deep distress from -which he was evidently suffering. She rose, and coming to within -a few paces of where he stood, said, most winningly—</p> - -<p>“Come and lie down on the sofa. I will read to you, sing to you, -do anything you would like done; but you must not stand; you are -not well enough.”</p> - -<p>He held out his hand to her with a smile that made his haggard -face for moment handsome.</p> - -<p>“I will do whatever you wish,” he said, “if you will in return do -something I am going to command.”</p> - -<p>“What is that?” she asked with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Go back home at once. You are here against your father’s -wishes, and I am bound in honor to forbid your presence here.”</p> - -<p>He had already withdrawn his hand from hers; he dared not trust -it to remain there. There was a yearning in his eyes which stirred -all the pity, all the tenderness, in her nature for this outcast from -love and home and happiness. She tried to take his pathetic command -with a laugh, as he had tried to give it. But she failed, as he -had done. And so they stood, with only a yard of faded and worn -old carpet between them, reading in each other’s eyes the longing, -she to comfort and he to caress, while the sunset faded slowly outside, -and the old clock ticked on the mantelpiece, and faint sounds of -the clattering of cups and spoons came from the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“There is some one at the gate,” said he at last. And he crossed -to the window and looked out: “Ned Mitchell!”</p> - -<p>Olivia started. She was glad Ned had come while she was there, -being anxious to note how he met Vernon.</p> - -<p>“Come straight in,” called out Vernon from the window.</p> - -<p>And Ned came in, with his ponderous walk and keen glance. He -nodded to Olivia, and walking straight up to Vernon, examined him -attentively.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> - -<p>“So you’re on the sick list, I hear,” he said, not unkindly. “By -the look of you I should say you’ll be on the burial list soon if you -don’t take care of yourself.”</p> - -<p>Olivia uttered a low cry of horror.</p> - -<p>“You want a wife to look after you. Some men can get on best -without a woman; I’m one: that’s why I’m married. Some can’t -get on without one; you’re one of that sort: that’s why you’re a -bachelor. One of the dodges of Providence to keep us from growing -too fond of this precious world, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“Well, as I choose to mortify the flesh by remaining a bachelor, -it’s unkind of you to throw my misfortune in my face, isn’t it?” said -Vernon, not succeeding very well in the effort to speak in his usual -manner.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, man,” said Ned, peremptorily. “You ought to be in -bed. On the other hand, if you knock off your work, who’s to do it -for you?”</p> - -<p>“Nobody; there is nobody; therefore I must not knock off,” said -Vernon, feverishly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, you must. Health’s everything,” said Ned, with his -small, sharp eyes fixed on the floor. “Now I’ve a proposal to make -to you. There’s not much of a parson’s work a rough man like me -can do, but there’s some, taking messages and seeing people and -things like that. Now it’s precious dull up at my hole of a cottage. -So I’m coming to stay a day or two with you, and your old woman -can put me up in the little room that’s next to your bedroom. It’s -all settled, you understand,” he added, lifting his hand and raising -his voice peremptorily at the same time.</p> - -<p>“It’s awfully good of you,” said Vernon, though his tone betrayed -more curiosity than gratitude. “But, at any rate, if you choose to -stay here, you shall have the best bedroom we can offer you. The -little box next to mine is filled with nothing but lumber.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the room I mean to have, though,” said Ned, stubbornly. -“I’m of a romantic and melancholy disposition, and I like the view. -It looks out into the churchyard.”</p> - -<p>The curiosity died out suddenly from Vernon’s face.</p> - -<p>“And if I am compelled to assure you that it is impossible that -room should be used?”</p> - -<p>“Then I shall have to come and encamp in the neighborhood; -that’s all.”</p> - -<p>The men looked straight at each other, and Vernon shrugged his -shoulders.</p> - -<p>“You can come if you like,” said he, indifferently.</p> - -<p>Olivia, who had listened with much interest to this discussion, now -came forward to bid Vernon good-bye. Ned, with ostentatious discreetness, -tramped heavily to the window, and looked out. But he -might have spared himself the trouble; for before he got there the -ceremony of farewell was over. Olivia had put her hand in Vernon’s, -and they had given a brief look each into the face of the other. Ned, -as he stared into the bare enclosure outside, suddenly felt a light -touch on his arm.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Mr. Mitchell,” said Olivia. “Don’t forget—your -promise.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> - -<p>“I never forget anything,” said Ned, drily.</p> - -<p>The next minute she was hurrying up the lane, with the eye of -both men fixed on her retreating figure.</p> - -<p>“That’s a good sort,” said Ned, approvingly.</p> - -<p>To this Vernon Brander assented very shortly.</p> - -<p>Olivia had forbidden Mat to wait for her, but she was not to go -home unescorted. At the top of the hill, where the lane joined the -high road, she found the irrepressible Fred Williams sitting on the -bank, making passes at a white butterfly with his walking stick. -Olivia uttered an “Oh!” full of impatience and disgust. Fred -got up, grinning at her in obtuse admiration.</p> - -<p>“I knew where you’d gone,” he said, nodding with a knowing air. -“So I came to see you home.”</p> - -<p>He was still rather nervous, which was perhaps the reason why he -failed to perceive the full extent of her annoyance at this second -meeting. He had, besides, primed himself for a speech, and that -speech he meant to make.</p> - -<p>“We were interrupted just now in the hayfield,” he began—“just -when I was on the point of—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, never mind now,” broke in Olivia, impatiently, “I have -something to think about.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what I am going to say to you don’t require thinking -about; I want you to marry me. Yes or No.”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Olivia promptly.</p> - -<p>“Of course I knew you’d say that first go off. But let me reason -with you a little. You must get married some time. You like -another fellow better than me—”</p> - -<p>“I do—a great many other fellows!”</p> - -<p>“Well, but one in particular. Now you can’t have him, and you -can have me. And if you do have me, you can do a good turn to -the other fellow.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” asked the girl, turning white at the young -man’s tone.</p> - -<p>“If you’ll promise to marry me—seriously, mind—I’ll persuade -my father not to build the new tower to St. Cuthbert’s. Nobody but -me can stop him. That chap Mitchell is egging him on to it with all -his might.”</p> - -<p>“He’s changed his mind,” said Olivia, quietly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, has he? Since when, I should like to know? He met me -sitting here five minutes ago, on his way down to St. Cuthbert’s, -where you’ve just come from” (with another knowing nod), “and he -gave me this note for my father. I opened it. Won’t you read it? -All right; but you shall hear what it says.”</p> - -<p>Fred was holding a part of the old envelope, which had been scribbled -on in pencil and folded. He read it aloud:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Williams</span>—Hurry on the rebuilding of St. Cuthbert’s -Tower as fast as you can. I hear there is a proposal afloat to be beforehand -with you, and to deprive you of all the credit of the thing -by getting it up by subscription.—Yours, E. <span class="smcap">Mitchell</span>.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Poor Olivia was aghast at Ned’s breach of faith, but she affected -unconcern.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t see how the rebuilding of St. Cuthbert’s tower can affect -either me or Mr. Vernon Brander.”</p> - -<p>“Nor do I. But I can see it does. Anyhow, I’ll give you till to-morrow -morning to consider the thing, and I’ll meet you in the -poultry run when you feed the chickens—if I can get up early -enough. And as I see you want to think over it by yourself, I’ll take -myself off for the present. Good-evening, Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>He sauntered away in the opposite direction to Rishton, his mischievous -good humor perfectly undisturbed; while Olivia, more -concerned for Mr. Vernon Brander than ever, hurried home, and -sneaked up to her room to consider the new position of affairs, -and to write a pleading note to Ned Mitchell.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Olivia Denison’s</span> thoughts on the morning after the haymaking, were -entirely occupied with Vernon Brander, his illness, the possibility of -his innocence, and the chances of his escape if guilty; so that when, -on entering the poultry yard with her basket on her arm, she found -Fred Williams, amusing himself by setting two cocks to fight each -other, she uttered a cry of unmistakable annoyance and astonishment.</p> - -<p>“You look as if you hadn’t expected to see me, and as if, by Jove, -you hadn’t wanted to!” said he, frankly. As she made no answer, -but only raised her eyebrows he went on—“Don’t you remember I -said I should be here this morning?”</p> - -<p>“I had forgotten it, or only remembered it as a kind of nightmare.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean me to take your rudeness seriously?” asked Fred, -after a pause in which he had at last struggled with the amazing -fact that he had met a girl to whom his admiration, and all the -glorious possibilities it conveyed, meant absolutely nothing.</p> - -<p>“As seriously as I have always taken yours.”</p> - -<p>Fred was silent again for some moments, during which Olivia -went on throwing handfuls of grain to the chickens, and calling -softly “Coop-coop-coop-coop!” in a most persuasive and unconcerned -manner.</p> - -<p>“And you really mean that this is your last answer? I can tell -you, it’s your last chance with me?”</p> - -<p>Olivia turned, making the most of her majestic height, and looked -down on him with the loftiest disdain.</p> - -<p>“I assure you that if it were my ‘last chance,’ as you call it, not -only with you, but with anybody, I should say just the same.”</p> - -<p>Fred Williams leaned against the wall of the yard, turned out the -heterogeneous contents of one of his pockets, and began turning them -over with shaking fingers to hide his mortification.</p> - -<p>Still Olivia went on with her occupation, without paying the -slightest attention to him. Suddenly the rejected suitor shovelled all -the things he had taken out back into his pockets, and with a monkey-like -spring placed himself right in front of her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> - -<p>“I wish there was somebody about to tell you what a jolly fool -you’re making of yourself,” he said, looking up at her rather viciously.</p> - -<p>“You may go and fetch somebody to do so if you like,” said she, -serenely.</p> - -<p>“And leave you in peace for a little while, I suppose you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps some such thought may have crossed my mind.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Fred Williams had not a high opinion of himself, but experience -had taught him that his “expectations” gave him an adventitious -value; to find neither his modesty nor his money of any avail -was a discovery which destroyed for once his habitual good humor, -and showed a side of his character which he should by all means -have kept concealed from a lady he wished to charm.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” he snarled, while an ugly blush spread over his face, -and his fingers twitched with anger; “very well. You may think -it very smart to snub me, and high-spirited and all that. I’ve stood -a good deal of it—a good deal more than I’d have stood from anybody -else—because you’re handsome. I know I’m not handsome, or -refined either; but I don’t pretend to be. And I’m a lot handsomer -than the hatchet-faced parson, anyhow. And as for refinement, you -can get a lot more for twenty-five thousand a year than for a couple -of hundred, which is quite a decent screw for one of your preaching -fellows. But now I’ve done with you, I tell you, I’ve done with -you.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t that rather a singular expression, considering that I’ve never -given you the slightest encouragement?” asked Olivia, coldly.</p> - -<p>“Encouragement! I don’t expect encouragement; but I expect -a girl like you to know a good thing when she sees it.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid we differ as to what constitutes a good thing.”</p> - -<p>“Very likely; but we shan’t ‘differ as to what constitutes’ a bad -thing for Vernon Brander; and if you don’t see all those twopenny -geraniums pulled up out of St. Cuthbert’s churchyard, and every -stone grubbed up, and every brick of that old tower pulled down, -before another week’s up, my name’s not Fred Williams. There, -Miss Denison; now, what do you say to that?”</p> - -<p>“I say that you have fully justified your low opinion of yourself.”</p> - -<p>“And I’ll justify my low opinion of Vernon Brander. If he’s got -any secrets buried in those old stones, we’ll have them dragged out, -and make you jolly well ashamed of your friend.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, you won’t do that,” said Olivia, who had turned pale to -the lips, and grown very majestic and stern; “though you have succeeded -in making me ashamed of having called you even an acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you have a weakness for—”</p> - -<p>Before he could finish his sentence, he found himself seized by the -shoulders, and saw towering over him a beautiful countenance, so -aglow with passionate indignation that it looked like the face of a -Fury.</p> - -<p>“If you dare to say that word I’ll shake you like a rat!” hissed out -Olivia, giving him an earnest of her promise with great good will.</p> - -<p>“Stop! stop! unless you—want—to—kill somebody—to be more—like—your—precious—friend,” -panted Fred, who was not a coward.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> - -<p>Olivia let him go with a movement which sent him spinning among -the chickens.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s cool,” panted he, as he picked up his hat and looked -at it ruefully. “You talk about refinement one minute and the next -you treat me in this unladylike way!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I apologize for my vulgar manners,” laughed Olivia, who -was already rather ashamed of her outbreak. “I’m only a farmer’s -daughter, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and you couldn’t give yourself more airs if you were a duchess. -Your father isn’t so proud by a long way, I can tell you,” he -added with meaning.</p> - -<p>Olivia became in an instant very quiet.