ROBINETTA

By Kate Douglas Wiggin

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HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

Boston and New York

[Illustration]

ROBINETTA

by

Kate Douglas Wiggin

Mary Findlater

Jane Findlater

Allan McAulay

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

Houghton Mifflin Company

The Riverside Press, Cambridge

COPYRIGHT, 1910 AND 1911, BY KATE DOUGLAS RIGGS

COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published February 1911

CONTENTS

 I. THE PLUM TREE 1 II. THE MANOR HOUSE 7 III. YOUNG MRS. LORING 19 IV. A CHILLY RECEPTION 29 V. AT WITTISHAM 39 VI. MARK LAVENDAR 54 VII. A CROSS-EXAMINATION 69 VIII. SUNDAY AT STOKE REVEL 87 IX. POINTS OF VIEW 99 X. A NEW KINSMAN 113 XI. THE SANDS AT WESTON 127 XII. LOVE IN THE MUD 151 XIII. CARNABY TO THE RESCUE 170 XIV. THE EMPTY SHRINE 181 XV. "NOW LUBIN IS AWAY" 194 XVI. TWO LETTERS 210 XVII. MRS. DE TRACY CROSSES THE FERRY 217 XVIII. THE STOKE REVEL JEWELS 234 XIX. LAWYER AND CLIENT 250 XX. THE NEW HOME 260 XXI. CARNABY CUTS THE KNOT 273 XXII. CONSEQUENCES 284 XXIII. DEATH AND LIFE 299 XXIV. GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDSON 309 XXV. THE BELLS OF STOKE REVEL 324

ROBINETTA

I

THE PLUM TREE

At Wittisham several of the little houses had crept down very close tothe river. Mrs. Prettyman's cottage was just like a hive made for thehabitation of some gigantic bee; its pointed roof covered with deep, close-cut thatch the colour of a donkey's hide. There were smallwindows under the overhanging eaves, a pathway of irregular flatstones ran up to the doorway, and a bit of low wall divided the tinygarden from the river. The Plum Tree grew just beside the wall, sonear indeed that it could look at itself on spring days when the waterwas like a mirror. In autumn the branches on that side of the treewere the first to be shaken, lest any of the fruit should fall downand be lost. Sometimes a village child treading cautiously on baretoes amongst the stones along the narrow margin, would pounce upon aplum with a squeal of joy, for although the village was surroundedwith orchards, the fruit of Mrs. Prettyman's tree had a flavour allits own. 

The tree had been given to her by a nephew who was a gardener in agreat fruit orchard in the North, and her husband had planted andtended it for years. It began life as a slender thing with two orthree rods of branches, that looked as if the first wind of winterwould blow it away, but before the storms came, it had begun totrust itself to the new earth, and to root itself with force anddetermination. There were good soil and water near it, and plenty ofsunshine, and, as is the way of Nature, it set itself to do its ownbusiness at all seasons, unlike the distracted heart of man. Thetraffic of the river came and went; around the headland the bigships were steering in, or going out to sea; and in the villagethe human life went on while the Plum Tree grew high enough to lookover the wall. Its stem by that time had a firm footing; next it tooka charming bend to the side, and then again threw out new branchesin that direction. It turned itself from the prevailing wind, throwinga new grace into its attitude, and went on growing; returning inblossom and leaves and fruit an hundredfold for all that it receivedfrom the earth and the sun. 

In spring it was enchanting; at first, before the blossoms came out, with small bright leaves, and buds like pearls, heaped upon thebranches; then, later, when the whole tree was white, imaged like abride, in the looking-glass of the river. It only wanted a nightingaleto sing in it by moonlight. There were no nightingales there, but thethrushes sang in the dawning, and the little birds whose voices weresweet and thin chirruped about it in crowds, while the larks, trillingout the ardour of mating time, sometimes rose from their nests in thegrass and soared over its topmost branches on their skyward flight. 

Spring, therefore, was its merriest time, for then every passer-bywould cry, "What a beautiful tree!" or "Did ye ever see the likes ofit?"

There were a few days of inevitable sadness a little later when itsmillion petals fell and made a delicate carpet of snow on the ground. There they lay in a kind of fairy ring, as if there had been a showerof mother-of-pearl in the April night; and no human creature wouldhave dared set a vandal foot on that magic circle, and mar theperfection of its beauty. All the same the Plum Tree had lost itspetals, and that was hard to bear at first. But though its Wittishamneighbours often said to summer trippers, "I wish you could have seenit in blossom!" the Plum Tree did not repine, because of thesecrets--the thousand, thousand secrets--it held under its leaves. "The blossoms were but a promise, " it thought, "and soon everybodywill see the meaning of them. "

Then the tiny green globes began to appear on every branch and twig;crowding, crowding, crowding till it seemed as if there could never beroom for so many to grow; but the weaker ones fell from the boughs orwere blown away when the wind was fierce, so the Plum Tree felt noanxiety, knowing that it was built for a large family! The littlegreen globes grew and grew, and drank in sweet mother-juices, andswelled, and when the summer sun touched their cheeks all day theyflushed and reddened, till when August came the tree was laden withpurpling fruit; fruit so tempting that its rosy beauty had sometimesto be hidden under a veil of grey fishing net, lest the myriadbird-friends it had made during the summer should love it too much forits own good. 

So the Plum Tree grew and flourished, taking its part in the pageantof the seasons, unaware that its existence was to be interwoven withthat of men; or that creatures of another order of being were to owesome changes in their fortunes to its silent obedience to the motiveof life. 

II

THE MANOR HOUSE

The long, low drawing room of the Manor at Stoke Revel was the warmestand most genial room in the old Georgian house. It was four-windowedand faced south, and even on this morning of a chilly and backwardspring, the tentative sunshine of April had contrived to put out thefire in the steel grate. One of the windows opened wide to the garden, and let in a scent which was less of flowers than of the promise offlowers--a scent of earth and green leaves, of the leafless daphnestill a-bloom in the shrubbery, of hyacinths and daffodils and tulipsand primroses still sheathed in their buds and awaiting a warmer air. 

But this promise of spring borne into the room by the wandering breezefrom the river, was nipped, as it were, by the frigid spirit of ageand formalism in its living occupants. Mrs. De Tracy, a lady ofseventy-five, sat at her writing-table. Her companion, Miss Smeardon, a person of indeterminate age, nursed the lap-dog Rupert during suchtime as her employer was too deeply engaged to fulfil that agreeableduty. Mrs. De Tracy, as she wrote, was surrounded by countlessphotographs of her family and her wide connection, most prominentamong them two--that of her husband, Admiral de Tracy, who had diedmany years ago, and that of her grandson, his successor, whoseguardian she was, and whose minority she directed. Her eldest son, thefather of this boy, who had died on his ship off the coast of Africa;his wife, dead too these many years; her other sons as well (she hadborne four); their wives and children--grown men, fashionable women, beautiful children, fat babies: the likenesses of them all were aroundher, standing amid china and flowers and bric-a-brac on the crowdedtables and what-nots of the not inharmonious and yet shabby Victorianroom. Mrs. De Tracy, it might at a glance be seen, was no innovator, either in furniture, in dress, or probably in ideas. As she wasdressed now, in the severely simple black of a widow, so she had beendressed when she first mourned Admiral de Tracy. The muslin ends ofher widow's cap fell upon her shoulders, and its border rested on thehard lines of iron-grey hair which framed a face small, pale, aquilinein character and decidedly austere in expression. 

She took one from a docketed pile of letters and held it up under herglasses, the sun suddenly striking a dazzle of blue and green from thediamond rings on her small, withered hands. Then she read it aloud toher companion in an even and chilly voice. She had read it before, inthe same way, at the same hour, several times. The letter, couched inan epistolary style largely dependent upon underlining, appeared tocontain, nevertheless, some matter of moment. It was dated from EatonSquare, in London, some weeks before, and signed Maria Spalding. ("Hermother was a Gallup, " Mrs. De Tracy would say, if any one asked whoMaria Spalding was; and this was considered sufficient, for Mrs. DeTracy's maiden name had been Gallup, --not euphonious but neverthelessaristocratic. )

 * * * * *

MY DEAR AUGUSTA (Maria Spalding wrote): I am going to ask you tohelp me out of a _difficulty_. There is no _use_ beating about thebush. You know that Cynthia's daughter Robinetta (Loring is her_married_ name) has been with me for a month. _American_ or no_American_, I meant to have had her for a part of the season, and to_present_ her, if possible (so _good_ for these Americans to learnwhat royalty _is_ and to breathe the atmosphere which doth hedge a_King_ as Shakespeare says, and which they can never _have_, ofcourse, in a country like theirs). I know you can't _approve_, dearAugusta, and you will blame me for sentimentality--but I never_can_ forget what a _sweet_ creature Cynthia was before she ran awaywith that odious American--and my _greatest_ friend in girlhood, too, you must remember. So Robinette, as she is generally called, hascome to my house as a _home_, but a most _unlucky_ thing hashappened. I have had influenza so badly that it has affected my_heart_ (an old trouble), I am ordered to Nauheim, and Robinette is_stranded_, poor dear. She has few friends in London and certainlynone who can put her up. Tho' she _is_ a widow, she is only twenty-two(just _imagine_!), very pretty, and really, tho' you won't believeit, _quite_ nice. I am _desperate_, and just wondering if youwould let by-gones be by-gones, and receive her at Stoke Revel. Shehas set her heart upon seeing the place, and some _picture_ shewas called after (I can't remember it, so it can't be one of the_famous_ Stoke Revel group--a _copy_, I fancy), and on paying avisit to Lizzie Prettyman, her mother's old nurse at Wittisham overthe river. She _promised_ her mother she would do this--and such apromise is _sacred_, don't you think? It's such an _old_ storynow, Cynthia's American marriage, and no fault of _Robinette's_, poor dear child. Her wish is almost a _pious_ one, don't you agree, topay respect to her mother's memory and the family, and is _much_ tobe encouraged in these days of radicalism, when every natural tieis loosened and people pay no more _respect_ to their parents than ifthey hadn't any, but had made themselves and brought themselves upfrom the beginning. So don't you think it's a _good_ thing toencourage the _right_ kind of feeling in Robinette, especially asshe is an _American_, you know. . . . 

 * * * * *

Mrs. De Tracy paused, and replaced the letter in the package fromwhich she had withdrawn it. 

"Maria Spalding's point of view, " she observed, "has, I confess, helped me to overcome the extreme reluctance I felt to receive thechild of that American here. Cynthia de Tracy's elopement nearly brokemy dear husband's heart. She was the apple of his eye before ourmarriage; so much younger than himself that she was like his childrather than his sister. "

"What a shock it must have been!" murmured the companion. "Whatingratitude! Can you really receive her child? Of course you knowbest, Mrs. De Tracy; but it seems a risk. "

"Hardly a risk, " rejoined Mrs. De Tracy with dignity. "But it is atrial to me, and an effort that I scarcely feel called upon to make. "

Miss Smeardon was so well versed in her duties that she knew shealways had to urge her employer to do exactly what she most wanted todo, and the poor creature had developed a really wonderful ingenuityin divining what these wishes were. Just now, however, she was, to usea sporting phrase, "at fault" for a minute. She could not exactlytell whether Mrs. De Tracy wanted to be urged to ask her niece toStoke Revel, or whether she wanted to be supplied with a reallyplausible excuse for not doing so. Those of you who have seen a houndat fault can imagine the companion at this moment: irresolute, tense, desperately anxious to find and follow up the right scent. Compromise, that useful refuge, came to her aid. 

"It _is_ difficult to know, " she faltered. Then Mrs. De Tracy gave herthe lead. 

