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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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