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” she asked sternly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing but that he’s been in the habit of borrowing money -of me for some time; only trifling sums, but still they seemed to -come in handy, judging by the way he thanked me.”</p> - -<p>He was disappointed to see that Olivia took this information without -any of the tragic airs he had expected.</p> - -<p>“I daresay they did,” said she. “We are not too well off, as -everybody knows.”</p> - -<p>The simplicity with which she uttered these words made the young -man feel at last rather ashamed of himself.</p> - -<p>“Of course, I know he’ll pay me back,” he said hastily.</p> - -<p>Olivia opened great proud eyes, full of astonishment and disdain, -and said, superbly, “Of course he will.”</p> - -<p>“And you don’t feel annoyed at the obligation, eh?” asked Fred, -rather bewildered.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see any obligation,” said she quietly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t you? Well, most people would consider it one.”</p> - -<p>“How much does he owe you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, only a matter of forty or fifty pounds.”</p> - -<p>He thought the amount would astonish and distress her; but as, -apparently, it failed to do either, he hastened to add—</p> - -<p>“Of course, that’s a mere nothing; but he let me know, a day or -two ago, that he should want a much larger loan, and of course, I -informed him he could have it for the asking.”</p> - -<p>She did wince at that; but the manner in which she resented his -impertinence was scarcely to his taste.</p> - -<p>“And you think the obligation is on our side?” she said, sweetly, -but with a tremor of subdued anger in her voice. “What have you -done except to lend my father a few pounds, which you would never -have missed, even if you had thrown them into a well instead of lent -them to an honorable man! While he, by accepting the loan, has -given you a chance of putting on patronizing airs towards a man in -every respect your superior.”</p> - -<p>“All right—all right! Go on! Vernon Brander shall pay for -this!” snarled Fred, at last rendered thoroughly savage by her contempt.</p> - -<p>“Vernon Brander will never be the worse for having you for an -enemy. I should be sorry for him if you were his friend,” she said, -defiantly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right, I’m glad to hear it,” said Fred, glad at last to beat<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> -a retreat, and delivering his parting words at the gate of the poultry -yard, with one foot in the new-laid egg basket. “Then if anything -unpleasant happens to your father or your parson through me, you’ll -be able to make light of it!”</p> - -<p>Olivia felt rather frightened when she saw how discolored and distorted -with rage his little weasel’s face had become. But she bore a -brave front, and only said, for all reply to his threats—</p> - -<p>“Won’t you find it more convenient to stand on the ground, Mr. -Williams? To walk about among eggs without accident requires a -great deal of skill and experience.”</p> - -<p>But when, with an impatient exclamation, he left the poultry -yard, Olivia’s heart gave way, and she began to reproach herself -bitterly for not having kept a bridle upon her tongue. On the other -hand, she was glad that her words had provoked the mean little fellow -to confess his loans to her father; for she thought she had influence -enough with the latter to prevent any more such transactions, -and as for the money already owing, means must somehow be -found to repay it.</p> - -<p>It was late in the afternoon before she was able to start on the way -to St. Cuthbert’s. She felt, as usual, some self-reproach at the -thought that she was acting contrary to her father’s wishes; but, as -usual, she was too self-willed to give up her own in deference to his. -The sun was still glowing on the fields, and pouring its hot rays on -the roads, which were parched and cracked for want of rain. The cart-tracks -made faint lines in a thick layer of white dust, which the -lightest breeze from the hills blew up in clouds, coating the leaves on -the hedges and swirling into heaps by the well-worn foot path. The -wood that bordered the road for some distance between Rishton and -Matherham was as silent as if the birds had all left it; oak and beech -and dusty pine looked dry and brown in the glare. It was a long, -hot, weary walk; but at last she came near the lonely Vicarage, and -slipping down the final few yards of the steep lane, in a cloud of dust -which was raised by her own feet at each step, Olivia heard the faint -sound of voices coming from the house, and stopped short, fancying -she could detect Vernon’s voice, and wondering who was with him. -But the sounds ceased, and she went slowly on, thinking she had -perhaps been mistaken. She entered the garden gate, and walked -up the stone pathway, still without hearing anything more, until, -suddenly, just as she was within a few paces of the door, she heard -a woman’s voice, low, but clear and strong, utter these words—</p> - -<p>“Remember, you swore it. Ten years ago you swore it to me, -and it is still as binding on you as it was then.”</p> - -<p>“Why should I forget it?”</p> - -<p>Olivia knew that it was Mrs. Brander’s voice that answered, in a -tone full of contempt and dislike—</p> - -<p>“Why, this Denison girl, this——”</p> - -<p>Neither she nor Vernon had paid any heed to the footsteps on the -stone flags.</p> - -<p>Now Olivia hastened to ring the bell sharply, and there was silence -immediately.</p> - -<p>“How is Mr. Brander to-day?” asked she of Mrs. Warmington -when the housekeeper opened the door.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span></p> - -<p>“He’s not much better, and not likely to be while that uncivilized -creature from the Antipodes continues to make his abode here, and -worry my master morning, noon, and night,” said the housekeeper, -tartly.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Mitchell? Where is he now?” asked Olivia, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“He’s out in the churchyard there, poking about among the -gravestones. I’ve been watching him from the window of the little -room he sleeps in. I don’t know how he got hold of the key. I have -a duplicate, for cleaning the church. I don’t know myself where my -master keeps his.”</p> - -<p>“I think I’ll go and speak to Mr. Mitchell, and come back when -Mr. Brander is disengaged.”</p> - -<p>“Disengaged! He’s disengaged now, as far as I know——”</p> - -<p>“I think I heard Mrs. Brander’s voice as I came up the path.”</p> - -<p>The housekeeper’s lips tightened, and she drew herself up in evident -disapproval.</p> - -<p>“Indeed! I was not aware she was here.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll be back in about a quarter of an hour, as I should like -to see Mr. Brander,” said Olivia, hastily.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Warmington raised her eyebrows. She was longing to tell -Miss Denison that she thought, under the circumstances, it would be -more modest to stay away; but she did not dare. So Olivia tripped -down the stone path, and was in the churchyard before the housekeeper -had had time to make up her mind how much of her suspicions -it would be proper to communicate to a young girl.</p> - -<p>It was some minutes before Olivia succeeded in finding Ned -Mitchell. The sun was setting by this time, and there were dark -shadows among the ruined portions of the church. It seemed to her -as she walked between the newly laid out flower beds with their -bright array of geranium, calceolaria, and verbena, that this innovation -was out of place, and only showed up, in a more striking -manner, the havoc time and tempest had made among the old stones, -just as the mowing of the grass upon them had accentuated the irregular -mounds and hillocks which filled the ruined south aisle. -Olivia stepped in and out and over the mounds, calling softly, “Mr. -Mitchell!” At last, in the corner where the old crypt was, she heard -a sound coming, as it were, from the ground under her feet. She -stopped and listened, holding her breath. The sounds continued, a -soft, muffled “thud, thud,” as of some heavy instrument brought -again and again down on the earth. She advanced, step by step, always -listening, fancying that she felt the ground tremble under her -feet at the force of the blows. At last she came close to the place -where the rugged steps leading down into the crypt had been blocked -up years before. With her senses keenly on the alert, Olivia -noticed that some of the stones and earth which blocked the entrance -had been recently moved; and prying more closely, she found, behind -a bramble and a tuft of rank grass, a small hole, low down in -the ground, which looked scarcely large enough for the passage of a -man’s body. However, this seemed to be the only outlet from the -vault, so Olivia sat down on a broken gravestone, and waited.</p> - -<p>It seemed to Olivia to be growing quite cold and dark before a -scraping and rumbling noise, as of falling stones and earth, drew<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -her attention to the concealed hole in the ground. She got up, and -the noise almost ceased.</p> - -<p>“It is I, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, without being able to see him; -“I’ve been waiting for you.”</p> - -<p>For answer, Mr. Mitchell’s unmistakable, gruff voice murmured a -string of sullen imprecations, of which, luckily, nothing was distinctly -audible. However, he put his head out of the hole, and then -proceeded to extricate the whole of his person with such exceeding -neatness and cleverness that the hole was scarcely enlarged, and the -bramble and grass remained intact. He presented a strange appearance, -however, for he was in his shirt sleeves; a colored silk handkerchief -was bound round his head down to his eyes; in his right -hand he held a common kitchen poker; while he was so covered -with mould and dust from head to foot that but for his peculiarly -heavy movements and rough voice he would have been unrecognizable.</p> - -<p>“Well, what are you doing here?” he asked, very ill-humoredly, -as he shook himself free from some of the dust he had collected in his -subterranean exploration. “I thought I heard somebody messing -about up here. How did you get in?”</p> - -<p>“In the same way that you did, except that I asked for a key instead -of taking one without asking.”</p> - -<p>She was alarmed to see, when he had wiped some of the dirt off his -face with his handkerchief, that he looked savagely self-satisfied, -and quite beyond all reasoning. This was proved clearly by his next -words. He nodded his head quietly while she spoke, and then said—</p> - -<p>“All right. That’s so. Now you had better run home, and be -careful not to say anything about what you’ve just seen. For I tell -you, little girl, if you do anything to interfere with me and my -actions just now, it’ll be the worst day’s work for your little parson up -yonder that ever was done. So now you know.”</p> - -<p>Olivia shivered, but she did not answer or contradict him. She -only said, in a subdued and tremulous voice, “Good-evening, Mr. -Mitchell,” and walked away towards the gate, stumbling over the -chips of stone that lay hidden in the grass, which had been allowed -to remain long and rank in this the south side of the graveyard. -She unlocked the gate, passed out, and was relocking it when she -heard rapid footsteps behind her.</p> - -<p>“Give me that key!” said Mrs. Brander’s voice, so hoarse, so agitated -that Olivia looked round before she could be sure that it was really -the vicar’s calm, cold wife.</p> - -<p>Her large eyes had deep black semicircles under them; her usually -firm lips were trembling; her whole appearance showed a disorder, -a lack of that dainty preciseness in little things which was so strongly -characteristic of her.</p> - -<p>“This key!” said Olivia, doubtfully. “Do you know who is in -there?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander examined the girl from head to foot with passionate -mistrust, while at the same time she struggled to regain a calmer -manner.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” she asked, with an attempt at an indifferent tone.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Mitchell.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p> - -<p>The vicar’s wife drew back from the gate.</p> - -<p>“You mean this? You are not playing me a trick?”</p> - -<p>“A trick? No. Why should I?”</p> - -<p>There was a pause, during which Mrs. Brander stood looking at -her fixedly. As she did not speak, Olivia presently asked—</p> - -<p>“Do you still wish to go in?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander hesitated, and then drew back with a shudder.</p> - -<p>“No,” she murmured, scarcely above her breath, “I—I won’t -go in.”</p> - -<p>As, however, she did not attempt to go away, Olivia bade her -“good-night,” without getting any answer, and went up the lane -towards the house. She did not wish to call at the Vicarage now; -she wanted first to have time to think over what she had seen and -heard in the churchyard, as well as her interview with Mrs. Brander. -A new idea, which promised to throw light on the whole mystery, -had come into her mind. But there was the key to be returned -to Mrs. Warmington. After a moment’s thought, she decided that -she would leave it at the back door, and thus escape the risk of a -meeting with Vernon.</p> - -<p>But when she had reached the gate of the yard behind the house, -she heard Vernon’s voice calling her.</p> - -<p>“Miss Denison, Miss Denison, wait one moment!”</p> - -<p>He had caught sight of her from a side window, and in another -minute he had come down to her.</p> - -<p>“Why did you come round this way?” he asked, taking her hand -in one of his, which was hot, and dry, and feverish.</p> - -<p>“I—I have the key of the churchyard to return to Mrs. Warmington.”</p> - -<p>“And you wanted to escape the chance of seeing me. But I was -watching for you, you know,” said he, looking at her tenderly. -Then he suddenly changed his manner. “I thought you would -come and see me to-day,” he said. “It would be like your usual -kindness when any one is ill.”</p> - -<p>“I did call and inquire,” said Olivia, demurely. “But Mrs. -Brander was with you.”</p> - -<p>Vernon looked at her earnestly.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed; “then I know when you came. I heard -your footsteps.” Then he looked at her curiously, and asked, -“Didn’t you hear voices? Didn’t you hear us talking?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Olivia, simply. “And I heard something of -what you were saying.”</p> - -<p>“You will tell me what you heard?”</p> - -<p>Olivia answered, looking down—</p> - -<p>“I heard her remind you to keep an oath that you had made to -her, and I heard her mention—me!”</p> - -<p>“And didn’t you want to know what she meant?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose I did.”</p> - -<p>“And will you be content not to know?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I shall. For I think I have guessed something of the -truth already.”</p> - -<p>Vernon’s eyes glowed with passionate yearning as they met -hers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> - -<p>“Impossible!” said he, below his breath. “And yet—you women -have such quick perception. If it is true that you know,” he went -on, in a firmer and sterner voice, “I shall never dare to speak to you -again.”