"Maria Spalding is right when she says that my husband's niececontemplates a duty in visiting Stoke Revel, " she announced. "Theyoung woman is the lawful daughter of Cynthia de Tracy that was: oursolicitors could never discover anything dubious in the marriage, though we long suspected it. Therefore, though I never could haveinvited her here, I admit that the Admiral's niece has a right tocome, in a way. "

"Though her maiden name was Bean!" ejaculated the companion, almostunder her breath. "There are Pease in the North, as everyone knows;perhaps there are Beans somewhere. "

"There have never been Beans, " said Mrs. De Tracy solemnly and totallyunconscious of a pun. "Look for yourself!"

Miss Smeardon did not need to rise from her seat and fetch Burke: itlay always close at hand. She merely lifted it on to her knee and ranher finger down the names beginning with B-e-a. 

"Beaton, Beare, Beatty, Beale--" she read out, and she shook her headin dismal triumph; "but never a Bean! No! we English have no suchdreadful names, thank Heavens!"

"This is the beginning of April, " pursued Mrs. De Tracy, referring toa date-card. "Maria Spalding's course at Nauheim will take threeweeks. We must allow her a week for going and coming. During that timeMrs. David Loring can be my guest. "

"A whole month!" cried the companion, as though in ecstasy at heremployer's generosity. "A whole month at Stoke Revel!"

Mrs. De Tracy took no notice. "Write in my name to Maria Spalding, please, " she commanded. "Be sure that there is no mistake about dates. Mention the departure and arrival of trains, and say that Mrs. DavidLoring will find a fly at the station. That is all, I think. "

The companion bent officiously forward. "You remember, of course, thatyoung Mr. Lavendar comes down next week upon business?"

"Well, what if he does?" asked Mrs. De Tracy shortly. 

"Mrs. David Loring is a widow, " murmured the companion darkly; "ayoung American widow; and they are said to be so dangerous!"

Mrs. De Tracy drew herself up. "Do you insinuate that the Admiral'sniece will lay herself out to attract Mr. Lavendar, a widow in thehouse of a widow! You go rather too far, Miss Smeardon, though you arespeaking of an American. Besides, allusions of this character areextremely distasteful to me. I have been told that the minds ofunmarried women are always running upon love affairs, but I shouldhardly have thought it of you. "

"I'm sure I never imagined any about myself!" murmured Miss Smeardonwith the pitiable writhe of the trodden-on worm. 

"I should suppose not, " rejoined Mrs. De Tracy gravely, and thecompanion took up her pen obediently to write to Maria Spalding. 

"Shall I send your love to the Admiral's niece?" she humbly enquired, "or--or something of the kind?" There was irony in the last phrase, but it was quite unconscious. 

"Not my love, " replied Mrs. De Tracy, "some suitable message. Make nomistake about the dates, remember. "

Thus a letter containing dates, and though not love, the substitutedescribed by Miss Smeardon as "something of the kind" for an unwantedniece from an unknown aunt, left Stoke Revel by the afternoon post andreached Robinette Loring at breakfast next morning. 

III

YOUNG MRS. LORING

Young Mrs. Loring thought she had never taken so long a drive as thatfrom the Weston railway station to Stoke Revel. The way stretchedthrough narrow winding roads, always up hill, always between highDevonshire hedges. The rain-soaked lanes were slippery and she wasunpleasantly conscious of the size and weight of the American wardrobetrunk that reared its mighty frame in front of her almost to theblotting-out of the driver, who steadied it with one hand as he pliedthe whip with the other. It struck her humorously that the trunk waslarger than most of the cottages they were passing. 

It was a late spring that year in England, --Robinette was a new-comerand did not know that England runs to late and wet springs, believingthat they make more conversation than early, fine ones, --and thetrees were just bursting into leaf. The sun had not shone for threedays and the landscape, for all its beautiful greenness, looked gloomyto an eye accustomed to a good deal of crude sunshine. 

As the horse mounted higher and higher Robinette glanced out of thewindows at the dripping boughs and her face lost something of itssparkle of anticipation. She had little to expect in the way of a warmwelcome, she knew that; or at least her mind knew it, but Robinette'sheart always expected surprises, although she had lived two and twentysummers and was a widow at that. 

Her mother had been a de Tracy of Stoke Revel whose connection withthat ancient family had ceased abruptly when she met an Americanarchitect while traveling on the Continent, married him out of handand went to his native New England with him. The de Tracys had noopinion of America, its government, its institutions, its customs, orits people, and when they learned that Cynthia de Tracy had not onlyallied herself with this undesirable nation, but had selected a nativeby the name of Harold Bean, they regarded the incident of the marriageas closed. 

The union had been a happy one, though the de Tracys of Stoke Revelhad always regarded the unfortunately named architect more as avegetable than a human being; and the daughter of the marriage was theyoung Mrs. Loring now driving in the station fly to the home of hermother's people. 

Her father had died when she was fifteen and her mother followed threeyears after, leaving her with a respectable fortune but no relations;the entire family (happily, Mrs. De Tracy would have said) having diedout with Harold. Robinette was unspeakably lonely, even with herhundred friends, for there was enough English blood in her to make hercry out inwardly for kith and kin, for family ties, for all the dearfamiliar backgrounds of hearth and home. Had a welcoming hand beenstretched across the sea she would have flown at once to makeacquaintance with the de Tracys, cold and indifferent as they hadalways been, but no bidding ever came, and the picture of the ManorHouse of Stoke Revel on her dressing-table was the only reminder ofher connection with that ancient and honourable house. 

It is not difficult to see, under the circumstances, how thenineteen-year-old Robinette became the wife of the first man in whomshe inspired a serious passion. 

It is incredible that women should confuse the passive process ofbeing loved with the active process of loving, but it occursnevertheless, and Robinette drifted into marriage with the vaguestpossible notions of what it meant; feeling and knowing that she neededsomething, and supposing it must be a husband. It was better fortune, perhaps, than she merited, and equally kind for both parties, that herhusband died before either of them realized the tragic mistake. DavidLoring was too absorbed in his own emotions to note the absence offull response on the part of his wife; Robinette was too much a childand too inexperienced to be conscious of her own lack of feeling. 

It was death, not life, that opened her eyes. When David Loring lay inhis coffin, Robinette's heart was suddenly seized with growing pains. Her vision widened; words and promises took on a new and largermeaning, and she became a serious woman for her years, although therewas an ineradicable gaiety of spirit in her that needed only sunshineto make it the dominant note of her nature. 

At the moment, Robinette, in the station fly on her way to StokeRevel, was only in the making, although she herself considered herlife as practically finished. The past and the present were mouldingher into something that only the future could determine. SometimesApril, sometimes July, sometimes witch, sometimes woman; impetuous, intrepid, romantic, tempestuous, illogical, --these were but theelements of which the coming years of experience had yet to shape acharacter. Young Mrs. Loring had plenty of briars, but she had goodroots and in favorable soil would be certain to bear roses. 

But in the immediate present, the fly with the immense Americanwardrobe trunk beside the driver, turned into the avenue of StokeRevel, and Mrs. David Loring bestowed upon herself those littlefeminine attentions which precede arrival--pattings of the hair behindthe ears, twitches of the veil, and pullings down about the waist andsleeves. A little toy of a purse made of golden chainwork, hangingfrom her wrist, was searched for the driver's fare, and it had hardlysnapped to again when the fly drew up before the entrance to thehouse. How interesting it looked! Robinette put her head out of thecarriage window and gazed up at the long row of windows, the oldweather-coloured stones, and the carved front of the building. Herewas a house where things might happen, she thought, and her youngheart gave a sudden bound of anticipation. 

But the door was shut, alas! and a blank feeling came over Robinetteas she looked at it. Some one perhaps would come out and welcomeher, she thought for a brief moment, but only the butler appeared, who, with the formal announcement of her name, ushered her into along, low room with a row of windows on one side and a pleasantold-fashioned look of comfort and habitation. She caught a glimpseof a tea-table with a steaming urn upon it, heard the furious barkingof a little dog, saw that there were two figures in the room andmoved instinctively towards the one beside the window, the figure inweeds, neither very tall nor very imposing, yet somehow formidable. 

"How do you do?" said an icy voice, and a chill hand held hers for amoment, but did not press it. The colour in Robinette's cheeks paledand then rushed back, as she drew herself up unconsciously. 

"I am very well, thank you, Aunt de Tracy, " she answered withcommendable composure. 

"This is my friend and companion, Miss Smeardon, " continued Mrs. DeTracy, advancing to the tea-table where that useful personageofficiated. "Mrs. David Loring--Miss Smeardon. " Miss Smeardon had thedog upon her lap, yapping, clashing his teeth together, and obviouslythirsting for the visitor's blood. He was quieted with soothing words, and Robinette seated herself innocently in the nearest chair, besidethe table. 

"Excuse me!" the companion said with a slight cough; "Mrs. De Tracy'schair! Do you mind taking another?" There was something disagreeablein her voice, and in Mrs. De Tracy's deliberate scrutiny something sonearly insulting that a childish impulse to cry then and theresuddenly seized upon Robinette. This was her mother's home--and nokiss had welcomed her to it, no kind word! There were perfunctoryquestions about her journey, references to the coldness and latenessof the spring, enquiries after the health of Maria Spalding (whosemother was a Gallup), but no claiming of kinship, no naming of hermother's name nor of her native country! Robinette's ardent spirit hadfelt sorrow, but it had never met rebuff nor known injustice, and thesudden stir of revolt at her heart was painful with an almost physicalpain. 

After a long drawn hour of this social torture, Mrs. De Tracy rang, and a hard-featured elderly maid appeared. 

"Show Mrs. Loring to her room, Benson, " said the mistress of thehouse, "and help her to unpack. "

Robinette followed her conductor upstairs with a sinking heart. Oh!but the chill of this English spring was in her bones, and thecoldness of a reception so frigid that her passionate young spiritalmost rebelled on the spot, prompting wild ideas and impulsiveimpossibilities; even a flight to her mother's old nurse--to LizziePrettyman, so often lovingly described, with her little thatchedcottage beyond the river! Surely she would find the welcome there thatwas lacking here, and the touch of human kindness that one craved in aforeign land. But no! Robinette called to her aid her strong Americancommon sense and the "grit" that her countrymen admire. Was she toconfess herself routed in the very first onset--the very first attemptin storming the ancestral stronghold? With a characteristically quickreturn of hope, the Admiral's niece exclaimed, "Certainly not!"

IV

A CHILLY RECEPTION

Mrs. Benson approached the wardrobe trunk with the air of a person whohas taken an immediate and violent dislike to an object. 

"We have all looked at your box, ma'am, but I am sorry to say we arenot sure that it is set up properly. It is very different from any wehave ever seen at the Manor, and the men had some difficulty ingetting it up to the room. I fancy it is upside down, is it not? No?We rather thought it was. I would call the boot-and-knife boy tounlock it, but he jammed his hand in attempting to force the catches, and I thought you would be kind enough to instruct me how to open it, perhaps?"

"I am quite able to do it myself, " said Robinette, keeping down ahysterical laugh. "See how easily it goes when you know the secret!"and she deftly turned her key in two locks one after the other, letdown the mysterious façade of the affair, and pulled out anextraordinary rack on which hung so many dresses and wraps that Mrs. Benson lost her breath in surprise. 

"Would you like me to carry some of your things into another room, ma'am?" she asked. "They will never go in the wardrobe; it is only aplain English wardrobe, ma'am. We have never had any Americanguests. "

"The things needn't be moved, " said Robinette, "many of them will bequite convenient where they are;--and now you need not trouble aboutme; I am well used to helping myself, if you will be kind enough tocome in just before dinner for a moment. "

Mrs. Benson disappeared below stairs, where she regaled the injuredboot-and-knife boy and the female servants with the first instalmentof what was destined to be the most dramatic and sensational serialstory ever told at the Manor House. 