</p> - -<p>Olivia was trembling with excitement. It was not true that she -was mistress of the secret, but there a dim intuition in her mind -which bewildered, sometimes almost maddened, her. She did not -attempt to answer Vernon Brander; but drawing sharply away from -him the hand he still held, she abruptly wished him “good-night,” -and putting the church keys on the wall beside him, ran away up -the lane as fast as her active feet could carry her.</p> - -<p>When Olivia reached home she was greeted by severe silence on -the part of her step-mother; while her father, who was usually so -careful to try to make amends for any unkindness of his wife’s by -little unobtrusive attentions, carefully avoided her. The girl learned -the reason of this treatment by remarks which Mrs. Denison, -apropos of nothing, addressed from time to time to the children, -warning them not to spoil their clothes, as they were the last they -would have; telling them not to disturb their father, as he was -writing to a gentleman to whom he owed money, asking for time in -which to repay it; and finally admonishing them to be courteous to -Olivia, as she could have the place sold up in a moment by insulting -her father’s creditors; from which Olivia gathered that Fred Williams -had already vented his spite on her father, and thereby prepared -a most uncomfortable domestic life for her for some time to -come.</p> - -<p>She affected to take no notice of this treatment however, and did -not even go in search of her father, thinking it would be better to let -the first effects both of Fred’s and of his wife’s ill temper pass off before -she spoke to him on the subject of the former’s addresses.</p> - -<p>Telling Lucy to bring her supper up to her rooms, Olivia left the -inharmonious family circle without bidding good-night to any one, and -shut herself up in the east wing, where she could always draw the bolt -of the outer door and be free from molestation. This she did, and -being in a restless and excited state of mind, passed the next two hours -in wandering from one room to the other, considering the mystery -of Nellie Mitchell’s disappearance by the light of all the facts which, -one by one, had come to her knowledge. She had become so accustomed -to these rooms that it was only now and then that she remembered -their connection with the murdered girl. To-night, however, -the recollection startled her at every turn she took in her walks -up and down. She seemed again to see the bedroom as it had looked on -her first entrance, nearly six months ago, the rat scurrying down the -curtains, the carpet lying in damp strings upon the floor, the mouldy -books, and the dust lying thickly on chairs and mantelpiece. Everything -had been changed since then; fresh hangings put to the -bed; bright cretonne coverings to the old furniture; a new carpet, -soft and warm, had replaced the damp rags. But on this particular -evening her imagination seemed stronger than reality; as she walked -from the one room to the other, she pictured to herself always that -the chamber she was not in at the moment was in the state in which -she had first seen it. These fancies grew so strong that they drove<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> -more serious thoughts out of her head; just when she wanted to be -able to analyze the ideas which the day’s occurrences had suggested, -she had lost all power of thinking connectedly; nothing but -bewildering recollections of the words she had heard and the scenes she -had witnessed could be got to occupy her excited mind.</p> - -<p>She ran at last to one of her bedroom windows, threw it open, and -looked out. It was dark now, for it was past nine o’clock, and the -evening had turned wet. A light, drizzling summer rain was falling, -and the sky was heavy with clouds. The outlook was so dreary -that after a few minutes she shut the window, shivering, lit the candles, -and tried to read. But she was in such a nervous state that she -uttered a little scream when Lucy, bringing her supper, knocked at -the outer door. Very much disgusted with herself for this display of -feminine weakness, she would not even allow Lucy, who loved to -linger about when she had any little service to perform for “Miss -Olivia,” to stay for a few minutes’ chat. When the supper had been -laid on the table in the outer room, and the bright little maid had run -down stairs, Olivia did not, as usual, lock the outer door after her. -She felt so unaccountably lonely and restless that she went into the -little passage outside her two rooms, and set the outer door open, so -as to feel that her connection with the rest of the human life in the -house was not altogether severed. She even walked to the end of the -corridor and glanced out through the large square window at the -end, listening all the while for some sounds of household life downstairs. -But in this east wing very little could be heard, and this -evening everything seemed to Olivia to be unusually quiet.</p> - -<p>The corridor window looked out over fields, showing the farm garden, -with its fruit trees and vegetable beds on the right, and barns -and various other outbuildings on the left. Right underneath was a -neglected patch of land—a corner of the garden not considered worth -cultivation. Lying among the rank grass were an old ladder and a -pile of boards, which had been there when the Denisons took the -farm, and had remained undisturbed ever since. It suddenly -occurred to Olivia, for the first time, how alarmingly easy it would -be for an evilly disposed person to place the ladder against the wall, -and to effect an entrance through the window, the fastening of which -she noticed was broken, and had evidently been so a long time. Not -that such a thing was likely to happen, burglaries being unheard-of -things in this neighborhood. Still, the idea got such firm hold of her -excited fancy that, two hours later, when all the household had retired -to rest, she came out of her apartments in her dressing-gown, -to give a final glance outside, and to make sure that her absurd fears -were as groundless as she told herself they were.</p> - -<p>Opening the window and putting her head out into the drizzling -rain, Olivia saw, in the gloom of the misty night, a dark object -creeping stealthily along outside the garden wall. Just as it reached -that part of the wall which was immediately opposite the window, a -watery gleam of moonlight showed through the clouds, and enabled -her to see that the object was a man. The next moment she saw him -climb over into the garden beneath. Still keeping close to the wall, -he crept rapidly along until he was close under the window. Holding -her breath, Olivia watched him as he stooped and lifted the ladder<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -from the ground. Her blood suddenly seemed to rush to her brain, and -then to trickle slowly back through her veins as cold as ice.</p> - -<p>For she recognized him.</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Like</span> all persons of strong nature, Olivia Denison grew bolder as -danger came nearer. When she recognized the man in the garden, -underneath the corridor window, it did not occur to her to call for -help; but all her energies were instantly concentrated on learning -the meaning of this intrusion. She was sure that she had not been -seen. As noiselessly as she could she shut the window, and retreated -into the private passage which led to her own apartments. There she -waited, peeping cautiously out under cover of the black shadows -of the corridor, into which the faint moonlight could not -penetrate.</p> - -<p>She heard the grinding sound made by the ladder as it was set -against the wall, and presently she saw a man’s head appear just -above the ledge outside. He raised his hand, gave three taps on the -glass, and disappeared. A minute later he mounted a step higher -than before, and tapped again. Then, with scarcely an instant’s -more delay, he pushed up the window slowly and noiselessly, and, as -soon as it was wide enough, put one leg over the sill and stood in the -corridor.</p> - -<p>Olivia, brave as she was by nature, was transfixed with alarm. -What did he want with her? What shocking confession, what horrible -entreaties, had he come to make to her like this, in the middle -of the night? If she could have shrieked aloud, if she could have -run out and alarmed the household, she would have done so now. -But horror had paralyzed her. The voice she tried to use gave only -a hoarse, almost inaudible rattle. Her limbs were rigid; her breath -came and went in gasps, like that of a person dying of asthma. She -could only stand and stare at the advancing figure, hoping desperately -that the first words he uttered would break this spell, and restore -her to herself. Why did he choose the night time to come and -make her the victim of his guilty confidences? Were they too -ghastly to make by day? That this man was the murderer of Nellie -Mitchell she could not now doubt; the demeanor of his every-day life -was utterly changed; there was guilt expressed in every furtive -movement. All her respect and liking were transformed into loathing -and fear; she almost crouched against the wall as he -approached.</p> - -<p>He reached the entrance to the corridor, and paused. If she could -only keep still enough for him to pass her! Then she could escape -into the main building of the house, and have time to think what she -should do. But he stopped short, and stretched out his hand to knock -at the door. In the darkness he could not see that it was open. But -how, Olivia suddenly asked herself, did he know there was a door -there at all? Although he moved slowly, too, it was with the manner -of a man who knew his way about the place. Part of the truth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -flashed suddenly into her mind: he had been there before. By this -time he had discovered that the door was open. Passing into the -corridor, he shut the door, turned the key, and put it in his pocket. -As he did so he touched Olivia, but did not appear to know it. Now -thoroughly alarmed, she flew along the passage into her bedroom, -and was in time to lock the door before she heard his footsteps in the -outer apartment. There was no lock to the door between the two -rooms. No one was likely to hear her if she shrieked at one of the -windows. Before many minutes were over she felt that she should -have to face him.</p> - -<p>She flew across the bedroom floor to blow out the candle, thinking -that in the darkness she would have a better chance of escape. As -she did so she stumbled against a chair, which fell down with a loud -noise. A moment later there was a knock at the inner door. The -girl’s heart stood still. She remained motionless, and gave no answer. -The knock was repeated. Still she was silent. A third time -came the knock, and then a low, hoarse whisper, of one word only, -startled her, and came as a revelation—</p> - -<p>“Nellie!”</p> - -<p>This was the manner in which, years ago, he had visited the girl -whose love had ended by wearying him so fatally. By what means -he had forgotten the intervening years she did not know, but Olivia -recognized at once that it was not she of whom he was in search. -The knowledge restored in a moment all her courage. If, as she -supposed, fear of discovery had turned his brain, his was a madness -with which she felt she could cope. After only one moment’s hesitation, -she snatched up one of the candles, and unlocking the door she -had secured, passed through the passage into the adjoining room.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Brander!” said she, in a voice which scarcely trembled.</p> - -<p>She had to repeat her words three or four times before he moved -from the other door. At last he turned very slowly, and Olivia, -raising the candle high, looked curiously, and not wholly without -fear, into his face.</p> - -<p>His eyes were closed; his breathing was heavy. He was asleep!</p> - -<p>There flashed through her mind the remembrance of what the -Vicar of Rishton had said about somnambulism, and the strange instances -of it which had occurred in his family. It was clear to her -that the excitement occasioned by Ned Mitchell’s obstinate determination -had preyed upon the mind of the murderer, and led him at -last to perform in sleep an action which had been an habitual one -with him eleven years before.</p> - -<p>In spite of the horror of this weird discovery, Olivia’s fears disappeared -at once. She thought she might, without waking him, -persuade him to go back as he had come. If he did wake, she knew -he would not hurt her. She began in a low, intentionally monotonous -voice.</p> - -<p>“I think you had better go back to-night. It is getting very late; -it is almost daylight.”</p> - -<p>As before, she had to repeat her words before he grasped the sense -of them.</p> - -<p>Then he repeated in a whisper, and as if there were something -soothing in the sound of her voice—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> - -<p>“Go back. Yes, go back.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you a light. Come along,” she went on, coaxingly.</p> - -<p>And without a moment’s delay she led the way out into the passage. -Much to her relief, he followed, at the same slow, heavy pace.</p> - -<p>“Now,” she said, when they had reached the outer door, “give me -the key, please.”</p> - -<p>He felt in his pocket obediently, and produced the key, which she, -overjoyed, almost snatched from his hand. The noise she made in -her excitement, as she opened the door, seemed to disturb him, for -he began to move restlessly, like a person on the point of waking. -Once in the corridor, however, Olivia was bold; she passed her -hands several times slowly down his arms, murmuring in a low, -soothing tone, injunctions to him to get home quickly. This treatment -succeeded perfectly. His manner lost its momentary restlessness, -and it was in the same stolid way as he came that he got out on -the ladder, descended, replaced the ladder in the long grass, and -climbed over the wall.</p> - -<p>Olivia watched his retreating figure as long as it was in sight, and -then, feeling sick and cold slunk back into her rooms, not forgetting -to lock the outer door of the passage safely behind her. Like -most women, however brave, when they have been through an exciting -crisis, she felt exhausted, limp, almost hysterical. She staggered -as she entered the bedroom, and it was with a reeling brain -that she walked up and down, up and down, unable to sleep, unable -even to rest. She knew the mystery now, and she felt that the knowledge -was almost more than she could bear.</p> - -<p>Next morning her appearance, when she came down late to breakfast, -was so much affected by the awful night she had passed that even -the children wondered what was the matter with her. Mr. Denison, -believing it to be the result of his avoidance of her the evening before, -was cut to the heart with remorse, while his wife, alarmed at -the change in the girl, altered her tone, and did her best to be kind -to her. Olivia could not eat. Her cheeks were almost livid; her -great eyes seemed to fill her face; the hand she held out to be shaken -was cold, clammy, and trembling. Her amiable little half sister, -Beatrix, saw an opening for a disagreeable remark, and made use -of it.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Williams wouldn’t say you were pretty if he could see you -now,” said she. “Would he, mamma?”</p> - -<p>Like most children, she was quick enough to detect how inharmonious -were the relations between her mother and her step-sister. -She was surprised to find, however, that for once she received no -sympathy from the quarter whence she expected it.</p> - -<p>“Be quiet, Beatrix, and don’t be rude,” said Mrs. Denison, sharply, -with a glance at Olivia, on whom she thought that the reference to -the supposed cause of her distress would have some sudden and violent -effect.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you keep those children in better order, Susan?” asked -Mr. Denison, peevishly. “Their rudeness is getting quite intolerable.”</p> - -<p>However, Olivia scarcely heard this little discussion, and was in -no way moved by it. But when the talk turned to the proposed restoration<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> -of St. Cuthbert’s and from that to the persons interested in -it, she grew suddenly very still, and sat looking down at her plate, -listening to each word with fear of what the next would be.</p> - -<p>“I wonder how the vicar likes to see his wife about so constantly -with another man, if it is his own brother,” said Mrs. Denison, who, -in spite of her experience as a governess, was one of those people -who think it doesn’t matter what subjects you discuss before children, -because “they don’t understand.” “I’m sure the last week or so -I’ve scarcely seen one without the other.”</p> - -<p>“Well, now, do you know, I thought it was awfully good-natured -of her. You know the stories that have been flying about lately. -I’m sure I don’t pretend to say whether there’s any truth in them or -not; still they have been flying about.”</p> - -<p>“And not without some ground, you may depend,” said Mrs. -Denison, tartly.</p> - -<p>While avoiding the subject which she supposed to be the cause of -Olivia’s present distress, her step-mother could not resist the opportunity -of giving that headstrong young lady a few gentle thrusts on -the subject of her “fancy for murderers.” Mr. Denison glanced -from his wife to his daughter, who by putting strong constraint on -herself, appeared not to notice what was being said.</p> - -<p>“Well, and as she must know the rights of the story, it seems to -me all the kinder in Mrs. Brander to take any notice of him now, -when he’s under a cloud, as it were.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Denison uttered a little sound significant of doubt and scorn.</p> - -<p>“It is to be hoped that everybody else will put as kind an interpretation -upon her conduct,” she said, drily. “Only last Tuesday I -met them as I walked back from the Towers. They were sitting in -that little cart sort of thing Mrs. Brander drives—not at all the right -kind of turnout for a clergyman’s wife, in my opinion—and talking -together so—well, so confidentially—that they took no notice of me -whatever.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t see you, of course,” said Mr. Denison, shortly.</p> - -<p>“It may have been that, certainly,” assented his wife, incredulously. -“Or it may be that they are not too much lost to shame to -avoid the eye of a lady whom they respect when they feel they are -not behaving quite correctly.”</p> - -<p>“Rubbish!” said Mr. Denison, shortly.</p> - -<p>It was so seldom that the so-called head of the house ventured so -near to an expression of adverse opinion that there was a short -silence, which his wife broke in a dangerously dignified manner.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” she began, with strong emphasis, “when the whole -truth comes to light concerning his relations with other ladies, my -opinion on the matter will not be considered ‘rubbish’ after all.”</p> - -<p>Reginald, with the delightful relish of an innocent child for conversation -not intended for his ears, had left off making patterns on -the tablecloth with the mustard spoon, in order to listen and watch -with his mouth open. He now broke in with a happy sense that he -was making mischief.</p> - -<p>“Oh, look, mamma, what a funny color Olivia’s face has gone!” -cried he, pointing to her with the mustard spoon.</p> - -<p>The girl got up and left the room. Her father, who could not bear<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> -to see any one unhappy, was miserable at the thought that he himself -was partly the cause of his darling daughter’s grief.</p> - -<p>“Olivia, my dear child, come down—come here,” he called after -her from the hall as she fled upstairs.</p> - -<p>She never could resist any appeal from him, so she crept down -again, unwillingly enough.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that woman, that woman! Papa, I must go away, I can’t -live with her,” she whispered as she laid her head on his shoulder -and received his caress and incoherent attempts at comfort.</p> - -<p>“Well, dear, what can I do?” he whispered, apologetically, back. -“You see, you were such a little thing when your mother died, and -I hate a household without a woman in it, so that even—”</p> - -<p>“Even an objectionable woman is better than none,” suggested -Olivia, mischievously.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, my dear, I didn’t say that,” whispered he, hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“No, papa, you don’t dare,” said Olivia, with a touch of her old -archness. “I really think that when a man with children marries a -second time, he ought to drown the first lot in mercy to them.”</p> - -<p>Poor Mr. Denison looked down at her ruefully.</p> - -<p>“My dear, I hope you didn’t mean that,” was all he ventured to -say.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I did.”</p> - -<p>Here Mr. Denison perceived an opening for a suggestion which -his wife, of late, had been constantly urging him to make. Not -being quite sure how his daughter would take it, he hurried it out in -a shamefaced manner without looking at her.</p> - -<p>“Since you don’t get on very well together, I wonder you don’t -take the chance of getting a nice home of your own; you know you -could if you like.”</p> - -<p>“What; by wearing little Freddie Williams for ever on my watch -chain?” cried Olivia, turning off the suggestion as a joke to avoid -paining her father by expressing the disgust she felt.</p> - -<p>“Well, my child, you know I shouldn’t press upon you anything -that wouldn’t make you happy; but if you wait for a husband worthy -of you, you’ll die an old maid.”</p> - -<p>“And if you’ll go on living till you’re about a hundred and five to -keep me company, papa, I’ll be the oldest old maid in England with -pleasure,” said she, affectionately, as she kissed his cheek and ran -away upstairs.</p> - -<p>She had some work to do this morning; work for which she must -drive all thought of last night’s adventure out of her head. As soon -as she reached her own room she unlocked the drawer in which she -kept her trinkets, and spreading them out before her on the dressing-table, -she mentally passed them in review to decide which were the -most likely to be saleable. Not a bad collection for a young girl, -they formed; though Olivia, ignorant as she was about the value of -jewellery, thought how poor they looked from the point of view at -which she was now considering them. A pair of turquoise and pearl -earrings and brooch to match, a heavy gold bracelet, a set of garnets -and pearls of quaint, old-fashioned design, a handsome silver chatelaine -watch, a quantity of silver bangles, a few very modest-looking -rings, a diamond arrow brooch, and a massive gold necklet. Everything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> -but the arrow, which had been a present from her father on -her eighteenth birthday, looked, in a strictly commercial light, -clumsy or out of date. The arrow must be sacrificed, she told herself -with a sigh; so must the gold necklet and bracelet, which she -rightly judged to be next in value. If she could only sell these -things, and get ten or twelve pounds for them, she could pay off a -fair instalment of her father’s debt to Fred Williams immediately, -and she must trust to luck and her own determination for the rest. So -she made a parcel of the trinkets she had chosen, and, at the last -moment, packed also the turquoise and pearl set; then, dressing -hastily, she slipped out of the house, and started at a rapid pace on -her way to Matherham.</p> - -<p>Before she reached the high road, however, she was met by Fred -Williams, who was sauntering about, pipe in mouth, at the point -where the roads met, on the chance of meeting her. He surveyed -her with a sidelong look of unwilling admiration.</p> - -<p>“Good-morning, Miss Denison,” he said, curtly, pulling off his -cap in a sort of grudging manner. “I suppose you have nothing -fresh to say to me this morning?”</p> - -<p>“Not at present, though I may have by-and-by,” said she, -lightly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, er—do you know whether your father is likely to be -about this morning? I want to see him on business.”</p> - -<p>Olivia looked at him with great contempt from under her sweeping -black eyelashes.</p> - -<p>“He is about, of course; but I don’t think you need trouble yourself -to see him, for I have a message to you from him. It is this: -the first instalment of the money he owes you will be paid to-day, -and the remainder very shortly. And he is very sorry to have put -you to any inconvenience by accepting the loan.”</p> - -<p>With which speech, and a low bow, Olivia left Mr. Williams to -the enjoyment of his own society.</p> - -<p>Then on she sped towards Matherham, not by way of the wood and -St. Cuthbert’s, but by the shorter road that went past the Towers. -A great bare building it was, standing ostentatiously on very high -ground, with a spire here, a minaret there, and various irregular -erections springing up from the roof to make good its name. Olivia -laughed to herself, and wished the lady who might ultimately obtain -the hand of her mean-spirited admirer joy of her bargain. She was -not unhappy; the fearful nature of her discovery of the night before -had shaken her out of the depression from which she had lately been -suffering. She was excited, full of indignation and of energy: her -head full of wild surmises, of fears connected with the approaching -crisis. As if trying to keep pace with her fantastic thoughts, her -feet seemed to fly along the ground. The few persons she passed -stared at or curtseyed to her without any acknowledgment; she saw -no one but the people in her thoughts.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she was roused out of her wild reverie by hearing her -own name called in sharp tones. She looked down from the high -pathway alongside the hedge into the road, which at this point was -some five feet below. There she saw the vicarage pony carriage, -containing Mrs. Brander, who was driving, with Vernon sitting by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> -her side. It was the lady who had called to Olivia. Having pulled -up the ponies to the side of the road, she now beckoned to the girl in -an impatient, imperious manner, to come down.</p> - -<p>“Good-morning,” said Olivia, coldly, without attempting to leave -the pathway. Her cheeks had grown in an instant deadly white on -seeing who was the lady’s companion; but she did not glance at -him.</p> - -<p>“I can’t stop this morning, Mrs. Brander: I’m in a great hurry,” -she said, in an unsteady voice, while her heart beat violently, and -she felt that if the interview lasted a minute longer she should not be -able to stand without support.</p> - -<p>“But I have something important to say to you—very important. -I really must beg you to give me a moment; and, if you like, I will -drive you into Matherham myself.”</p> - -<p>“No, thank you,” said Olivia, hastily.</p> - -<p>“One minute, then, I beg, Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>The imperious lady’s voice had suddenly broken and become imploring. -Olivia, with downcast eyes, and feet that tottered under -her, found a convenient place for a descent into the road, and the next -minute stood by the pony carriage, on the side where Mrs. Brander -was sitting. She neither looked up nor spoke, but left the opening -of the conversation to the vicar’s wife, whose hands, as she held the -reins, shook with a nervousness altogether unusual with her. With -strange diffidence, too, Mrs. Brander hesitated before she spoke.</p> - -<p>“You are walking into Matherham?” she asked, at last.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mrs. Brander.”</p> - -<p>“You are sure you won’t let me drive you in?”</p> - -<p>“Quite sure, thank you.”</p> - -<p>“Vernon, you know, would get down; he’d rather walk I’m -certain.”</p> - -<p>Olivia’s face became suddenly crimson.</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t think of turning Mr. Brander out,” she said coldly.</p> - -<p>“I should be delighted,” murmured Vernon in a low tone.</p> - -<p>In spite of all her efforts to retain her self-command, Olivia shivered -at the sound of his voice. She felt, although she never once looked -at the face of either, that both the man and the woman were watching -her intently. They had some suspicion of the knowledge she -had so strangely obtained, she was sure. There was a pause, and -then Mrs. Brander spoke again.</p> - -<p>“You don’t look so well as usual this morning, Miss Denison,” she -said, not quite able to keep curiosity and anxiety out of her tone. -“You are quite pale. We miss your lovely roses.”</p> - -<p>“I have had a bad night,” said Olivia, shortly, and with a sudden -determination that it would be better to let them know all she had -discovered.</p> - -<p>The effort Mrs. Brander made to retain her usual calmness and -coldness was piteous to see. Her beautiful features quivered; her -great black eyes were dilated with apprehension.</p> - -<p>“A bad night?” she repeated, inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“Yes. I was frightened. A man got into my sitting-room.”</p> - -<p>Neither of her hearers made any but the faintest attempt to affect -astonishment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> - -<p>“It must have alarmed you horribly,” said Mrs. Brander with -blanched lips. “Did you call any one?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>Over the face of the vicar’s wife came an expression of great -relief.</p> - -<p>“Have you told any one?”</p> - -<p>“This is the first time I have mentioned it.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause.</p> - -<p>“Have you any idea—who—the man—was?”</p> - -<p>“I recognized him at once, before he got in at the window. -He spoke to me, but he did not know who I was. He was -asleep.”</p> - -<p>“He spoke to you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He addressed me as ‘Nellie.’”</p> - -<p>Olivia had dropped her eyes, but she heard Mrs. Brander’s breath, -coming quickly, as if she was choking. The girl put her hand out -impulsively on the arm of the elder lady, and whispered, without -looking up—</p> - -<p>“You made me tell you. And, after all, what does it matter? I -think you know.”</p> - -<p>She felt her hand seized with a convulsive pressure.</p> - -<p>“You will say nothing?” Then Mrs. Brander snatched her hand -away. “No, no; it is asking too much, of course. And perhaps, -after all, it would be of no use.”</p> - -<p>“At any rate, Mrs. Brander, nobody but you will ever hear the -story from me.”</p> - -<p>She ignored Vernon, as she had ignored him throughout the whole -of the interview. Mrs. Brander drew a labored sigh.