"The lid of the box don't lift up, " she explained, "like all the boxlids as ever I saw, and me with Lady Chitterton for six years, traveling constantly. The front of the thing splits in the middle andthe bottom half falls on the floor. A heathenish kind of tray liftsoff from its hinges like a door, and a clothes rack pulls out onrunners. 'T is a sight to curdle your blood; and the number of dressesshe's brought would make her out to be richer than Crusoe!--though Ihave heard from a cousin of mine who was in service in America thatthe ladies over there spend every penny they can rake and scrape ontheir clothes. Their husbands may work their fingers to the bone, andtheir parents be in the workhouse, but fine frocks they will have!"

"Rather!" said the boot-and-knife boy, nursing his injured thumb. 

On the departure of Mrs. Benson from her room, Robinette gave astifled shriek in which laughter and tears were equally mingled. Thenshe flew like a lapwing to the fire-place and lifted off a fan ofwhite paper from the grate. 

"No possibility of help there!" she exclaimed. "Cold within, coldwithout! How shall I unpack? How shall I dress? How shall I livewithout a fire? Ah! here is the coal box! Empty! Empty, and it is onlythe month of April! 'Oh! to be in England now that April's there!' Howcould Browning write that line without his teeth chattering! How wellI understand the desire of the British to keep India and South Africa!They must have some place to go where they can get warm! Now forunpacking, or any sort of manual labour which will put my frozen bloodin circulation!"

Slapping her hands, beating her breast, stamping her feet, Mrs. Loringremoved a few dresses from the offending trunk to the mahoganywardrobe, and disposed her effects neatly in the drawers of bureau andhighboy. 

"I have made a mistake at the very beginning, " she thought. "Isupposed nothing could be too pretty for the Manor House and now I amafraid my worst is too fine. The Manor House of Stoke Revel! Wouldn'tthat appeal to anyone's imagination? Now what for to-night? Whitesatin with crystal? Back you go into the trunk! Back goes thesilver grey chiffon! I'll have it re-hung over flannel! Avaunt!heliotrope velvet with amethyst spangles, made with a view toensnaring the High Church clergy! I wish I had a princess dress ofmoleskin with a court train of squirrel hanging from the shoulders!Here is the thing; my black Liberty satin two years old. I willcover part of my exposed neck and shoulders with a fichu of lace; myblack silk openwork stockings will be drawn on over a pair ofbalbriggans, and the number of petticoats I shall don would discouragea Scotch fishwife! To-morrow I'll write Mrs. Spalding's maid to buyme two hot-water bottles, mittens, a box of quinine tablets and aShetland shawl. . . . What are these--_fans?_ Retire into the depths ofthat tray and never look me in the face again!. . . _Parasols?_ Iwonder at your impertinence in coming here! I shall give you codliver oil and make you grow into umbrellas!"

Presently the dinner gong growled through the house, and Robinette, still shivering, flung across her shoulders a shimmering scarf ofwhite and silver. It fell over her simple black dress in just theright way, adding a last touch to the somewhat exotic grace which madeher a stranger in her mother's home. Then she fled down the darkeningpassages, instinctively aware that unpunctuality was a crime in thishouse. Yet in spite of her haste, she paused before the window of anupper lobby, arrested by the scene it framed. Heavy rain still fell, and the light, made greenish by the nearness of great trees justcoming into leaf, was cheerless and singularly cold. But that couldnot mar the majesty of the outlook which made the Manor of StokeRevel, on its height, unique. Far below the house, the broad riverslipped towards the sea, between woods that rose tier upon tier aboveand beyond--woods of beech and of oak, not yet green, but purplishunder the rainy mist. On the bank, woods too, and here, where theriver, in excess of strength, swirled into a creek--a shiningsand-bank where fishing nets were hung. Then the low, strong tower ofa church, with the sombreness of cypress beside it, and the thatchedroofs of cottages. 

Something stirred in the heart of Robinette as she looked, that partof her blood which her English mother had given her. This scene, soindescribably English as hardly to be imaginable in another land, hadbeen painted for her again and again by her mother with all theretrospective romance of an exile's touch. She knew it, but she didnot know if she could ever love it, beautiful though it was andnoble. 

But she banished these misgivings and ran down the twisted stairwayso fast that she was almost panting when she reached the drawing-roomdoor. 

"I will take your arm, please, " said the hostess coldly, while MissSmeardon wore the virtuous and injured air of one who has been keptwaiting. Mrs. De Tracy laid, on the warm and smooth arm of her guest, one of her small, dry hands, sparkling with rings, and the processionclosed with the companion and the lap-dog. 

In the dining room, the shutters were closed, and the candles, inbranching candlesticks of silver, only partially lit a room long andlow like the other. The walls were darkened with pictures, andRobinette's bright eyes searched them eagerly. 

"The Sir Joshua is not here!" she thought. "And it was not in thedrawing room. Has Aunt de Tracy given, or hidden it away--my very ownname-picture?"

With all her determination, Robinette somehow could not summon courageenough to ask where this picture was. Such a question would involvethe mention of her mother's name, and from that she shrank. Young Mrs. Loring had never before found herself in a society where conversationwas apparently regarded as a crime, and to fit herself to herenvironment, under the scrutiny of Mrs. De Tracy and the decidedlyinimical looks of the companion, took all her time. A burden ofself-consciousness lay upon her such as her light and elastic spirithad never known. She found herself morbidly observant of minutedetails; the pattern of the tablecloth; the crest upon the spoons; thecurious red knobs upon Miss Smeardon's fingers, and the odd mincingway she held her fork; the almost athletic efforts of the butler whenhe raised an enormous silver dish-cover, and the curiously frugal andunappetizing nature of the viand it disclosed. The wizened face of thelap-dog, too, peering over the table's edge, out of Miss Smeardon'slap, might have acquired its distrustful expression, Robinettethought, from habitual doubts as to whether enough to eat would everbe his good fortune. The meal ended with the ceremonious presentationto each lady in turn, of three wrinkled apples and two crooked bananasin a probably priceless dish of Crown Derby. Then the processionre-formed and returned to the drawing room. 

"And the evening and the morning were the first day!" sighed Robinetteto herself in the chilly solitude of her own room. How often could sheendure the repetition?

V

AT WITTISHAM

"May I have a fire to dress by, Benson?" Robinette asked rathertimidly that night, her head just peeping above the blankets. 

"_Fire_?" returned Benson, in italics, with an interrogation point. 

Robinette longed to spell the word and ask Benson if it had ever cometo her notice before, but she stifled her desire and said, "I am quiteashamed, Benson, but you see I am not used to the climate yet. Ifyou'll pamper me just a little at the beginning, I shall behave betterpresently. "

"I will give orders for a fire night and morning, certainly, ma'am, "said Benson. "I did not offer it because our ladies never have one intheir bedrooms at this time of the year. Mrs. De Tracy is very strongand active for her age. "

"It's my opinion she's a w'eedler, " remarked Benson at the housekeeper'sluncheon table. "She asks for what she wants like a child. She has apretty way with her, I can't deny that, but is she a w'eedler?"

Wheedler or not, Robinette got her fire to dress by, and so was ableto come down in the morning feeling tolerably warm. It was well thatshe was, for the cold tea and tough toast of the de Tracy breakfasthad little in them to warm the heart. Conversation languished duringthe meal, and after a walk to the stables Robinette was thankful toreturn to her own room again on the pretext of writing letters. Thereshe piled up the fire, drew her chair close up to the hearth, andemployed herself until noon, when she took her embroidery and joinedher aunt in the drawing room. Luncheon was announced at half past one, and immediately after it Mrs. De Tracy and Miss Smeardon went to theirrespective bedrooms for rest. 

"Are there indeed only twelve hours in the day?" Robinette askedherself desperately as she heard the great, solemn-toned hall clockstrike two. It seemed quite impossible that it could be only two; thewhole afternoon had still to be accounted for, and how? Well, shemight look over her clothes again, re-arranging them in all theirdainty variety in the wardrobe and drawers; she might put tissue paperinto the sleeves of each bodice, smoothing out every crease; she mighteven find that some tiny repairs were needed! There were three newhats, and several pairs of new gloves to be tried on; her accountsmust be made up, her cheque book balanced; yet all these things wouldtake but a short time. Then the hall clock struck three. 

"I must go out, " she thought. 

Coming through the hall from her room Robinette met her aunt and MissSmeardon descending the staircase. 

"We are driving this afternoon, " said Mrs. De Tracy, "would you notlike to come with us?"

The thought turned Robinette to stone: she had visited the stables, and seen the coachman lead what seemed to her a palsied horse out intothe yard. Her sympathetic allusion to the supposed condition of thesteed had not been well received, for the man had given her tounderstand that this was the one horse of the establishment, butRobinette had vowed never to sit behind it. 

"I think I'd rather walk, Aunt de Tracy, " she said, "I'd like to goand see my mother's old nurse, Mrs. Prettyman. Can I do any errandsfor you?"

"None, thank you. To go to Wittisham you have to cross the ferry, remember. "

"Oh! that must be simple! you may be sure I shall not lose myself!"said Robinette. 

Both the older women looked curiously at her for a moment; then Mrs. De Tracy said:--

"You will kindly not use the public ferry; the footman will row youacross to Wittisham at any hour you may mention to him. "

"Oh, but Aunt de Tracy, I'd really prefer the public ferry. "

"Nonsense, impossible; the footman shall row you, " said Mrs. De Tracywith finality. 

Robinette said nothing; she hated the idea of the footman, but itseemed inevitable. "Am I never to get away from their dullnesses?" shethought. "A public ferry sounds quite lively in place of being rowedby William!"

When the shore was reached, however, Robinette discovered that thepassage across the river in a leaky little boat, rowed by a painfullyinexperienced servant, was almost too much for her. To see himfumbling with the oars, made her tingle to take them herself; shecould not abide the irritation of a return journey with such aboatman. This determination was hastened when she saw that instead ofthe three-decker steamer of her native land, the ferry at Wittishamwas just like an ordinary row-boat; that one rang a bell hanging froma picturesque tower; that a nice young man with a sprig of wallflowerin his cap rowed one across, and that each passenger handed out apenny to him on the farther side. 

"How enchantingly quaint!" she cried. "William, you can go home; Ishall return by the public ferry. "

William looked surprised but only replied, "Very good, ma'am. "

On warm summer afternoons the tiny square of Mrs. Prettyman's gardenmade as delightful a place to sit in as one could wish. There wassunshine on the turf, and a thin shade was cast by the drooping boughsof the plum tree; just enough to shelter old eyes from the glare. Whenshe was very tired with doing her work Mrs. Prettyman would totter outinto the garden. She was getting terribly lame now, yet afraid toacknowledge it, knowing, with the desperate wisdom of poverty, thatonce to give in, very often ended in giving up altogether. So herlameness was 'blamed on the weather, ' 'blamed on scrubbing thefloor, ' blamed on anything rather than the tragic, incurable fact ofold age. This afternoon her rheumatism had been specially bad: she hadan inclination to cry out when she rose from her chair, and every stepwas an effort. Yet the sunshine was tempting; it warmed old and achingbones through and through as no fire could do; and Mrs. Prettymanthought she must make the effort to go out. 

She had just arrived at this conclusion, when a tap came to the door. 

"That you, Mrs. Darke?" she called out in her piping old voice. "Comein, me dear, I'm that stiff with me rheumatics to-day I can't scarcerise out of me chair. "

"It's not Mrs. Darke, " said Robinette, stooping to enter through thetiny doorway. "It's a stranger, Mrs. Prettyman, come all the way fromAmerica to see you. "

"Lor' now, Miss, whoever may you be?" the old woman cried, making asif she would rise from her chair. But Robinette caught her arm andmade her sit still. 