</p> - -<p>“I trust you,” she said in a hoarse voice. “A woman can keep a -secret as well as a man, I know.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said Olivia, simply. “Now you will let me go, will -you not?”</p> - -<p>She was frank, honest; but she was not cordial; scarcely even -kind. When Mrs. Brander pressed her hand again, however, she -returned the pressure with a firm clasp. Then, still without a glance -at Vernon, she bowed and wished the vicar’s wife “good-morning,” -and, turning, resumed her walk towards Matherham. She had not -gone many yards before she quickened her pace still more, hearing -footsteps she recognized behind, and then beside her.</p> - -<p>It was Vernon Brander.</p> - -<p>For some time he walked on in silence by her side, not daring to -address her. At last he said, humbly, imploringly—</p> - -<p>“Won’t you speak to me?”</p> - -<p>No answer.</p> - -<p>“Have you forgotten all you once said to me about friendship?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered in a frightened, constrained voice, still without -looking at him.</p> - -<p>“Remember, what you saw last night was no worse than what -you already believed.”</p> - -<p>“Yes it was!” panted Olivia. “It was worse; much worse—to see—to -hear. It was something I shall never forget. But don’t let us -speak of it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span></p> - -<p>“But is it to make this difference, that you will never speak to me -again?”</p> - -<p>“It is to make no difference; you heard me say so. You wish it; -she wishes it. I have promised.”</p> - -<p>“I take you at your word. If you had discovered nothing you -would have let me go into Matherham with you, and you would have -told me the object of your going. Will you now?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, if you like, Mr. Brander.” In spite of herself, her tone was -more formal than usual. “I am going to get some money to repay -a loan from that wretched little Fred Williams.”</p> - -<p>“To your father, of course. And I suppose,” he added, glancing -at the little parcel she carried in her hand, “you are going to sell -some trinkets of your own to do so.”</p> - -<p>“To help to do so,” answered Olivia, with a blush and a look of -surprise at his perspicacity. “The whole sum is much more than -anything of mine could fetch.”</p> - -<p>“Will you tell me how much?”</p> - -<p>“Thirty pounds!”</p> - -<p>“And will you, as a pledge of what you said—that you will forget -everything—do for me what I know you would not do for any other -man?”</p> - -<p>“What is that?”</p> - -<p>“Let me lend you the money. I spend nothing. I have a considerable -sum saved, and it will do me a pleasure—such a pleasure!” -he added, earnestly, below his breath. “It would be a mark of confidence -which would prove to me, whatever I may have done wrong—and -my conscience is not too clear, I know, you know—prove to -me that you have a little compassion, a little kindness, for me still.”</p> - -<p>Without answering in words, Olivia, who was trembling violently, -took his hand, pressed it quickly for one moment in hers, and let it -drop hastily, as if she had been too bold.</p> - -<p>Then, without the exchange of a single word more, they walked -through the narrow, hilly streets of Matherham, which they had now -reached, until they came to the bank where Vernon kept an account. -Olivia walked on while he went into the building; in a very few -minutes he overtook her and put an envelope into her hand. She did -not thank him; he did not give her time.</p> - -<p>“I am very grateful,” he said simply: “I—I can’t say any more -now. Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>Olivia looked up and spoke with a sob in her voice.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” she said.</p> - -<p>Then they looked into each other’s eyes with the long, sad look of -a farewell, and she was not surprised at his next words.</p> - -<p>“I daresay,” he said in a hoarse voice, “that I shall be going -away from here before long; I daresay I shall have to—when the -tower is built,” he added in a whisper, looking down. “No, don’t -say anything—I couldn’t bear it.”</p> - -<p>But Olivia, though she tried, could utter no word. She wrung -his hand and looked straight into his face with an expression of -passionate sympathy and despair. Then, without another word, -they parted.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Olivia</span> hurried back towards the farm with the little packet in her -hand which was to release her father from his hateful indebtedness -to Fred Williams. It was true it rendered her herself indebted to -somebody else; but, with a woman’s perversity, she preferred the -greater evil to the less. It was rather an awkward matter, however, -to acquaint her father with what she had done, especially as she -found him in the lowest depths of despondency.</p> - -<p>“Don’t speak to me, my dear; don’t speak to me,” was his greeting to -his daughter when she pounced upon him, with a light-hearted -laugh, from behind the hedge of one of his own cornfields.</p> - -<p>He was contemplating the ripening crop with a most rueful face.</p> - -<p>“Why not, papa? Perhaps I may have some good news for you.”</p> - -<p>“Good news! Oh, no,” he answered, dolefully, shaking his head. -“It must be for somebody else if you have any good news. So go -away, or I may be cross; and I don’t want to speak crossly to you, -my darling.”</p> - -<p>There was not much fear of such a thing, evidently; for when she -persisted in coming to him, and giving him a hearty kiss, the wrinkles -in his forehead began immediately to clear away.</p> - -<p>“It’s all your fault, you minx,” said he, looking affectionately at -the girl’s bonny face. “You’ve turned the heads of all the lads -about here, and then it’s your poor old father that they ‘wreak their -vengeance on,’ as the melodramas say.”</p> - -<p>“Why, papa,” said the girl, blushing, “who’s been teasing you -now? Produce him, and let me whither him up with a glance.”</p> - -<p>“Well, the first thing I heard this morning is that the old brute, -John Oldshaw, has been making all sorts of mischief about me to -Lord Stannington’s agent—says I’m ruining the land, and all that; -and it’s all because he’s angry at poor Mat’s humble admiration for -you, I know. He says I’m not fit to be a farmer. Now what do you -think of that?”</p> - -<p>The enormity of this allegation made Mr. Denison quite unable to -proceed. But Olivia shook her head and laughed.</p> - -<p>“I think, papa, that if all Mr. Oldshaw’s statements were as veracious -as that, he would be a much honester man than he is.”</p> - -<p>“Why, what do you mean, child?”</p> - -<p>“That, if the whole world had been thoroughly scoured to find the -one man most unsuitable for the occupation of farming, they could -not have done better than light on you.”</p> - -<p>“Olivia, I’m surprised at you!” said her father, assuming a tone -of great dignity, mingled with indignation.</p> - -<p>“Ah, you may well be surprised to find a girl with as much common -sense as a man,” retorted she, merrily. For since her return -from Matherham her spirits had risen in an extraordinary manner. -“Now, papa, look at John Oldshaw. He’s a perfect type of a successful -farmer. And he’s mean, and he’s vulgar, and he’s industrious, -and he’s economical; while you, pardon me, are none of those -things. I don’t say that all good farmers are like John Oldshaw, but -I’m certain none of them are a bit like you. And if he can persuade you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span> -that you’ll never do anything at farming but lose your money, and -catch cold looking at oats that won’t ripen and turnips that won’t -come up, he’ll do you a very great service.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear,” remonstrated her father, not quite certain whether -to be amused or offended by her wicked plain speaking, “you don’t -understand these things. Women never do, of course. It’s not -their province and we don’t expect it of them.” The poor old fellow’s -tone grew more confident when he got into these mild platitudes. -“John Oldshaw has always shown himself jealous of me: firstly, because -I’m a gentleman; and, secondly, because I conduct my farming -on different principles from his.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, papa,” said Olivia, demurely, “on very different principles. -He gets large crops and you get small ones. And John Oldshaw -wants to turn you out, and apply his principles to your land. And I -wish you would let him.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Denison sighed. He could not quite hide from himself -that there were grains of truth and good sense in his daughter’s suggestions. -But the secret admission made him impatient and irritable.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” he said turning upon her, “I’m not likely to get on -here or anywhere while my people insult the friends who would help -me to tide over the bad time.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean that I’ve insulted Fred Williams, papa?” asked -Olivia who was too straightforward to allow the talk to be carried -on by innuendoes.</p> - -<p>“Well, and what if I do?” asked Mr. Denison, taken aback. For -he was one of those persons who would walk round about a fact for -ever without facing it.</p> - -<p>“Has the little reptile been worrying you about the money he lent -you?”</p> - -<p>“Reptile!” echoed Mr. Denison, trying to evade the question. -“That is a strong word for a young lady to use, my dear. Not but -what I have been disappointed in that young fellow. He seemed such -a generous, open-hearted lad that I own he induced me to break my -rule and allow him to accommodate me in a little difficulty I was -in—”</p> - -<p>“And are you out of the difficulty, papa?”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, I am, in a sense out of that one. But difficulties -have such a way of clinging together; where they’ve been once they -come again.”</p> - -<p>“And this wretched creature has been worrying you, then?”</p> - -<p>“Well, he spoke to me about you in such a way that I was mad -with myself for having allowed him to oblige me.”</p> - -<p>“I think I can free you from that obligation, papa,” said she, -gently. “Only you mustn’t ask where the money came from.”</p> - -<p>“What?” cried he in astonishment. “My dear child, you are -dreaming. I owe him thirty pounds.”</p> - -<p>“Look here.”</p> - -<p>She opened her little packet, and unfolded before him six five -pound notes.</p> - -<p>“But, Olivia, I can’t take these from you without knowing how you -got them,” said her father, trying to assume a rather severe paternal -air.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> - -<p>“It’s very simple; I went into Matherham, followed a rich-looking -old gentleman into a quiet street, knocked him down, and robbed -him,” she answered, laughing. “But you needn’t have any qualms -of conscience about the proceeds of the deed, for I’m going to hand -them over to Fred Williams myself, with a message from you—which -I shall make up.”</p> - -<p>“But, Olivia, I really cannot permit—”</p> - -<p>“It’s too late now; the power of permission is denied you. But, -remember, when you next meet that miserable little goose, you can -hold up your head and snap your fingers at him, for there will be no -obligation between you any longer.”</p> - -<p>She nodded good-bye to him very brightly, checked his expostulations -with a kiss, and ran off over the fields in the direction of the -Towers.</p> - -<p>For Olivia was feverishly anxious to pay off the debt, and she had -little doubt that she would find Fred lounging on his father’s lawn, -softening what brains he had by the help of some fluid or other, and -a strong cigar. She met him, however, before she reached the gate -of the Towers. He had just come from Matherham in a hansom, -and was quarrelling with the cabman about his fare; but when he -caught sight of Olivia he changed his tone, and threw the man a -handful of silver with an ostentatious air. Then he came up to her -with a manner full of exaggerated respect, and an expression of face -in which the girl instantly detected a good deal of malice.</p> - -<p>“Delighted to see you, Miss Denison; it isn’t often you do us the -honor of a visit up here. You wish to see my sister, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“No, I came to see you, and I won’t detain you long. I am commissioned -by my father to bring you the money you so kindly -lent him, and to say how deeply obliged he is for the graceful generosity -you have shown him in this matter.”</p> - -<p>Fred Williams was annoyed, but he did not seem surprised.</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right,” he said, gruffly. “You needn’t sneer. Your -guv’nor was precious glad to take it at the time: that’s all I know. -And you haven’t got me on toast as you think, for I saw you pass -here this morning, and I followed you into Matherham, and I know -what you did there,” he added, triumphantly.</p> - -<p>“Nothing that I am ashamed of,” said the girl, quietly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, you’ve too much cheek to be ashamed of anything. -You’ve paid me back to-day, and I’ll pay you back to-morrow. For -to-morrow the workmen begin to dig in St. Cuthbert’s churchyard, -and if they should come across anything that’ll upset your friend’s -apple-cart, remember you had the chance to stop it. And perhaps -you won’t feel so proud then of having got clear of debt to me by -running into debt with a murderer. Yes, a murderer, Miss High-and-Mighty,” -he continued, with a little dance of delight on the -garden path. “And if you don’t feel jolly well ashamed of yourself -and your friend by about this time next week, why, I’m a polished -gentleman, that I am!”</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t say anything stronger than that, Mr. Williams,” -said Olivia, ingenuously. “I suppose I shall have the pleasure of -meeting you to-morrow at St. Cuthbert’s. Good-morning.”</p> - -<p>And, quite unaffected by his threats, she bowed to him with great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> -ceremony, and tripped away down the road as if greatly pleased with -her interview.</p> - -<p>But Olivia was not at ease: she only appeared so because she was -excited to the pitch of recklessness. As the day drew on, and the -time for the commencement of the excavations at St. Cuthbert’s -grew nearer, she became restless, depressed, and so irritable that she -had to pass the time either out of doors or in her own rooms, to -avoid the domestic friction which she felt that to-day she could not -bear. Next morning she awoke with a deadening sense of being on -the brink of some great danger. At the breakfast table, at which -she duly appeared to avoid giving unnecessary alarm to her father, -her looks again provoked much comment, which she bore as patiently -as she could, being particularly anxious not to encourage a discussion -which might lead to interference with a project she had in view. -She was so impatient to leave the house that every trifling delay -seemed to her to be part of a conspiracy to keep her indoors. When -her usual household duties were disposed of, when Mrs. Denison’s -request that she would make up a parcel for the dyer’s had been -complied with, she crept upstairs with a heart full of anxiety, -dressed, slipped out of the house, and sped away in the direction of -St. Cuthbert’s.