"Don't get up; please sit right there where you are, and I'll takethis chair beside you. Now, Mrs. Prettyman, look at me hard, and tellme if you know who I am. "

The old woman gazed into Robinette's face, and then a light seemed tobreak over her. 

"It's Miss Cynthia's daughter you are!" she cried. "My Miss Cynthia aswent and married in America!"

She caught Robinette's white ringed hands in hers, and Robinette bentdown and kissed the wrinkled old face. 

"I know that mother loved you, Nurse, " she said. "She used often, often to tell me about you. "

After the fashion of old people, Mrs. Prettyman was too much moved tospeak. Her face worked all over, and then slow tears began to run downher furrowed cheeks. She got up from her chair and walked across theuneven floor, leaning on a stick. 

"I've something here, Miss, I've something here; something I neverparts with, " she said. A tall chest of drawers stood against the wall, and the old woman began to search among its contents as she spoke. Atlast she found a little kid shoe, laid away in a handkerchief. 

"See here, Miss! here's my Miss Cynthia's shoe! 'T was tied on to mywedding coach the day I got married and left her. My 'usband 'elaughed at me cruel because I'd have that shoe with me; but I've keptit ever since. "

Robinette came and stood beside her, and they both wept together overthe silly little shoe. 

"I want to talk a great deal to you, Nurse; I want to tell you allabout mother and father, and how they died, " said Robinette throughher tears. How strange that she should have to come to this cottageand to this poor old woman before she found anyone to whom she couldspeak of her beloved dead! Her heart was so full that she couldscarcely speak. A crowd of memories rushed into her mind; last scenesand parting words; those innumerable unforgettable details that areprinted once for all upon the heart that loves and feels. 

"I'd like to tell you about it out of doors, Nurse dear, " she saidtearfully; "can you come out under the plum tree in your garden? It'slovely there. "

"Yes, dearie, yes, we'll come out under the plum tree, we will, "echoed Mrs. Prettyman. 

"See, Nursie, take my arm, I'll help you out into the warm sunshine, "Robinette said. 

They progressed very slowly, the old woman leaning with all her weightupon the arm of her strong young helper. Then under the flickeringshade of the tree they sat down together for their talk. 

So much to tell, so much to hear, the afternoon slipped away unknownto them, and still they were sitting there hand in hand talking andlistening; sometimes crying a little, sometimes laughing; a queerlyassorted couple, these new-made friends. 

But when all the recollections had been talked over and wept over, when Mrs. Prettyman had told Robinette, with the extraordinary detailthat old people can put into their memories of long ago, all that sheremembered of Cynthia de Tracy's childhood, then Robinette began toquestion the old woman about her own life. Was she comfortable? Wasshe tolerably well off? Or had she difficulty in making ends meet?

To these questions Mrs. Prettyman made valiant answers: she had a finespirit, and no wish to let a stranger see the skeleton in thecupboard. But Robinette's quick instinct pierced through the veil ofwell-meant bravery and touched the truth. 

"Nurse dear, " she said, "you say you're comfortable, and well off, butyou won't mind my telling you that I just don't quite believe you. "

"Oh, my dear heart, what's that you be sayin'? callin' of me a liar?"chuckled the old woman fondly. 

Robinette rose from her seat on the bench and stood back toscrutinize the cottage. It was exquisitely picturesque, but thisvery picturesqueness constituted its danger; for the place was aperfect death trap. The crumbling cob-walls that had taken on thosewonderful patches of green colour, soaked in the damp like a sponge:the irregularity of the thatched roof that looked so well, admittedtrickles of rain on wet nights; and the uneven mud floor of thekitchen revealed the fact that the cottage had been built without anyproper foundation. The door did not fit, and in cold weather aknife-like draught must run in under it. All this Robinette'squick, practical glance took in; she gave a little nod or two, murmuring to herself, "A new thatch roof, a new door, a new cementfloor. " Then she came and sat down again. 

"Tell me now, how much do you have to live on every week, Nurse?" sheasked. 

"Oh, Miss Robinette--ma'am, I should say--'t is wonderful how I getson; and then there's the plum tree--just see the flourish on it, Missie dear! 'T will have a crop o' plums come autumn will about dragdown the boughs! I don't know how 't would be with me without I hadthe plum tree. "

"Do you really make something by it?" Robinette asked. 

The old woman chuckled again. "To be sure I makes; makes jam everyautumn; a sight o' jam. Come inside again, me dear, an' see me jamcupboard and you'll know. "

She hobbled into the kitchen, and opened the door of a wall press inthe corner. There, row above row stood a solid phalanx of jam pots; itseemed as if a whole town might be supplied out of Mrs. Prettyman'scupboard. 

"'T is well thought of, me jam, " the old woman said, grinning withpleasure. "I be very careful in the preparing of 'en; gets a penny thepound more for me jam than others, along of its being so fine. "

Robinette was charmed to see that here Mrs. Prettyman had a reliablesource of income, however slender. 

"How much do you reckon to get from it every year?" she asked. 

"Going five pounds, dear: four pounds fifteen shillings and sixpence, last autumn; and please the Lord there's a better crop this season, so't will be the clear five pounds. Oh! I do be loving me plum tree likea friend, I do. "

They turned back into the sunshine again, that Robinette should admirethis wonderful tree-friend once more. She stood under its shadow withgreat delight, as the Bible says, gazing up through the intricatenetwork of boughs and blossom to the cloudless blue above her. 

"It's heavenly, Nurse, just heavenly!" she sighed as she came and satdown beside the old woman again. 

"Then there's me duck too, Missie! Lard, now I don't know how I'd bewithout I had me duck. Duckie I calls 'er and Duckie she is; companyshe is, too, to me mornin's, with her 'Quack, Quack, ' under thewinder. "

So the old woman prattled on, giving Robinette all the history of herlife, with its tiny joys and many struggles, till it seemed to thelistener that she had always known Mrs. Prettyman, the plum tree, andher duck--known them and loved them, all three. 

VI

MARK LAVENDAR

Hundreds of years ago the street of Stoke Revel village, if street itcould be called, and the tower of the ancient church, must have lookedvery much the same as now. 

On such a day, when the oak woods were budding, and the English birdssinging, and the spring sun was hot in a clear sky, a knight ridingdown the steep lane would have taken the same turn to the left on hisway to the Manor. Were he a young man, he would probably have reinedup his horse for a moment, and looked, as Mark Lavendar did now, atthe blithe landscape before him. Only then the accessories would havebeen so different: the great horse, somewhat tired by long hours ofriding, the armour that glinted in the sun, the casque pushed up tolet the fresh air play upon the rider's face; such a figure must haveoften stood just at that turn where the lane wound up the little hill. The landscape was the same, and young men in all ages are very muchthe same, so--although this one had merely arrived by train, andwalked from the nearest station--Mark Lavendar stopped and leaned overthe low wall when he came to the turn of the road, and looked down atthe river. 

He boasted no war horse nor armour; none of the trappings of the olderworld added to his distinction, and yet he was a very pleasing figureof a man. 

The gaunt brown face was quite hard and solemn in expression; ugly, but not commonplace, for as a friend once said of him, "His eyes seemto belong to another person. " It was not this, but only that the eyes, blue as Saint Veronica's flower, showed suddenly a different aspect ofthe man, an unexpected tenderness that flatly contradicted the hardfeatures of his face. He looked very nice when he laughed too, sothat most people when they had found out the trick, tried to make himlaugh as often as possible. 

"What a day! Heavens! what a lovely day, " he said to himself as heleaned on the low wall. "I want to be courting Amaryllis somewhere inthese woods, and instead I've got to go and talk business with thatold woman;" and he looked ruefully towards the Manor House; for thiswas not his first visit by any means, and he knew only too well thehours of boredom that awaited him. Mrs. De Tracy, strange to say, hada soft side towards this young man, the son of her family solicitor. Mark was invariably sent down by his father when there was anybusiness to be transacted at Stoke Revel. The older man was fond of agood dinner, and hated circumlocution about affairs, and it was onlywhen a death in the family, or some other crucial event, made hispresence absolutely necessary that he came down himself. Mark wassacrificed instead, and many a wearisome hour had he spent in thathouse. However on this occasion he had been glad enough to get out ofLondon for a while; the country was divine, and even the de Tracybusiness did not occupy the whole day. There would be hours on theriver; afternoons spent riding along those green lanes through whichhe had just passed, where the banks were starred with little vividflowers. Mark had an almost childish delight in such beauty. He hadloitered on the way along, flung himself down on a bank for a fewminutes, and burying his face amongst the flowers, listened with asmile upon his mouth to the birds that chirruped in the branches ofthe oak above him. 

Now he leaned on the low wall, and gazed at the shining reaches of theriver. "What a day!" he said to himself again. "What a divineafternoon"; then he added quite simply, "I wish I were in love;everyone under eighty ought to be, on such a day!"

Even at the age of thirty most men of any personal attractions havesome romantic memories. Lavendar had his share, but somehow thatmorning he was disconcertingly candid to himself. It may have been thesudden change from London air and London noise; something in the cleartransparency of the April day, in the flute-like melody of the birds'song, in the dream-like beauty of the scene before him, that made allthe moth and rust that had consumed the remembrances of the past moreapparent. There was little of the treasure of heaven there, --it hadmostly been nonsense or vanity or worse. He wanted, oh, how he wanted, to be able just for once to surrender himself to what was absolutelyideal; to have a memory when he was an old man, of something that hadno fault in it. 

"No, I've never been really in love, " he said to himself, "I may aswell confess it; and I daresay I never shall be, but marry on animpulse like most men, make the best of it afterwards, and have asort of middle-class happiness in the end of the day. "

"One, Two, Three, " said the church clock from the ancient tower, booming out the note, and Lavendar started, and rubbed his handsacross his dazzled eyes. "Luncheon is a late meal in that awful house, if I remember, " he said, "but it must be over by this time. I reallymust go in. Let me collect my thoughts; the business is 'just thingsin general, ' but especially the sale of some cottage or other and theland it stands on. Yes, yes, I remember; the papers are all right. Nowfor the old ladies. "

He made his entrance into the Manor drawing room a few minutes laterwith a charming smile. 

Mrs. De Tracy actually walked a few steps to meet him, with a greetingless frigid than usual. 

"I'm glad to see you, Mark, " said she. "Bates said you preferred towalk from the station. "

Mark turned his kind eyes on Miss Smeardon, and held her knuckly handin his own almost tenderly. It was a very bad habit, which had led tosome mischief in the past, that when he was sorry for a thing hewanted to be very kind to it; and this made him unusually pleasing, and dangerous!

"Business first and pleasure afterwards; excellent maxim!" he said tohimself half an hour later, as he removed the dust of travel from hisperson, preparatory to an interview with Mrs. De Tracy. "Now for it!"

He liked the drawing room at Stoke Revel and always wished it hadother occupants when he entered it. This afternoon it seemedparticularly agreeable, the open windows letting in the slantingsunshine and a strong scent of jonquils and sweet briar. 

"Well, Mrs. De Tracy, " said Mark, "I am my father's spokesman, youknow, and we have serious business to discuss. But tell me first, how's my young friend Carnaby?"

"Thank you; my grandson has a severe attack of quinsy, " replied Mrs. De Tracy. "He is to have sick-leave whenever the Endymion returns toPortsmouth. "

"Oh! Carnaby will make short work of an attack of quinsy, " saidLavendar, genially. 

"It would please me better, " retorted Mrs. De Tracy severely, "if mygrandson showed signs of mental improvement as well as bodily health. His letters are ill-spelled, ill-written, and ill-expressed. They arethe letters of a school-boy. "

"He is not much more than a school-boy, is he?" suggested Mark, "onlyfifteen! The mental improvement will come; too soon, for my taste. Ilike Carnaby as he is!"

The young man had seated himself beside his hostess in an attitude ofperfect ease. Though bored by his present environment, he was entirelyat home in it. Just because he greatly dared towards her and was neverafraid, Mrs. De Tracy liked him. With the mere flicker of an eyelid, she dismissed the attendant Smeardon. 

"There has been an offer for the land at Wittisham, " Lavendar said, when they were alone. 

Mrs. De Tracy winced. "That is no matter of congratulation with me, "she said bleakly. 

"But it is with us, for it is a most excellent one!" returned theyoung man hardily. "The firm has had the responsibility of advisingthe sale, which we consider absolutely unavoidable in the presentfinancial condition of Stoke Revel. We have advertised for a year, andadvertisement is costly. Now comes an offer of a somewhat peculiarkind, but sound enough. " Lavendar here produced a bundle of documentstied with the traditional red tape. "An artist, " he continued, "Waller, R. A. --you know the name?"

"I do not, " interpolated Mrs. De Tracy grimly. 

"Nevertheless, a well known painter, " persisted Mark, "and one, as ithappens, of the orchard scenery of this part of England. He has knownWittisham for a long time, and only last year he made a success withthe painting of a plum tree which grows in front of one of thecottages. It was sold for a large sum, and, as a matter of sentiment, I suppose, Waller wishes to buy the cottage and make it into a summerretreat or studio for himself. "

"He cannot buy it, " said Mrs. De Tracy with the snort of a war horse. 

"He cannot buy it apart from the land, " insinuated Mark, "but he isflush of cash and ready to buy the land too--very nearly as much as wewant to sell, and the bargain merely waits your consent. The sum thathas been agreed upon is of the kind that a man in the height of histriumph offers for a fancy article. No such sum will ever be offeredfor land at Wittisham again; old orchard land, falling into desuetudeas it is and covered with condemned cottages. "

Mrs. De Tracy was sternly silent, and Mark awaited her next words withsome curiosity. He felt like a torturer drawing the tooth of a Jew inthe good old days. This sale of land was a bitter pill to the widow, as it well might be, for it was the beginning of the end, as the deTracy solicitors could have told you. There had been de Tracys ofStoke Revel since Queen Elizabeth's time, but there would not be deTracys of Stoke Revel much longer, --unless young Carnaby married anheiress when he came of age--and that no de Tracy had ever done. 

"The land across the river, " Mrs. De Tracy said at last, "was thefirst land the de Tracys held, but much of it went at the Restoration. Well, let this go too!" she added harshly. 

Mark blessed himself that indecision was no part of the lady'scharacter and sighed with relief. "My father would like to know, " hesaid, "what you propose to do with regard to the old woman who is thepresent tenant of the cottage. "

"Elizabeth Prettyman is not a tenant, " said Mrs. De Tracy coldly. "She is practically a pensioner, since she lives rent-free. "

"True, I forgot, " said Mark soothingly. "I beg your pardon. "

"Do not suppose that it is by my wish, " continued Mrs. De Tracycoldly. "I have never approved of supporting the peasantry inidleness. This woman happened to be for some years nurse to Cynthia deTracy, my husband's younger sister, who deeply offended her family bymarrying an American named Bean. I see no claim in that to a pensionof any kind. "

"But your husband saw it, I imagine, " interpolated Mark quietly, andMrs. De Tracy gave him a fierce look, which he met, however, without asign of flinching. 

"My husband had a mistaken idea that Prettyman was poor when shebecame a widow, " said Mrs. De Tracy. "On the contrary she hadrelations quite well able to support her, I believe. I never cross theriver, in these days, and the matter has escaped my memory, so thatthings have been left as they were. "

"No great loss, " said Mark candidly, "since the cottage in its presentstate is utterly unfit for any tenant. As to Prettyman, is it yourintention to give her notice to quit?"

"Unquestionably, since the cottage is needed, " answered Mrs. De Tracy. "She has occupied it too long as it is. " The speaker's lips closedlike a vice over the words. 

"God pity Elizabeth Prettyman!" ejaculated Lavendar to himself. "Mightis Right still, apparently, at Stoke Revel!" Aloud he merely said, "Aweak deference to public opinion was never a foible of yours, Mrs. DeTracy; but I think I would advise you to consider some question ofcompensation to Mrs. Prettyman for the loss of the cottage. "

"If you can show me that the woman has any legal claim upon theestate, I will consider the question, but not otherwise, " said Mrs. DeTracy with such an air of finality that Lavendar was inclined to letthe matter drop for the moment. 

"The firm, " he said, "will communicate your wishes to Mrs. Prettymanby letter. "

"Prettyman cannot read, " snapped Mrs. De Tracy. "She must be told, andthe sooner the better. "

"Well, Mrs. De Tracy, " said the young man with a short laugh, "provided it is not I who have to tell her, well and good. I warn youthe task would not be to my taste unless compensation were offeredher. "

Mrs. De Tracy's features hardened to a degree unusual even to her. 

"I am apparently less tender-hearted than you, " she said sardonically. "I shall, if I think fit, deal with Prettyman in person. " The subjectwas dropped, and Lavendar rose to leave the room, but Mrs. De Tracydetained him. 

"The Admiral's niece, Mrs. David Loring, is my guest at present, " shesaid. "It happens that she has crossed the river to Wittisham and ispaying a visit to Prettyman. I should be obliged, Mark, if you wouldrow across and fetch her back, as by some misunderstanding, my servanthas not waited for her. You are an oarsman, I know. "

The young man consented with alacrity. "I shall kill two birds withone stone, " he said cheerfully, "I shall visit the famous plum treecottage and see Mrs. Prettyman for myself; and I shall have theprivilege of executing your commission as Mrs. Loring's escort. Itsounds a very agreeable one!"

"You have no time to lose, " said Mrs. De Tracy with a glance at theclock. 

VII

A CROSS-EXAMINATION

Lavendar escaped from the house, where, even in the smoke-room, itseemed unregenerate to light a cigar, and took the path to the shore. 

"I wonder if one woman staying in a house full of men would find lifeas depressing as I do cooped up here under precisely oppositecircumstances, " he thought, as he made his way through the littlechurchyard. "It cannot be the atmosphere of femininity that bores me, however, for Mrs. De Tracy has a strongly masculine flavour and MissSmeardon is as nearly neuter as a person can be. "

He took a couple of oars from the boat-house as he passed, and goingto the little landing stage untied the boat and started for thefarther shore. 

It was good to feel the water parting under his vigorous strokes anddelightful to exert his strength after the hours of stifled irritationat the Manor. It was a bright, calm close of day, when in the rarefiedevening air each sound began to acquire the sharpness that marks thehour. He could hear the rush of the waters behind the boat and thevoices of the fishers farther up the stream. As he drew up to the bankand took in his oars the stillness was so great that you could haveheard a pin fall, when suddenly from a tree above him a bird brokeinto one little finished song and then was still, as if it had utteredall it wished to say. 

"What a heavenly evening!" thought Lavendar, "and what a lovely spot!That must be the cottage just above me. Mrs. De Tracy said I shouldknow it by the plum tree. Ah, there it is!" Tying up the boat hesprang up the steps and walked along the flagged path. The plum treethese last few days had begun to look its fairest. The blossoms didnot yet conceal the leaves, but it was a very bower of beauty already. There was a little table spread for tea under its branches, and an oldwoman like thousands of old women in thousands of cottages all overEngland, was sitting behind it, precisely as if she had been acoloured illustration in a summer number of an English weekly. She wason the typical bench in the typical attitude, but instead of thetypical old man in a clean smock frock who should have occupied theend of the bench, there sat beside her a distinctly lovely youngwoman. What struck Lavendar was the wealth of colour she brought intothe picture: goldy brown hair, brown tweed dress, with a cape of bluecloth slipping off her shoulders, and a brown toque with a pertupstanding quill that seemed to express spirit and pluck, and a merryheart. His quick glance took in the little hands that held thewithered old ones. Both heads were bowed and in the brown tweed lapwas a child's shoe, --a wee, worn, fat shoe. Beside it lay an absurdbit of crumpled, tear-soaked embroidery that had been intended to doduty as a handkerchief but had evidently proved quite unseaworthy. 

Waddling about on the flags close to the little table was a large fatduck wearing a look of inexpressible greed. "_Quack, quack, quack_!"it said, waddling off angrily as Lavendar approached. 

At the sound of the duck's raucous voice both the women looked up. 

"Is this Mrs. Prettyman's cottage, ma'am?" Lavendar asked with hischarming smile. 

"Yes, sir, 't is indeed, and who may you be, if I may be so bold as toask?"

"I'm Mr. Lavendar, Mrs. De Tracy's lawyer, Mrs. Prettyman. I'm come todo some business at Stoke Revel, " he added, for the old face hadclouded over, and Mrs. Prettyman's whole expression changed to one oftimid mistrust. "I really was sent by Mrs. De Tracy, " he went on, turning to Robinette, "to take you home; Mrs. Loring, isn't it?"

"Yes, I am Mrs. Loring, " she said, frankly holding out her hand tohim. "I knew you were expected at Stoke Revel, but I sent the footmanback myself. He spoils the scenery and the river altogether. "

"I've got a boat down there; Mrs. De Tracy doesn't quite like yourtaking the ferry; may I have the honour of rowing you across? Myorders were to bring you back as soon as possible. "

"I'm blest if I hurry, " was his unspoken comment as Robinette gailyagreed, and, having bidden good-bye to the old woman, with a quickcaress that astonished him a good deal, she laid down the little shoegently upon the bench, and turned to accompany him to the boat. 

The river was like a looking-glass; the air like balm. "We'lltake some time getting across, against the tide, " said Lavendarreflectively, as he resolved that the little voyage should beprolonged to its fullest possible extent. He was not going intothe Manor a moment earlier than he could help, when this charmingperson was sitting opposite to him. So this was Mrs. Loring! Howdifferent from the stout middle-aged lady whom Mrs. De Tracy'swords had conjured up when he set out to find her!

"Old Mrs. Prettyman was my mother's nurse, " Robinette remarked asLavendar dipped his oars gently into the stream and began to row. "Iwent to see her feeling quite grown up, and she seemed to consider mestill a child; I was feeling about four years old at the moment whenyou appeared and woke me to the real world again. "

She had dried her eyes now and had pulled her hat down so as to shadeher face, but Lavendar could see the traces of her weeping, and thedear little ineffectual rag of a handkerchief was still in one hand. 

"What on earth was she crying about?" he thought, as with lowered eyeshe rowed very slowly across, only just keeping the boat's headagainst the current, and glancing now and then at the young woman. 

Was it possible that this lovely person was going to be hisfellow-guest in that dull house? "My word! but she's pretty! and whatwere the tears about . . . And the little shoe? Did it belong to a childof her own? Can she be a widow, I wonder, " said Lavendar to himself. 

"I often think, " he said suddenly, raising his head, "that when twopeople meet for the first time as utter strangers to each other, theyshould be encouraged, not forbidden, to ask plain questions. It may bemy legal training, but I'd like all conversation to begin in that way. As a child I was constantly reproved for my curiosity, especially whenI once asked a touchy old gentleman, 'Which is your glass eye? The onethat moves, or the one that stands still?'"

The tears had dried, the hat was pushed back again, the young woman'sface broke into an April smile that matched the day and the weather. 

"Oh, come, let us do it, " she exclaimed. "I'd love to play it like anew game: we know nothing at all about each other, any more than if wehad dropped from the moon into the boat together. Oh! do be quick!We've so little time; the river is quite narrow; who's to open theball?"

"I'll begin, by right of my profession; put the witness in the box, please. --What is your name, madam?"