</p> - -<p>For all her haste, she could not reach the churchyard much before -twelve o’clock, when the workingmen, their morning’s labor almost -over, were slackening their efforts in anticipation of the dinner hour. -Already their invasion had entirely changed the aspect of the churchyard. -Piles of scaffolding poles, ladders, and boards lay just inside -the walls. Planks placed across the broken gravestones, formed -bridges for the passage of wheelbarrows to and from the scene of -operations. This, Olivia saw, was the ground at the foot of the tower, -extending to the crypt, the entrance to which had been freed from -the stones and bricks which had blocked it up for so long. The men -seemed to be at work in all directions: some were erecting a scaffolding -against the old tower, the upper part of which was to be taken -down; some carting away stones and rubbish from the east end; -some removing that corner of the roof of the south aisle which, in a -crumbling and dangerous condition, still remained. But it was upon -the corner where the old crypt was that Olivia’s attention at once -fixed. For here, listening perfunctorily with one ear to old Mr. -Williams, who had a self-made man’s veneration for his own -utterances, and keeping a sharp lookout upon two workmen whose -labors within the crypt he was superintending, was Ned Mitchell.</p> - -<p>Nothing had happened so far, Olivia easily guessed; no discoveries -had been made; no alarm had been given. But to her fancy, there -hung over the whole place the hush of expectancy: the workmen -scarcely spoke to each other, the onlookers seemed to hold their -breath. Another feature of the scene was that these onlookers each -seemed to have come by stealth, and to wish to remain unnoticed by -the rest. Olivia herself, for instance, remained outside the churchyard -wall, seeing only so much of the operations as could be observed -from the highest part of the rough and broken ground. Then, lurking -behind the hedge on the opposite side of the lane, was the lame -tramp, Abel Squires, who from this post could see very little more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> -than the scaffolding poles, but who had remained there, nevertheless, -since the moment, early that morning, when the workmen from -Sheffield first made their appearance. Vernon was inside the church, -keeping out of the way of everyone but the foreman, to whom he -was giving certain structural explanations, while Mrs. Brander -watched the proceedings from her pony carriage in the lane, and -Fred Williams from the church roof. A small crowd of the country -people, chiefly children and old pit women, filled up the spaces, and -made the isolation of the others less noticeable. Roaming about the -churchyard, in a somewhat impatient manner, was also a gentleman -whom Olivia did not immediately recognize as the doctor who had -attended Ned Mitchell in his illness.</p> - -<p>It was a sultry day; sunless and heavy. The smoke of the Sheffield -chimneys hung over the hills in a thick black cloud, and appeared, -Olivia thought, to be coming nearer and nearer. The air seemed to -choke instead of invigorate; the leaves of the trees hung parched -and still. The girl’s excitement had all evaporated; she waited -there without hope, without fear, in a dull state of expectancy, her -clearest thought being a faint wish that she might be able to get -quietly home again without having to speak to any one. Still she -stood there, and watched the workmen slowly putting on their coats, -the doctor as he flitted about the churchyard, without quite knowing -whether she was asleep or awake, whether the figures, moving -silently about, were flesh-and-blood creatures, or images seen in a -dream.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a breath of air seemed to pass over every one, and the -stirring of a more active life was felt. It was a voice at the gate of -the churchyard which broke the hushed silence, and made every eye -look up, while the women and children curtseyed, and the workmen -touched their caps. The Vicar of Rishton, cheerful and smiling and -bland, had worked the change by his appearance alone. A certain -listlessness, which had begun to creep over watchers and workers at -the end of an eventless morning under a sullen sky, disappeared. -There arose a hum of talk; the workmen who had left off work -hurried to their dinner cans; the few who were still digging felt a -spurt of fresh energy. It was felt that the portly presence of the -much-respected vicar gave <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">eclat</i> to the proceedings, and new interest -to a monotonous occupation. Only Ned Mitchell remained entirely -unmoved. He gave the clergyman a glance and a nod, and then -turned again to the two men at work in the crypt.</p> - -<p>“Get on, you lazy devils!” he said, kicking a stone impatiently. -“You might be millionaires, both of you, not to think it worth while -to work harder for the chance of a ten-pound note.”</p> - -<p>“Why, we’ve turned the whole place out, master, and blest if -there’s a bloomin’ thing to be found there except earth and stones,” -said one, in a rather grumbling tone.</p> - -<p>“Hey, what?” asked Mr. Williams, in a surprised tone, “What’s -that they’re looking for, eh, Mitchell? Something lost? Something -buried, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Both lost and buried,” said Ned, briefly. “What do you think, -parson?”</p> - -<p>And he turned quickly to the Reverend Meredith Brander, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> -had by this time, after a triumphal progress between two lines of -admiring villagers, reached the group.</p> - -<p>“Well, the churchyard is the place for the lost and buried, certainly,” -replied the vicar, whose bright complexion and serene smile -were a charming thing to see after the anxious and gloomy faces the -rest of the assembly had been wearing. “But, as we know, a time -will come when we shall recover our lost ones,” he added, with gentle -solemnity.</p> - -<p>“Some of us will recover ’em sooner than we bargain for, perhaps,” -said Ned, drily.</p> - -<p>The vicar did not answer; indeed he looked as if he did not understand. -He nodded pleasantly, and looked round, smiling on such -members of his family and of his congregation as were in sight. For -a curious thing had happened since his coming; all those before-mentioned -spectators, who had been watching as it were by stealth, -now with one accord drew near to the entrance of the crypt, and cast -at the vicar sidelong glances of deep interest. Thus Olivia, Mrs. -Brander, Vernon, the doctor, and Abel Squires found themselves, as -if by preconcerted arrangement, within a few feet of each other, and -yet seemed to be unaware of this fact. The vicar also seemed not to -notice this, but Ned Mitchell took in the curious situation with a keen -glance, and read the varied expressions of curiosity, anxiety, and -despondency on the several faces with cynical swiftness.</p> - -<p>The men in the crypt did not leave off work with the rest; -on the contrary, urged on by Ned Mitchell, whose tone grew sharper -with every order he gave, they used pickaxe and spade with renewed -energy.</p> - -<p>“I don’t quite understand the necessity for all this delving in the -crypt,” said old Mr. Williams, at last, rather pompously.</p> - -<p>He was a man by habit too much occupied with himself to have -troubled his head about the stories and scandals of the neighborhood, -and no suggestion of any mystery connected with St. Cuthbert’s had -ever reached his ears.</p> - -<p>“You’ll see presently, perhaps,” answered Ned, who betrayed his -ever-increasing excitement only by the growing curtness of his -tone.</p> - -<p>For he perceived, peering down into the gloom where the men -were working, that the digging and delving had suddenly ceased, -and that, in the remotest corner of the little crypt, both were kneeling -down examining the lower part of the wall. Then one of the men -struck a match, and a moment later his fellow workman came to the -opening.</p> - -<p>“We’ve found something, sir!” said he, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“Eh? What?” asked old Mr. Williams, who began to have an -idea that he was being made a fool of.</p> - -<p>There was a sort of a rustle and flutter among the bystanders; -for though all had not heard the workman’s words all knew that -something had happened. Ned Mitchell, who was now so much excited -that he dared not trust himself to speak, beckoned to the doctor. -The latter, who was on the alert, came up immediately. He -was an active, brisk little man, sparing of words.</p> - -<p>“I think we shall want you now, doctor, please,” said Ned, in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> -voice which was getting hoarse and rasping. “What is it you have -found, mate?” he went on, turning to the workman.</p> - -<p>“It’s a body, we think, your honor—the body of a woman.”</p> - -<p>The vicar, on entering the churchyard, had locked the gate, to -keep out the swarm of unruly boys who always ooze out of the pores -of the earth when anything of an unusual nature is going on. So -that few people but those most interested in this discovery were present -to hear the announcement of it. These all pressed forward until -they stood—a silent, excited group—close to the crypt entrance. -Mrs. Brander, although she remained perfectly quiet, laid her hand, -either from sympathy or for support, on the arm of her brother-in-law. -Vernon himself looked if possible more pale and haggard than -ever, but his face wore its habitual expression when in repose, a look -of grave and somewhat cynical good humor. The only noticeable -thing about his demeanor was his careful avoidance of Olivia Denison; -he would not even meet her eyes. The girl herself was white -to the lips and cold from head to foot. Fred Williams, in a cheerful -voice offered her the support of his arm.</p> - -<p>“These are nasty scenes for a lady to be present at,” said he, with -a little compunction in his voice. “Won’t you let me take you -away?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head, and signed for him to leave her, which he did -reluctantly and with some shame. In the meantime the gentlemen -had descended into the crypt, with the exception of Vernon, who was -detained by Mrs. Brander. By the light of a lantern and a torch, a -ghastly sight was soon disclosed to view.</p> - -<p>In the lower part of the wall of the crypt, in the corner nearest the -entrance, to which no daylight could ever pierce its way, was unearthed -between the bases of two of the pillars supporting the roof, -the almost fleshless skeleton of a woman, the damp rags of whose -dress, still recognizable, hung around the bones in shrunken folds. -The flaring and flickering of the lights on what had once been a -beautiful face, on the remains of the finery which every other girl -in the village had once envied, made an ever-changing, hideous picture, -upon which the men all gazed with feelings of pity, horror, and -disgust.</p> - -<p>A savage exclamation burst from Ned’s lips. Old Mr. Williams -was struck dumb with horror; for to him the discovery was quite -unforeseen. The doctor bent over the skeleton, and taking a lantern -into his own hand, looked carefully at the horrible thing, touched it, -removed part of the ragged clothing, and muttered something the -rest could not hear. The Vicar of Rishton, accustomed to death in -many forms, maintained a demeanor of reverend gravity, tempered -by amazement. As the doctor stopped, however, he interposed with -some haste, and, coming close beside him, tried gently but firmly to -thrust him aside.</p> - -<p>“There must be an inquiry into this, I suppose,” he said; “though, -for the sake of the unhappy man who committed this deed, and whom -we know to have repented long ago, I trust it may be made as -quietly as possible. In the meantime the remains must be laid decently -in some suitable place. I would suggest the church itself.”</p> - -<p>The doctor interrupted him brusquely. He, with the rest, had been -listening in dead silence to the clergyman’s words.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> - -<p>“Where you like, vicar: but I must make an examination first. -If I’m not mistaken, I’ve seen something just now which will be a -positive means of identifying the murderer.” Still the vicar insisted, -gently, but with becoming determination.</p> - -<p>“I really think, in a matter touching the sanctity of the dead, -that I, as vicar, ought to have a voice.”</p> - -<p>“But you’re not the vicar of this church,” said the doctor, standing -his ground. “The Vicar of St. Cuthbert’s is your brother Vernon, -and if, as you seem to say, he has had anything to do with this -business——”</p> - -<p>There was a stir among the hearers, and old Mr. Williams burst -out, “What! What! Vernon Brander! Bless me! You don’t -mean to say——”</p> - -<p>The vicar was protesting; Ned Mitchell was swearing and muttering; -Fred Williams, who had crept in during the last few minutes, -was whistling softly to himself, to keep off the horrors.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the doctor, who had again stooped over the skeleton, -silenced them all in imperious tones.</p> - -<p>“Stand back, gentlemen! In two moments I can satisfy your -curiosity as to who murdered this woman.”</p> - -<p>The vicar only attempted to resist this command; but the doctor, -with a skilful and most unceremonious thrust, forced him back into -the rest of the group; and the next moment the reverend arms were -pinioned by Ned Mitchell’s strong hands.</p> - -<p>“Keep back, can’t you?” hissed Ned, roughly into his ear; -“murder will out, you know! And people might say such ugly -things if they thought you wanted to hide the truth.”</p> - -<p>After this there was a sickening, death-like pause, while the doctor’s -hands moved rapidly about the horrible heap of human bones -and tattered finery. Then he sprang up, and made quickly for the -light. The rest followed, huddled together, panting, bewildered, -like a flock of frightened sheep. For the doctor’s face, old practitioner -though he was, was livid and tremulous with a great horror. Standing -in the open daylight they found him, looking at something he -held half concealed in his hand. Mrs. Brander, Vernon, and Olivia -Denison stood a little way off, watching him, but not daring to -come near. He closed his hand as the men gathered round him.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” he began, gravely, in a very low voice, “there are -circumstances in this case so revolting that I think that no good can -come of making them public. But you shall judge. I have found, -inside the remains of that poor girl, a ring which, there can be no -doubt, was the property of the murderer. In spite of the decayed -state of the body, I can undertake to say that this ring was swallowed -by the girl just before her death. Here,” and he held up his -closed hand, “is the ring. Shall I show it you?”</p> - -<p>“No!” said the Vicar of Rishton, sharply. They all turned to look -at him.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” asked the doctor, quietly.</p> - -<p>Meredith Brander had recovered the composure which, indeed, he -could scarcely be said for a moment to have lost.</p> - -<p>“What good would it do?” he asked, gazing blandly in the doctor’s -face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> - -<p>Doctor Harper returned his look with astonishment which became -almost admiration.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he answered, “it would show up the most remarkably -perfect specimen of a consummate humbug that I have ever had the -honor of meeting.”