"Robinette Loring, " she said demurely, clasping her hands on her knee, an almost childlike delight in the new game dimpling the corners ofher mouth from time to time. 

"What is your age, madam?" Lavendar hesitated just for a moment beforeputting this question. 

"I refuse to answer; you must guess. "

"Contempt of Court--"

"Well, go on; I'm twenty-two and six weeks. "

"Thank you, you are remarkably well preserved. I can hardlybelieve--those six-weeks! What nationality?"

"American, of course, or half and half; with an English mother andAmerican ideas. "

"Thank you. Where is your present place of residence?"

"Stoke Revel Manor House. "

"What is the duration of the visit?"

"Fixed at a month, but may be shortened at any time for badbehaviour. "

"Your purpose in coming to Stoke Revel?"

"A Sentimental Journey, in search of fond relations. "

"Have you found these relations?"

"I've found them; but the fondness is still to seek. "

"Have you left your family in America?"

"I have no one belonging to me in the world, " she answered simply, andher bright face clouded suddenly. 

There was a moment's rather embarrassed silence. "It's getting to be asad game"; she said. "It's my turn now. I'll be the cross-examiner, but not having had your legal training, I'll tell you a few factsabout this witness to begin with. He's a lawyer; I know that already. Your Christian name, sir?"

"Mark. "

"Mark Lavendar. 'Mark the perfect man. ' Where have I heard that; inPope or in the Bible? Thank you; very good; your age is between thirtyand thirty-five, with a strong probability that it is thirty-three. AmI right?"

"Approximately, madam. "

"You are unmarried, for married men don't play games like this; theyare too sedate. "

"You reassure me! Am I expected to acknowledge the truth of all yourobservations?"

"You have only to answer my questions, sir. "

"I am unmarried, madam. "

"Your nationality?"

"English of course. You don't count a French grandmother, I suppose?"

Robinette clapped her hands. "Of course I do; it accounts for thisgame; it just makes all the difference. --Why have you come to StokeRevel; couldn't you help it?"

A twinkle passed from the blue eyes to the brown ones. 

"I am here on business connected with the estate. "

"For how long?"

"An hour ago I thought all might be completed in a few days, but theseaffairs are sometimes unaccountably prolonged!" (Was there anothertwinkle? Robinette could hardly say. ) They were half-way across theriver now. She leaned over and looked at herself in the water for amoment. 

Lavendar rested on his oars, and began to rub the palms of his hands, smiling a little to himself as he bent his head. 

"Yours is an odd Christian name, " he said. "I've never heard itbefore. "

"Then you haven't visited your National Gallery faithfully enough, "said Mrs. Loring. "Robinetta is one of the Sir Joshua pictures there, you know, and it was a great favourite of my mother's in her girlhood. Indeed she saved up her pin-money for nearly two years that she mighthave a good copy of it made to hang in her bedroom where she couldlook at it night and morning. "

"Then you were named after the picture?"

"I was named from the memory of it, " said Robinette, trailing her handthrough the clear water. "Mother took nothing to America with her butmy father's love (there was so much of that, it made up for all sheleft behind), so the picture was thousands of miles away when I wasborn. Mother told me that when I was first put into her arms shethought suddenly, as she saw my dark head, 'Here is my own Robinetta, in place of the one I left behind, ' and fell asleep straight away, full of joy and content. "

"And they shortened the name to Robinette?"

"I was christened properly enough, " she answered. "It was the worldthat clipped my name's little wings; the world refuses to take meseriously; I can't think why, I'm sure; I never regarded _it_ as ajoke. "

"A joke, " said Lavendar reflectively; "it's a sort of grim one attimes; and yet it's funny too, " he said, suddenly raising his eyes. 

"Now that's the odd thing I was thinking as I looked at you just now, "Robinette said frankly. "You seem so deadly solemn until you look upand laugh--and then you _do_ laugh, you know. That's the Frenchgrandmother again! It was nice in her to marry your grandfather! Ithelped a lot!"

He laughed then certainly, and so did she, and then pointed out to himthat they were being slowly drifted out of their course, and that ifhe meant to get across to the landing-stage he must row a littleharder. 

"I have met American women casually;" he said, bending to his oars, "but I have never known one well. "

"It's rather too bad to disturb the tranquillity of your impressions, "returned Mrs. Loring composedly. 

Lavendar looked up with another twinkle. She seemed to provoketwinkles; he did not realize he had so many in stock. 

"You mean American women are not painted in quite the right colours?"

"I suppose black _is_ a colour?"

"Oh! I see your point of view!" and Lavendar twinkled again. 

"I can tell you in five sentences exactly what you have heard aboutus. Will you say whether I am right? If you refuse I'll put you in thewitness box and then you'll be forced to speak!"

"Very well; proceed. "

"One: We are clever, good conversationalists, and as cold asicicles. "

"Yes. "

"Two: We dress beautifully and use extravagant means to compass ourends in this direction. "

"Yes. "

"Three: We keep our overworked husbands under strict discipline. "

"Yes! I say, --I don't like this game. "

"Neither do I, but it's very much played, --"

"Four: We prefer hotels to home life and don't bring up our childrenwell. "

"Yes. "

"Five: We interfere with the proper game laws by bagging Englishhusbands instead of staying on our own preserves. That's about all, Ithink. Were not those rumours tolerably familiar to you in theha'penny papers and their human counterparts?"

Lavendar was so amused by this direct storming of his opinion that hecould hardly keep his laughter within bounds. "I've heard one othercriticism, " he said, "that you were all pretty and all had small feetand hands! I am now able to declare that to be a base calumny and tohope that all the others will prove just as false!" Then Robinettelaughed too; eyes, lips, cheeks! When Lavendar looked at her he wishedthat his father would keep him at Stoke Revel for a month. 

The sun was going down now, and the rising tide came swelling up fromthe sea, lifting itself and silently swelling the volume of the river, in a way that had something awful about it. The whole current of thegreat stream was against it, but behind was the force of the sea andso it filled and filled with hardly a ripple, as the heart is filledwith a new desire. Up from the mouth of the river came a faint breezebringing the taste of the ocean into the deeply wooded creeks. It hadfreshened into a little wind, as they drew up at the boat-house, thatflapped Robinette's blue cape about her, and dyed the colour in hercheeks to a livelier tint. As they walked up the narrow pathway to thehouse a deep silence fell between them that neither attempted tobreak. 

At the top of the hill, she paused to take breath, and look across theriver. It was half dark already there, on the other side in the deepshadow of the hill; and a lamp in the window of the cottage shone likea star beside the faintly green shape of the budding plum tree. 

As Robinette entered the door of the Manor House she took out herlittle gold-meshed purse and handed Mark Lavendar a penny. 

"It's none too much, " she said, meeting his astonished gaze with asmile. "I should have had to pay it on the public ferry, and you wereever so much nicer than the footman!"

Lavendar put the penny in his waistcoat pocket and has never spent itto this day. It is impossible to explain these things; one can onlystate them as facts. Another fact, too, that he suddenly remembered, when he went to his room, was, that the moment her personality touchedhis he was filled with curiosity about her. He had met hundreds ofwomen and enjoyed their conversation, but seldom longed to know on theinstant everything that had previously happened to them. 

VIII

SUNDAY AT STOKE REVEL

On Sundays, the Stoke Revel household was expected to appear at churchin full strength, visitors included. 

"We meet in the hall punctually at a quarter to eleven, " it was MissSmeardon's duty to announce to strangers. "Mrs. De Tracy alwaysprefers that the Stoke Revel guests should walk down together, as itsets a good example to the villagers. "

"What Nelson said about going to church with Lady Hamilton!" Lavendarhad once commented, irrepressibly, but the allusion, ratherfortunately, was lost upon Miss Smeardon. Mark began to picture thefamiliar Sunday scene to himself; Miss Smeardon in the hall at aquarter to eleven punctually, marshalling the church-goers; and Mrs. Loring, --she would be late of course, and come fluttering downstairsin some bewitching combination of flowery hat and floating scarf thatno one had ever seen before. What a lover's opportunity in thislateness, thought the young man to himself; but one could enjoy a walkto church in charming company, though something less than a lover. 

It was Mrs. De Tracy's custom, on Sunday mornings, to precede herhousehold by half an hour in going to the sanctuary. No infirmities ofold age had invaded her iron constitution, and it was nothing to herto walk alone to the church of Stoke Revel, steep though the hill waswhich led down through the ancient village to the yet more ancientedifice at its foot. During this solitary interval, Mrs. De Tracyvisited her husband's tomb, and no one knew, or dared, or cared toenquire, what motive encouraged this pious action in a character sodevoid of tenderness and sentiment. Was it affection, was it duty, wasit a mere form, a tribute to the greatness of an owner of StokeRevel, such as a nation pays to a dead king? Who could tell?

The graveyard of Stoke Revel owned a yew tree, so very, very old thatthe count of its years was lost and had become a fable or a fairytale. It was twisted, gnarled, and low; and its long branches, whichwould have reached the ground, were upheld, like the arms of somedying patriarch, by supports, themselves old and moss-grown. Under thespreading of this ancient tree were graves, and from the carved, age-eaten porch of the church, a path led among them, under the greentunnel, out into the sunny space beyond it. The Admiral lay in a vaultof which the door was at the side of the church, for no de Tracy, ofcourse, could occupy a mere grave, like one of the common herd; andhere walked the funereal figure of Mrs. De Tracy, fair weather orfoul, nearly every Sunday in the year. 

In justice to Mrs. De Tracy, it must be made plain that with all herfaults, small spite was not a part of her character. Yet to-day, heranger had been stirred by an incident so small that its verytriviality annoyed her pride. It was Mark Lavendar's custom, when hisvisits to Stoke Revel included a Sunday, cheerfully to evadechurch-going. His Sundays in the country were few, he said, and hepreferred to enjoy them in the temple of nature, generally taking along walk before lunch. But to-day he had announced his intention ofcoming to service, and well Mrs. De Tracy, versed in men and in humannature, knew why. Robinette would be there, and Lavendar followed, asthe bee follows a basket of flowers on a summer day. As Mrs. De Tracy, like the Stoic that she was, accepted all the inevitable facts oflife, --birth, death, love, hate (she had known them all in her day), she accepted this one also. But in that atrophy of every feelingexcept bitterness, that atrophy which is perhaps the only realsolitude, the only real old age, her animosity was stirred. It was asthough a dead branch upon some living tree was angry with the springfor breathing on it. As she returned, herself unseen in the shadow ofthe yew tree, she saw Lavendar and Robinette enter together under thelych-gate, the figure of the young woman touched with sunlight andcolour, her lips moving, and Lavendar smiling in answer. In theclashing of the bells--bells which shook the air, the earth, theancient stones, the very nests upon the trees--their voices wereinaudible, but in their faces was a young happiness and hope to whichthe solitary woman could not blind herself. 

Presently in the lukewarm air within, Robinette was finding thechurch's immemorial smell of prayer-books, hassocks, decaying wood, damp stones, matting, school-children, and altar flowers, a harmoniousand suggestive one if not pleasant. What an ancient air it was, shethought; breathed and re-breathed by slow generations of StokeRevellers during their sleepy devotions! The very light that enteredthrough the dim stained glass seemed old and dusty, it had seen somuch during so many hundred years, seen so much, and found out so manysecrets! Soon the clashing of the bells ceased and upon the stillreverberating silence there broke the small, snoring noises of arather ineffectual organ, while the amiable curate, Rev. Tobias Finch, made his appearance, and the service began. 

Mrs. De Tracy had entered the pew first, naturally; Miss Smeardon satnext, then Robinetta. Lavendar occupied the pew in front, alone, andthrough her half-closed eyelids Robinetta could see the line of hislean cheek and bony temple. He had not wished to sit there at all andhe was so unresigned as to be badly in need of the soothing influencesof Morning Prayer. Robinetta was beginning to wonder dreamily whatmanner of man this really was, behind his plain face and non-committalmanner, when the muffled slam of a door behind, startled her, followedas it was by a quick step upon the matted aisle. Then without furtherwarning, a big, broad-shouldered boy, in the uniform of a Britishmidshipman, thrust himself into the pew beside her, hot and breathlessafter running hard. Mrs. Loring guessed at once that this must beCarnaby de Tracy, the young hopeful and heir of Stoke Revel of whomMr. Lavendar had so often spoken, but the startling and unconventionalnature of his appearance was not at all what one expected in a memberof his family. Robinette stole more than one look at him as theoffertory went round; a robust boy with a square chin, a fair faceburnt red by the sun, a rollicking eye and an impudent nose; nothandsome certainly, indeed quite plain, but he looked honest andstrong and clean, and Robinette's frolicsome youth was drawn to his, all ready for fun. Carnaby hitched about a good deal, dropped hishymn-book, moved the hassock, took out his handkerchief, and ondiscovering a huge hole, turned crimson. 

Service over, the congregation shuffled out into the sunshine, andMrs. De Tracy, after a characteristically cool and disapprovingrecognition of her grandson, became occupied with villagers. Lavendar made known young Carnaby to Mrs. David Loring, but themidshipman's light grey eyes had discovered the pretty face withoutany assistance. 

"This lady is your American cousin, Carnaby, " said Mark. "Did you knowyou had one?"

"I don't think I did, " answered the boy, "but it's never too late tomend!" He attempted a bow of finished grown-upness, failed somewhat, and melted at once into an engaging boyishness, under which hisfrank admiration of his new-found relative was not to be hidden. "Isay, are you stopping at Stoke Revel?" he asked, as though the newswere too good to be true. "Jolly! Hullo--" he broke off withanimation as the cassocked figure of the Rev. Tobias Finch flutteredout from the porch--"here's old Toby! Watch Miss Smeardon now! Sheexpects to catch him, you know, but he says he's going to be acelly--celly-what-d'you-call-'em?"

"Celibate?" suggested Lavendar, with laughing eyes. 

"The very word, thank you!" said Carnaby. "Yes: a celibate. Not soeasily nicked, good old Toby--you bet!"

"Do the clergymen over here always dress like that?" inquiredRobinetta, trying to suppress a tendency to laugh at his slang. 

"Cassock?" said Carnaby. "Toby wouldn't be seen without it. High, youknow! Bicycles in it. Fact! Goes to bed in it, I believe. "

"Carnaby, Carnaby! Come away!" said Lavendar. "Restrain these flightsof imagination! Don't you see how they shock Mrs. Loring?"

Before the Manor was reached, Robinetta and Carnaby had sworn eternalfriendship deeper than any cousinship, they both declared. They metupon a sort of platform of Stoke Revel, predestined to sympathy uponall its salient characteristics; two naughty children on a holiday. 

"Do you get enough to eat here?" asked Carnaby in a hollow whisper, inthe drawing-room before lunch. 

"Of course I have enough, Middy, " answered Robinetta with unconsciousreservation. She had rejected "Carnaby" at once as a name quiteimpossible: he was "Middy" to her almost from the first moment oftheir acquaintance. 

"Enough?" he ejaculated, "_I_ don't! I'd never be fed if it weren'tfor old Bates and Mrs. Smith and Cooky. " Bates was the butler, Mrs. Smith the housekeeper, and Cooky her satellite. "Nobody gets enough toeat in this house!" added Carnaby darkly, "except the dog. "

At the lunch-table, the antagonism natural between a hot-bloodedimpetuous boy and a grandmother such as Mrs. De Tracy became ratherpainfully apparent. He had already been hauled over the coals for hisarrival on Sunday and his indecorous appearance in church afterservice had begun. 

"It does not appear to me that you are at all in need of sick-leave, "said Mrs. De Tracy suspiciously. 

Carnaby, sensitive for all his robustness, flushed hotly, and thenbecame impertinent. "My pulse is twenty beats too quick still, afterquinsy. If you don't believe the doctor, ma'am, it's not my fault. "

"Carnaby has committed indiscretions in the way of growing since Ilast saw him, " Lavendar broke in hastily. "At sixteen one may easilyoutgrow one's strength!"

"Indeed!" said Mrs. De Tracy, frigidly. The situation was saved by thebehaviour of the lap-dog, which suddenly burst into a passion ofbarking and convulsive struggling in Miss Smeardon's arms. His enemyhad come, and Carnaby had fifty ways of exasperating his grandmother'sfavourite, secrets between him and the bewildered dog. Rupert was aPrince Charles of pedigree as unquestioned as his mistress's and anappearance dating back to Vandyke, but Carnaby always addressed him as"Lord Roberts, " for reasons of his own. It annoyed his grandmother andit infuriated the dog, who took it for a deadly insult. 

"Lord Roberts! Bobs, old man, hi! hi!" Carnaby had but to say thewords to make the little dog convulsive. He said them now, and theresults seemed likely to be fatal to a dropsical animal so soon aftera full meal. 

"You'll kill him!" whispered Robinette as they left the dining room. 

"I mean to!" was the calm reply. "I'd like to wring old Smeardon'sneck too!" but the broad good humour of the rosy face, the twinklingeyes, belied these truculent words. In spite of infinite powers ofmischief, there was not an ounce of vindictiveness in Carnaby deTracy, though there might be other qualities difficult to deal with. 

"There's a man to be made there--or to be marred!" said Robinette toherself. 

IX

POINTS OF VIEW

Evenings at Stoke Revel were of a dullness all too deep to be soundedand too closely hedged in by tradition and observance to be evaded orshortened by the boldest visitor. Lavendar and the boy would haveprolonged their respite in the smoking room had they dared, but inthese later days Lavendar found he wished to be below on guard. Thethought of Robinette alone between the two women downstairs made himuneasy. It was as though some bird of bright plumage had strayed intoa barnyard to be pecked at by hens. Not but what he realised that thisparticular bird had a spirit of her own, and plenty of courage, but noman with even a prospective interest in a pretty woman, likes to thinkof the object of his admiration as thoroughly well able to look afterherself. She must needs have a protector, and the heaven-sent one ishimself. 

He had to take up arms in her defense on this, the first night of hisarrival. Mrs. Loring had gone up to her room for some photographs ofher house in America, and as she flitted through the door her scarfcaught on the knob, and he had been obliged to extricate it. He hadknown her exactly four hours, and although he was unconscious of it, his heart was being pulled along the passage and up the stairway atthe tail-end of that wisp of chiffon, while he listened to herretreating footsteps. Closing the door he came back to Mrs. De Tracy'sside. 

"Her dress is indecorous for a widow, " said that lady severely. 

"Oh, I don't see that, " replied Lavendar. "She is in reality only agirl, and her widowhood has already lasted two years, you say. "

"Once a widow always a widow, " returned Mrs. De Tracy sententiously, with a self-respecting glance at her own cap and the half-dozen dulljet ornaments she affected. Lavendar laughed outright, but she ratherliked his laughter: it made her think herself witty. Once he had toldher she was "delicious, " and she had never forgotten it. 

"That's going pretty far, my dear lady, " he replied. "Not all womenare so faithful to a memory as you. I understand Americans don't wearweeds, and to me her blue cape is a delightful note in the landscape. Her dresses are conventional and proper, and I fancy she cannotexpress herself without a bit of colour. "

"The object of clothing, Mark, is to cover and to protect yourself, not to express yourself, " said Mrs. De Tracy bitingly. 

"The thought of wearing anything bright always makes me shrink, "remarked Miss Smeardon, who had never apparently observed the tip ofher own nose, "but some persons are less sensitive on these pointsthan others. "

Mrs. De Tracy bowed an approving assent to this. "A widow's onlyconcern should be to refrain from attracting notice, " she said, asthough quoting from a private book of proverbial philosophy soon to bepublished. 

"Then Mrs. Loring might as well have burned herself on her husband'sfuneral pyre, Hindoo fashion!" argued Lavendar. "A woman's life hasn'tended at two and twenty. It's hardly begun, and I fear the lady inquestion will arouse attention whatever she wears. "

"Would she be called attractive?" asked Mrs. De Tracy with surprise. 

"Oh, yes, without a doubt!"

"In gentlemen's eyes, I suppose you mean?" said Miss Smeardon. 

"Yes, in gentlemen's eyes, " answered Lavendar, firmly. "Those of womenare apparently furnished with different lenses. But here comes thefair object of our discussion, so we must decide it later on. "

The question of ancestors, a favourite one at Stoke Revel, came up inthe course of the next evening's conversation, and Lavendar foundRobinette a trifle flushed but smiling under a double fire ofquestions from Mrs. De Tracy and her companion. Mrs. De Tracy was inher usual chair, knitting; Miss Smeardon sat by the table with a pieceof fancy-work; Robinette had pulled a foot-stool to the hearthrug andsat as near the flames as she conveniently could. She shielded herface with the last copy of _Punch_, and let her shoulders bask in thewarmth of the fire, which made flickering shadows on her creamy neck. Her white skirts swept softly round her feet, and her favouriteturquoise scarf made a note of colour in her lap. She was one of thosewomen who, without positive beauty, always make pictures ofthemselves. 

Lavendar analyzed her looks as he joined the circle, pretending toread. "She isn't posing, " he thought, "but she ought to be painted. She ought always to be painted, each time one sees her, foreverything about her suggests a portrait. That blue ribbon in her hairis fairly distracting! What the dickens is the reason one wants tolook at her all the time! I've seen far handsomer women!"

"Do you use Burke and Debrett in your country, Mrs. Loring?" MissSmeardon was enquiring politely, as she laid down one red volume afterthe other, having ascertained the complete family tree of a lady whohad called that afternoon. 

Robinette smiled. "I'm afraid we've nothing but telephone or businessdirectories, social registers, and 'Who's Who, ' in America, " shesaid. 

"You are not interested in questions of genealogy, I suppose?" askedMrs. De Tracy pityingly. 

"I can hardly say that. But I think perhaps that we are more occupiedwith the future than with the past. "

"That is natural, " assented the lady of the Manor, "since you have somuch more of it, haven't you? But the mixture of races in yourcountry, " she continued condescendingly, "must have made youindifferent to purity of strain. "

"I hope we are not wholly indifferent, " said Robinette, as though shewere stopping to consider. "I think every serious-minded person mustbe proud to inherit fine qualities and to pass them on. Surely itisn't enough to give _old_ blood to the next generation--it must be_good_ blood. Yes! the right stock certainly means something to anAmerican. "

"But if you've nothing that answers to Burke and Debrett, I don't seehow you can find out anybody's pedigree, " objected Miss Smeardon. Thenwith an air of innocent curiosity and a glance supposed to be arch, "Are the Red Indians, the Negroes, and the Chinese in your so-calleddirectories?"

"As many of them as are in business, or have won their way to anyposition among men no doubt are there, I suppose, " answered Robinettestraightforwardly. "I think we just guess at people's ancestry by theway they look, act, and speak, " she continued musingly. "You can'guess' quite well if you are clever at it. No Indians or Chinese everdine with me, Miss Smeardon, though I'd rather like a peaceful Indianat dinner for a change; but I expect he'd find me very dull anduneventful!"

"Dull!--that's a word I very often hear on American lips, " broke inLavendar as he looked over the top of Henry Newbolt's poems. "Ibelieve being dull is thought a criminal offence in your country. Now, isn't there some danger involved in this fear of dullness?"