</p> - -<p>A curious thing had happened before this short colloquy was ended. -The rest of the group had gradually dispersed, and left the two men -alone together. As he uttered the last words, the doctor also turned -abruptly away, so that the vicar was left by himself. He did not -seem disconcerted, but walked, with a half smile on his face, in the -direction of the churchyard gate. His wife, whose handsome face -was as pale as that of a corpse, and whose limbs tottered under her, -moved, with faltering step, in the same direction. At the gate stood -Abel Squires, who stood back to allow the vicar to pass out first. But -Meredith Brander would not allow this. He turned to him with a -kindly nod.</p> - -<p>“Well, Abel,” said he, “I’m afraid this is a sad business for somebody.”</p> - -<p>“I’m afeard so too, sir,” replied Abel, with an immovable face.</p> - -<p>“We must hush it up. I’m sure you would not like any harm to -come to my brother.”</p> - -<p>“No fear o’ that, sir,” said Abel. “I could prevent that.”</p> - -<p>“Why, how so?”</p> - -<p>“Ah wur wi’ him all that evenin’. An’ if he hadn’t kept my -tongue quiet all these years hissen, truth would ha’ been aht long -ago.”</p> - -<p>The vicar went through the gate without another word. But before -he had taken many steps in the lane outside, he felt an arm -thrust through his. It was his brother Vernon, who pressed his arm -warmly two or three times before he spoke.</p> - -<p>“Cheer up, old chap!” he whispered, huskily. “For Evelyn’s -sake and the children’s we can get it kept quiet still.”</p> - -<p>Then, for the first time, Meredith threatened to break down. He -wrung his brother’s hand with a force which made Vernon turn -white, and when he answered, it was with sobs in his voice.</p> - -<p>“I’m a scoundrel, Vernie,” he almost gasped. “But if you save -me again, on my soul I’ll be better to them than many an honest -man.”</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> -</div> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Ned Mitchell</span>, although he had let Meredith Brander off easily at -the moment of the discovery of the body, had no intention of letting -his sister’s murderer escape the just punishment of his crime. The -discovery of the vicar’s ring inside the poor girl’s remains had not -been altogether unexpected by Ned and by the doctor, whom he had -taken into his confidence. He had had the wit to connect the vicar’s -loss of his ring, which the girl must have stolen and secreted unnoticed -by him in the course of their last fatal interview, with the -strange threat Nellie Mitchell had uttered to Martha Lowndes. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> -had confided his suspicions to the doctor, who had thus been on the -alert to prevent Meredith from touching the remains of the murdered -girl before he himself had examined them.</p> - -<p>After a few words of explanation to old Mr. Williams, and a little -substantial advice to the two workmen who had dug out the skeleton, -Ned marched off with Abel Squires in the direction of Rishton Vicarage. -On the way they passed Vernon Brander, who wished to stop -Ned. But the latter hurried on, and to all the entreaties he tried to -utter, turned a deaf ear.</p> - -<p>“If you’ve been fool enough to hold your tongue for ten years, -and bear the blame of somebody else’s crime, that’s nothing to do -with me. You may talk till you’re tired, but my sister’s murderer -shall get what he deserves.”</p> - -<p>And he walked on stubbornly with the tramp.</p> - -<p>When they reached the Vicarage, and asked to see the vicar, they -were shown into the drawing-room, and left waiting there for some -minutes. When the door opened, it was Mrs. Brander, instead of her -husband, who came in.</p> - -<p>“What, has he run away already?” asked Ned, in a hard, jeering -tone.</p> - -<p>“No, my husband does not yet know you are here,” she answered, -in a very sad voice. “I knew you would come, and so I told the servant -to announce your arrival to me.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the good of that?” asked Ned, roughly. “You’ve done -no harm, and we’ve nothing to do with you, except that we’re going -to set you free from a rascal.”</p> - -<p>Abel Squires had withdrawn to the farthest window, and tried to -hide himself behind the curtain. Rough fellow as he was, to hear a -man speak in a bullying tone to that beautiful, dignified lady was -too much for him.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander had never in her life before looked so handsome as -she looked now, standing erect before this coarse man, with a flush -of deep humiliation in her cheeks, and passionate entreaty softening -her proud eyes.</p> - -<p>“But, my children, my poor children: they have done less harm -in the world than your sister did, and if you hurt my husband you -sacrifice them. Think of that. You have children of your own. -You don’t dote on them passionately any more than I do on mine; -therefore you can enter into my feelings. Is it fair, is it just, that -they should suffer? I don’t appeal for myself, for you don’t like me. -But just think of this: for ten years I have been a dutiful wife to -this man, who was unfaithful to me even in my fresh youth, when I -was beautiful, so they said, and loving, and devoted. Listen. I -knew of the murder on the night he committed it; for he came -straight back with stained hands, and a face I never shall forget. Do -you not think that was something to forgive? But I did it, and I implore -you to do it too. I am not asking you an impossible thing, for -I have done it myself. And think under what circumstances!”</p> - -<p>But Ned remained as hard as nails.</p> - -<p>“I suppose—no offence to you, madam—your motives were not -entirely unselfish; and even if they were, that’s no business of mine. -If you chose to put up with him, that was your lookout. I came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> -back here to punish my sister’s murderer, and I’m not going to be -made a fool of by a woman when the game’s in my own hands.”</p> - -<p>Ned spoke the more harshly, that he was really rather touched by -her beauty and her high spirit. There was something in her frank, -straightforward manner of pleading more to his taste than any -amount of tearful, hysterical incoherence would have been. But -Mrs. Brander had a most unexpected ally near at hand. Thumpety-thump -came Abel Squires, with his wooden leg, out of his hiding -place. He did not look at the lady, but going straight up to Ned, -jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of where she was -standing.</p> - -<p>“Hold hard, Mester Mitchell,” said he, without moving a muscle -of his dried-up face; “Ah didn’t bargain fur this when Ah coom here -to-day. A woman’s a woman. An’ t’ woman ye’re so soft abaht’s -dead, but t’ woman ye’re so hard on’s alive. Steady theer, Mester -Mitchell, or Ah’ll hev to swear Ah killed t’ lass mysen.”</p> - -<p>The poor woman broke down at these words from the rough tramp; -she turned away abruptly to hide the tears which sprang to her -eyes. Ned, who was hard, brusque, and determined, but not inhuman, -moved uneasily about the room.</p> - -<p>“Women have no business to interfere in these matters,” said he, -angrily.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander saw that there was hope. She moved nearer to him, -clasping her hands, not in supplication, but because they would -twitch and tremble, and so betray the anguish she was suffering. -She tried to speak, but couldn’t. But with one piteous look out of -her proud eyes, she turned away again.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Ned, in very ill-tempered tones, “we’re wasting our -time here, Abel, and Mrs. Brander’s. So, please, madam, let us see -your husband, and have done with him.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Brander hastened to intercept him on his way to the -door.</p> - -<p>“You will not be too hard,” she pleaded, in a breaking voice. -“You are not vindictive, I am sure.”</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, madam, that’s just what I am,” snarled Ned. -“And if I’m fool enough not to insist on the hanging he deserves, -I’m not going to let him off scot free, I can tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not, of course not,” said she, in a tone of great relief. -“He has done wrong—great wrong; and he must suffer for it—we -must suffer for it. Only don’t expose him. Anything but that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, anything but what he deserves, of course. Let us pass, -madam, please. He is in the library, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” she faltered.</p> - -<p>Ned turned round abruptly.</p> - -<p>“You suppose so! Well, if he’s given us the slip, and left you to -bear the brunt of it all, it’ll be the worse for him.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander drew herself up in the old, proud way, and spoke -with her accustomed cold haughtiness in addressing a person she -disliked.</p> - -<p>“You need not be afraid, Mr. Mitchell. I can stand by a criminal -husband: I would not by a cowardly one.”</p> - -<p>“Do you call it courageous, then, to kill a woman, and let another -man bear the blame for ten years?” asked Ned.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Brander did not answer. She led the way across the hall to -the study, and knocked.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” called out the vicar, in his usual voice.</p> - -<p>She opened the door, and signed to the two men to follow her in. -Abel would have slunk away, but Ned Mitchell kept a tight hold on -his arm. Both, however, kept in the background, near the door, -while the lady went up to her husband, and laid her hand upon his -shoulder. He leant back in his comfortable chair, pen still in hand. -He had been busy writing, and the table was covered with large -sheets of MS. He faced the two intruders with an air of mild annoyance, -which would have made an onlooker think that he was the -injured person. Ned, with astonishment, which he would not admit -by word or look, examined the bland, fair face, with its healthy complexion, -frank blue eyes, broad white forehead, and saw on it no -trace of shame, guilt, or even of anxiety. It was his wife’s face -which bore all these signs. As she stood, upright and daring, by -her husband’s side, handsome, majestic, and brave, Ned Mitchell -felt that to deal with Meredith as he deserved, while she remained -there, was impossible. He half turned, as if anxious to put off the -interview. The vicar changed his position, wheeling his chair -round, so that he could face the two men.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “you wish to speak to me, do you not?”</p> - -<p>His tone was mildly peremptory.</p> - -<p>“Yes, we do. But what we have to say we wish to say to you -alone.”</p> - -<p>“Go, my dear,” said Meredith, turning kindly to his wife.</p> - -<p>She hesitated, and he pushed her gently away from him. Then -she stooped, kissed his forehead, and with an imploring, yet still -dignified, look into Ned’s reluctant eyes as she passed him, she slowly -left the room.</p> - -<p>“Now,” said Mitchell, in a louder, more assured tone, as if much -relieved, “we’ve got an account to settle with you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, sit down, and let us have it out.”</p> - -<p>Meredith was not in the least discomposed. He took up the pen he -had been using, wiped it carefully, and then crossing his legs and -clasping his hands over them, assumed the attitude in which he was -accustomed to give private advice or consolation to members of his -flock.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid we are interrupting you,” said Ned, ironically; so he -prepared to sit down, which Abel shyly refused to do.</p> - -<p>“Not at all. I was writing my sermon for next Sunday, but as I -suppose it lies with you whether I shall be allowed to preach it, I -can’t complain of your visit as an interruption.”</p> - -<p>“You take this business pretty coolly,” said Ned, losing patience.</p> - -<p>Meredith looked at him with a sudden flash of fire in his blue eyes, -a spark of the same fierce spirit which he had revealed to Ned on the -night when he conquered and controlled the bloodhounds at the -cottage.</p> - -<p>“Do you suppose that I have kept my head for ten years to lose it -now?”</p> - -<p>Ned was taken back. There was a pause before he said, in almost -a respectful voice—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> - -<p>“You admit everything, then.”</p> - -<p>“I admit everything you know, of course. This man here could -prove whatever I might deny. Besides, everybody knows that ring -is mine; I did not know until to-day how I lost it, as you may guess; -else I should have been prepared with some story.”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell, who had brought the ring with him and had just -produced it, thinking to confound the vicar, slipped it back into his -pocket with uncertain fingers.</p> - -<p>“And you are prepared for the consequences?”</p> - -<p>“As much prepared as a man ever is for a very unpleasant contingency.”</p> - -<p>“Even if the contingency is—what the law prescribes for discovered -murderers?”</p> - -<p>“You mean hanging?”</p> - -<p>Ned Mitchell nodded, and the vicar paused.</p> - -<p>“I won’t say that I am prepared for that; I can’t say that I ever -contemplated such a possibility seriously. It would be a terrible -precedent to hang a vicar. I should probably get off as of ‘unsound -mind,’ and be confined ‘during her Majesty’s pleasure.’”</p> - -<p>“And if they shouldn’t be so lenient?”</p> - -<p>“Then I should go through with it as well as a man may.”</p> - -<p>“And if I let you off the full penalty,” said Ned, wondering if it -were possible to disturb this stolid serenity, “what would you feel -towards me?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” answered the vicar, promptly. “You would do it, not -for my sake, but out of admiration for my wife, pity for my children, -and because my arrest would involve my brother’s, as an accessory -after the fact. He saw me immediately after the—the deed: the -crime, in fact: and he concurred, if he did not assist, in the concealment -of the body, as Abel here probably knows.”</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said Abel Squires, who was standing, awkwardly, as near -the door as possible. “Mester Vernon and me had walked nigh all t’ -way from Sheffield together, and we heerd cries o’ ‘Murder!’ An’ -Mester Vernon he left me, an’ he jumped o’er t’ wall into t’ churchyard, -an’ when he coom back he looked skeered loike, and his reight -hond wur stained red, as if he’d held another hond that wur redder -still. An’ somehow Ah guessed whose hond it wur as he’d been -holdin’.”</p> - -<p>Abel, after delivering this speech in a mumbling, shamefaced -manner, ended abruptly, and looked at the door, as if he felt that his -unpleasant mission was over. The vicar listened with interest, and -nodded assent to the latter portion of the tramp’s words. Ned -Mitchell continued to gaze at Meredith like a bear baulked of his -prey.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you’ve even felt much remorse all these years,” -he said, savagely.</p> - -<p>The vicar faced him frankly.</p> - -<p>“To tell the truth, I haven’t,” he said. “That’s not in my temperament. -I suppose this sounds especially remarkable because I -am a clergyman. But my profession was forced upon me; I had to -put an unnatural curb upon myself, and succeeded in attaining a -pitch of outward decorum such as none of my family had ever reached<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> -before. But the strain was too great, for I am not by temperament -virtuous; none of my family are. Vernon has an accident, -and not his nature, to thank for his superiority. That is all I have -to say.”</p> - -<p>The vicar leaned back in his chair, as if weary of the discussion.</p> - -<p>“Then you don’t seem to have any conscience,” said Ned, regarding -him in bewilderment.</p> - -<p>“Not much, I suppose,” answered the vicar; “though indeed -lately I have had troubled nights, and shown the family tendency -towards somnambulism; so my wife tells me. And in rather an -unfortunate way,” he added, with a half smile.</p> - -<p>As the vicar finished speaking, Ned came forward with his ponderous -tread, laid his hand heavily on the writing-table, and looked -down at the clergyman’s bland face with the air of a strong man who -has definitely made up his mind.</p> - -<p>“Now then, parson, I’ll tell you what you’ll have to do. You take -that pen that you’ve just been writing your precious sermons with, -and you write a detailed confession of your intrigue with my sister, -your visits to her at night, your correspondence with her, the way -in which you murdered her, and the way in which you disposed of -her body. Then sign your name and put the date in full, and me -and Abel here will oblige you by putting our signatures as witnesses.”</p> - -<p>“And if I do this, what follows?” asked the vicar, taking up the -pen and examining the nib.</p> - -<p>“Then you get my permission to leave this country for any other -you choose with your wife and children. And as long as you keep -away, this paper will never go out of my possession.”</p> - -<p>“And if I don’t do this?”</p> - -<p>“What’s the good of going into that?”</p> - -<p>The eyes of the two men met, and they understood each other. -Without wasting more words, Meredith turned to the table, invited -Ned with a gesture to sit down, and proceeded to draw up the prescribed -confession. This he did fully and frankly, adding at the end -certain graceful expressions of contrition which Ned, reading the -document over carefully, took for what they were worth. The main -body of the composition satisfied him, however; and after appending -his own signature to the confession as a witness, and insisting on -Abel’s adding his, he sealed up the paper with great solemnity. -Then, intimating to Meredith Brander that the sooner he carried out -the remaining part of the compact and left the country, the better it -would be for him, he left the room with the curtest of farewells, and -hastened out of the house to avoid what he called “another scene -with the woman.”</p> - -<p>Once outside he looked back at the vicarage with great interest.</p> - -<p>“If one had to be a rascal,” said he, with some irrepressible admiration, -“that’s the sort of rascal one would choose to be.”</p> - -<p>Then Abel Squires left him and hobbled off, and Ned was left to -his pipe and his reflections, both which he chose to enjoy, not at his -garden gate as usual, but at the bottom of the hill, outside Rishton -Hall farmyard.</p> - -<p>Before he had been there more than a few minutes, the event he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> -was prepared for took place. Olivia Denison, pale, excited, tearful, -yet radiant, came to the gate, looking out anxiously. Seeing Ned, -she ran out to him with a cry.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, almost in a whisper, “I must ask -you to forgive me. I had such unjust thoughts of you. I thought, -until the night before last, that you meant to ruin Vernon, in spite -of your promise.”</p> - -<p>“Um,” said Ned; “you hadn’t much faith in your lover, now, -had you, to think him capable of——”</p> - -<p>“Hush! never mind that. You see, I must have felt at the bottom -of my heart that he was really good. For I loved him all the -time just the same.”</p> - -<p>“That doesn’t follow at all. Women always go by contraries. -The more of a villain a man is, the more a woman likes him. Look -at the vicar here, and the way his wife sticks to him. And look at -me, as honest a fellow as ever lived, and what do you think my wife -cares for me or my affections? Not a single straw, I tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Olivia, smiling, “considering the small amount of -affection you seem to waste on her, I think it’s just as well for her -happiness that she is not dying for love of you.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you’re full of these new fangled notions about the equality -of the sexes. Now, I say, men and women are different. The man -does all the hard work, and even if he goes a little bit off the straight -sometimes, it’s no more than he has a right to, provided he fills the -mouths at home. The woman has nothing to do but look after the -home and children, and mend their clothes and her husband’s. And -if she can’t find time besides to be devoted to her husband, and to -think him the finest fellow on earth in return for what he does for -her, why, she ain’t worth her salt; that’s all. Now that’s my marriage -code, Miss Denison, though I can see by your face it isn’t -yours.”</p> - -<p>“I really haven’t considered the subject much,” replied Olivia, -demurely, but with a bright blush.</p> - -<p>“You might do worse, though, than consider it, now that things -have shaped themselves a bit,” said Ned, in a dry tone. “Our dear -friend the vicar here is going to leave this country, in consideration -of a certain little matter being hushed up—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m so glad!” interrupted Olivia, with a deep-drawn breath -of relief; “that is good of you, Mr. Mitchell. For it would have -been—dreadful—dreadful!”</p> - -<p>Ned was looking away over the cornfields, where his sharp eyes -detected a figure he recognized, wandering about in an aimless manner.</p> - -<p>“I think you’d better take a walk out into the meadows there,” he -said, after a minute’s pause, turning again to the young lady, with -a kindly look on his hard face. “It will do you good after all the excitement -and botherment of this morning.”</p> - -<p>Olivia blushed again.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said, with a proud turn of her head. “I don’t -care to go out again this afternoon. The air is much too oppressive.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right,” said Ned with a dry nod; “then I musn’t keep<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> -you out here talking in the ‘oppressive’ air, I suppose. Good-day, -Miss Denison.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” she said, gently, holding out her hand, which he -shook with a firm pressure.</p> - -<p>Then he walked up the hill, talking to himself.</p> - -<p>“These old-country lasses are fine creatures,” he meditated. -“There’s Mrs. B., whom I didn’t care for, and Miss D. whom I did, -and I’m blest if they haven’t both got too good a spirit to be married -at all. Yet one wouldn’t care to see them old maids, either—nor yet -men—nor yet angels. These high-spirited ladies, who can think and -act for themselves, don’t seem to fit in somehow. One would feel -they were kind of too good for one. Give me a nice, comfortable -lass, whom you needn’t study any more than a potato. You know -what to be at with one of them. By-the-bye, now I suppose I must -take ship and see how my own potato is getting on.”</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, from the top of the hill he looked down rather sentimentally -in the direction of the old farm. As he did so, he caught -sight of a girl’s tall figure in the meadows. He laughed maliciously.</p> - -<p>“She’s gone to meet him. I thought she would. I’d have let off -half a dozen scoundrels to give that lass her heart’s desire; that I -would!”</p> - -<p>And he watched her till a rising in the meadow ground, and a -thick, flowering hedge, hid her from sight.</p> - -<p>After a few minutes’ arguing with herself, Olivia, who guessed -the reason of Ned Mitchell’s suggestion of a walk in the fields, decided -that she ought without delay to let Vernon Brander know the -result of the interview between his brother and the colonist. So she -darted through the gate and across the road with the agility of a -deer, in spite of the oppressive air. So excited was she, so full of -joy at the turn affairs had taken, that she almost ran along the footpath, -beside the sweet-scented hedges, with an occasional little leap -or bound of most undignified happiness. Thus it happened that -when she came unexpectedly face to face with Vernon Brander on -rounding a thicket of bushes and small trees, she was springing into -the air with her face radiant with delight, and a soft song—something -about “birds” and “love”—upon her lips. Vernon, on his -side, looked, if anything, even more haggard and woebegone than -usual. Both stopped short, and Olivia, who had become on the instant -very subdued, drew a deep breath of confusion.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Brander,” she began, in a cool, almost cold, voice, “I—I—er, -I have just met Ned Mitchell, and I think you ought to know -what he says.”</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake, yes: tell me!”</p> - -<p>“He is going to hush it all up, on condition that your brother -leaves the country altogether.”</p> - -<p>Vernon drew a deep breath of relief, and almost reeled against the -fence which protected the thicket on one side.</p> - -<p>“Thank God!” he whispered.</p> - -<p>And he put one hand to his face as if to shut out the fearful picture -his imagination and his fears had been conjuring up. Olivia waited -impatiently as long as she could. At last when she could bear this -neglect no longer, she said, rather tartly—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Brander will have to go too.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, of course; she will go with her husband.”</p> - -<p>Vernon was still in a dazed state, not yet understanding what a -great change in his prospects of happiness the day’s events had -made.</p> - -<p>“I think it was very silly of you to keep silence all these years just -to please her. It was she who made you, I suppose—came to you, -and wheedled you. Men are so easily coaxed,” continued Olivia, -disdainfully, with her head in the air.</p> - -<p>She had never been curt and dictatorial, like this, with him before. -Poor Vernon, quite unskilled in the wiles of her sex, was abashed -and bewildered.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he admitted, humbly. “She came to me and begged me -not to say anything if people suspected me. And, you see, I had -been so fond of her, and she was in delicate health, and I had no -wife or children to be hurt by what people might think of me. And -so I promised.”</p> - -<p>“And she made you promise not to marry, didn’t she?”</p> - -<p>“Well, yes. Poor thing, she had to do the best she could for her -husband and children; and, of course, she thought if I married, I -should let out the secret to my wife, and my wife would insist on -having things explained.”</p> - -<p>“I should think so,” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“And now,” said Vernon, who was getting more and more downcast -under the influence of this surprising change in her, “I’m too -old and too sour to marry, and I think I shall go away with them, -and have my little Kitty to console me.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Olivia, quietly, her voice losing suddenly all its buoyancy -as well as all its momentary sharpness; “I think that will be -a very good plan. You will let us know when you intend to start, -won’t you, for my father and mother owe you an apology first? Now, -I must be getting back. Good-evening.”</p> - -<p>Dull Vernon began at last to have a glimmer of insight into the -girl’s secret feelings. He shook hands with her, let her walk as far as -the very end of the field, noticing with admiration which had suddenly, -after the strain of the morning, again grown passionate, her -springing walk and graceful, erect carriage. Then he ran after her -on the wings of the wind, and placed himself, panting, with his back -to the gate she was approaching.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said, as he looked with sparkling -eyes into her face. “But you seem to forget I’ve lent you thirty -pounds. I shall want it back to pay my passage.”</p> - -<p>Olivia caught her breath, and her face, which was wet with tears, -grew happy again.</p> - -<p>“I’d forgotten all about it,” said she, in a tremulous voice, half -saucily, half demurely. “But anyhow, you can’t have it.”</p> - -<p>“And why not, Miss Denison?” asked Vernon, coming a step -nearer.</p> - -<p>“Because I—I don’t want you to go away,” answered she.</p> - -<p>And she fell into his arms without further invitation, and gave -him a tender woman’s kiss, an earnest of the love and sympathy he -had hungered for these ten years!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> - -<p>The true story of the murder at St. Cuthbert’s never became commonly -known. At the inquest which was opened on the remains -found in the crypt, nobody who had anything to tell told anything -worth hearing. But, then, nobody was very anxious to discover -the truth, for rumors too dreadful for investigation began to fly -about; and nobody was astonished when, the health of his children -requiring a change to a warmer climate, the Reverend Meredith -Brander got, by the interest of his uncle, Lord Stannington, an appointment -at Malta, for which place he started, with his wife and -family, without delay.</p> - -<p>The vacant living of Rishton was given by Lord Stannington to -his other nephew, Vernon; and Olivia, though lamentably unlike -the popular ideal of a clergyman’s wife, became as much idolized by -the poor of the parish as her husband was already.</p> - -<p>John Oldshaw got Rishton Hall Farm; for Mr. Denison’s friends -persuaded him to give up farming while he had still something left -to lose. But the farmer did not long survive his coveted happiness. -Dying in a fit of apoplexy, he left his broad acres in the care of his -son Mat, who, instead of setting up as a country gentleman, as his -sisters declared he would do if he had any spirit, married little Lucy, -made her a good husband, and remained for ever, in common with -his wife, the idolatrous slave of her late mistress.</p> - -<p>“Theer bean’t more’n one woman in t’ world,” he would say, “too -good for Parson Brander. Boot theer be one, and thot’s his wife.”</p> - -<p>But though “Parson Brander” himself agreed with this, he was -mistaken; for, like every other good woman, she was the better, and -the little world around her was the better, for the fact that she was -the noble and true mate of a noble and true man.</p> - - -<p class="center b p2 mb3">THE END.</p> - - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center b">Transcriber’s Note</p> - - -<p>The table of contents was created by the transcriber; there was none -in the printed book.</p> - -<p>Printer’s errors were corrected where they could be clearly identified. -Otherwise, original spelling and punctuation were preserved wherever -possible.</p></div> - - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ST. 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