"I shouldn't wonder, " Robinette answered thoughtfully, looking intothe fire. "Yes; I dare say there is, but I'm afraid there are socialand mental dangers involved in _not_ being afraid of it, too!" Hermischievous eyes swept the room, with Mrs. De Tracy's solemn figureand Miss Smeardon's for its bright ornaments. "The moment a person ora nation allows itself to be too dull, it ceases to be quite alive, doesn't it? But as to us Americans, Mr. Lavendar, bear with us for afew years, we are so ridiculously young! It is our growing time, andwhat you want in a young plant is growth, isn't it?"

"Y-yes, " Lavendar replied: then with a twinkle in his blue eyes headded: "Only somehow we don't like to hear a plant grow! It shouldmanage to perform the operation quite silently, showing not processesbut results. That's a counsel of perfection, perhaps, but don't slayme for plain-speaking, Mrs. Loring!"

Robinette laughed. "I'll never slay you for saying anything so wiseand true as that!" she said, and Lavendar, flushing under her praise, was charmed with her good humour. 

"America's a very large country, is it not?" enquired Miss Smeardonwith her usual brilliancy. "What is its area?"

"Bigger than England, but not as big as the British Empire!" suggestedCarnaby, feeling the conversation was drifting into his ken. 

"It's just the size of the moon, I've heard!" said Robinetteteasingly. "Does that throw any light on the question?"

"Moonlight!" laughed Carnaby, much pleased with his own wit. "Ha! ha!That's the first joke I've made this holidays. _Moonlight!_ Jollygood!"

"If you'd take a joke a little more in your stride, my son, " saidLavendar, "we should be more impressed by your mental sparkles. "

"Straighten the sofa-cushions, Carnaby, " said his grandmother, "anddon't lounge. I missed the point of your so-called joke entirely. Asto the size of a country or anything else, I have never understoodthat it affected its quality. In fruit or vegetables, for instance, itgenerally means coarseness and indifferent flavour. " Miss Smeardonbeamed at this palpable hit, but Mrs. Loring deprived the situation ofits point by backing up Mrs. De Tracy heartily. She had no opinion ofmere size, either, she declared. 

"You don't stand up for your country half enough, " objected Carnaby tohis cousin. ("Why don't you give the old cat beans?" was hissupplement, _sotto voce_. )

"Just attack some of my pet theories and convictions, Middy dear, ifyou wish to see me in a rage, " said Robinette lightly, "but my mottowill never be 'My country right or wrong. '"

"Nor mine, " agreed Lavendar. "I'm heartily with you there. "

"It's a great venture we're trying in America. I wish every one wouldtry to look at it in that light, " said Robinette with a slight flushof earnestness. 

"What do you mean by a venture?" asked Mrs. De Tracy. 

"The experiment we're making in democracy, " answered Robinette. "It'sfallen to us to try it, for of course it simply had to be tried. Itis thrillingly interesting, whatever it may turn out, and I wish Imight live to see the end of it. We are creating a race, Aunt deTracy; think of that!"

"It's as difficult for nations as for individuals to hit the happymedium, " said Lavendar, stirring the fire. "Enterprise carried too farbecomes vulgar hustling, while stability and conservatism often passthe coveted point of repose and degenerate into torpor. "

"This part of England seems to me singularly free from faults, "interposed Mrs. De Tracy in didactic tones. "We have a wonderfulclimate; more sunshine than in any part of the island, I believe. Ourlocal society is singularly free from scandal. The clergy, if notquite as eloquent or profound as in London (and in my opinion it isthe better for being neither) is strictly conscientious. We have noburglars or locusts or gnats or even midges, as I'm told theyunfortunately have in Scotland, and our dinner-parties, though quietand dignified, are never dull. . . . What is the matter, Robinetta?"

"A sudden catch in my throat, " said Robinette, struggling with somesort of vocal difficulty and avoiding Lavendar's eye. "Thank you, " ashe offered her a glass of water from the punctual and strictlytemperate evening tray. "Don't look at me, " she added under hervoice. 

"Not for a million of money!" he whispered. Then he said aloud: "If Iever stand for Parliament, Mrs. Loring, I should like you to help mewith my constituency!"

The unruffled temper and sweet reasonableness of Robinette's answersto questions by no means always devoid of malice, had struck the youngman very much, as he listened. 

"She is good!" he thought to himself. "Good and sweet and generous. Her loveliness is not only in her face; it is in her heart. " And somefavorite lines began to run in his head that night, with newconviction:--

 He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires, -- As old Time makes these decay, So his flames will waste away. 

 But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined--

but here Lavendar broke off with a laugh. 

"It's not come to that yet!" he thought. "I wonder if it ever will?"

X

A NEW KINSMAN

Young Mrs. Loring was making her way slowly at Stoke Revel Manor, andMrs. De Tracy, though never affectionate, treated her with a littleless indifference as the days went on. "The Admiral's niece is alady, " she admitted to herself privately; "not perhaps the highesttype of English lady; that, considering her mixed ancestry andAmerican education, would be too much to expect; but in the broad, general meaning of the word, unmistakably a lady!"

Mrs. Benson, though not melting outwardly as yet, held more lenientviews still with regard to the American guest. Bates, the butler, waselderly, and severely Church of England; his knowledge of widows wasconfined to the type ably represented by his mistress and he regardedyoung Mrs. Loring as inclined to be "flighty. " The footman, who wasentirely under the butler's thumb in mundane matters, had fallen intothe habit of sharing his opinions, and while agreeing in the generalfeeling of flightiness, declared boldly that the lady in question gavea certain "style" to the dinner-table that it had lacked before heradvent. 

For a helpless victim, however, a slave bound in fetters of steel, onewould have to know Cummins, the under housemaid, who lighted Mrs. Loring's fire night and morning. She was young, shy, country bred, andnew to service. When Mrs. Benson sent her to the guest's room at eighto'clock on the morning after her arrival she stopped outside the doorin a panic of fear. 

"Come in!" called a cheerful voice. "Come in!"

Cummins entered, bearing her box with brush and cloth and kindlings. To her further embarrassment Mrs. Loring was sitting up in bed with anermine coat on, over which her bright hair fell in picturesquedisorder. She had brought the coat for theatre and opera, but as theseattractions were lacking at Stoke Revel and as life there was, to her, one prolonged Polar expedition, with dashes farthest north morning andevening, she had diverted it to practical uses. 

"Make me a quick fire please, a big fire, a hot fire, " she begged, "orI shall be late for breakfast; I never can step into that tin tub tillthe ice is melted. "

"There's no ice in it, ma'am, " expostulated Cummins gently, with thevoice of a wood dove. 

"You can't see it because you're English, " said the strange lady, "butI can see it and feel it. Oh, you make _such_ a good fire! What isyour name, please?"

"Cummins, ma'am. "

"There's another Cummins downstairs, but she is tall and large. Youshall be 'Little Cummins. '"

Now every morning the shy maid palpitated outside the bedroom door, having given her modest knock; palpitated for fear it should be all adream. But no, it was not! there would be a clear-voiced "Come in!"and then, as she entered; "Good morning, Little Cummins. I've beenlonging for you since daybreak!" A trifle later on it was, "GoodLittle Cummins bearing coals of comfort! Kind Little Cummins, " andother strange and wonderful terms of praise, until Little Cummins feltherself consumed by a passion to which Mrs. De Tracy's coals became asless than naught unless they could be heaped on the altar of thebeloved. 

So life went on at Stoke Revel, outwardly even and often dull, whilein reality many subtle changes were taking place below the surface;changes slight in themselves but not without meaning. 

Robinette ran up to her room directly after breakfast one morning andpinned on her hat as she came downstairs. Mark Lavendar had gone toLondon for a few days, but even the dullness of breakfast-tableconversation had not robbed her of her joy in the early sunshine, mademore cheery by the prospect of a walk with Carnaby, with whom she wasnow fast friends. 

Carnaby looked at her beamingly as they stood together on the steps. "You're the best turned-out woman of my acquaintance, " he saidapprovingly, with a laughable struggle for the tone of a middle-agedman of the world. 

"How many ladies of fashion do you know, my child?" enquiredRobinetta, pulling on her gloves. 

"I see a lot of 'em off and on, " Carnaby answered somewhat huffily, "and they don't call me a child either!"

"Don't they? Then that's because they're timid and don't dare addressa future Admiral as Infant-in-Arms! Come on, Middy dear, let's walk. "

Robinette wore a white serge dress and jacket, and her hat was a roughstraw turned up saucily in two places with black owls' heads. Mrs. Benson and Little Cummins had looked at it curiously while Robinettewas at breakfast. 

"'Tis black underneath and white on top, Mrs. Benson. 'Ow can that be?It looks as if one 'at 'ad been clapped on another!"

"That's what it is, Cummins. It's a double hat; but they'll doanything in America. It's a double hat with two black owls' heads, andI'll wager they charged double price for it!"

"She's a lovely beauty in anythink and everythink she wears, " saidLittle Cummins loyally. 

"May I call you 'Cousin Robin'?" Carnaby asked as they walked along. "Robinette is such a long name. "

"Cousin Robin is very nice, I think, " she answered. "As a matterof fact I ought to be your Aunt Robin; it would be much moreappropriate. "

"Aunt be blowed!" ejaculated Carnaby. 

"You're very fond of making yourself out old, but it's no go! When Ifirst heard you were a widow I thought you would be grandmother'sage, --I say--do you think you will marry another time, Cousin Robin?"

"That's a very leading question for a gentleman to put to a lady! Wereyou intending to ask me to wait for you, Middy dear?" asked Robinette, putting her arm in the boy's laughingly, quite unconscious of hismood. 

"I'd wait quick enough if you'd let me! I'd wait a lifetime! Therenever was anybody like you in the world!"

The words were said half under the boy's breath and the emotion in histone was a complete and disagreeable surprise. Here was something thatmust be nipped in the bud, instantly and courageously. Robinettedropped Carnaby's arm and said: "We'll talk that over at once, Middydear, but first you shall race me to the top of the twisting path, down past the tulip beds, to the seat under the big ash tree. --Comeon!"

The two reached the tree in a moment, Carnaby sufficiently in advanceto preserve his self-respect and with a colour heightened by somethingother than the exercise of running. 

"Sit down, first cousin once removed!" said Robinette. "Do you knowthe story of Sydney Smith, who wrote apologizing to somebody for notbeing able to come to dinner? 'The house is full of cousins, ' he said;'would they were "once removed"!'"

"It's no good telling me literary anecdotes!--You're not treating mefairly, " said Carnaby sulkily. 

"I'm treating you exactly as you should be treated, Infant-in-Arms, "Robinette answered firmly. "Give me your two paws, and look mestraight in the eye. "

Carnaby was no coward. His steel-grey eyes blazed as he met hiscousin's look. "Carnaby dear, do you know what you are to me? You aremy kinsman; my only male relation. I'm so fond of you already, don'tspoil it! Think what you can be to me if you will. I am all alone inthe world and when you grow a little older how I should like to dependupon you! I need affection; so do you, dear boy; can't I see how youare just starving for it? There is no reason in the world why weshouldn't be fond of each other! Oh! how grateful I should be to thinkof a strong young middy growing up to advise me and take me about! Itwas that kind of care and thought of me that was in your mind justnow!"

"You'll be marrying somebody one of these days, " blurted Carnaby, wholly moved, but only half convinced. "Then you'll forget all aboutyour 'kinsman. '"

"I have no intention in that direction, " said Robinette, "but if Ichange my mind I'll consult you first; how will that do?"

"It wouldn't do any good, " sighed the boy, "so I'd rather youwouldn't! You'd have your own way spite of everything a fellow couldsay against it!"

There was a moment of embarrassment; then the silence was promptlybroken by Robinette. 

"Well, Middy dear, are we the best of friends?" she asked, rising fromthe bench and putting out her hand. 

The lad took it and said all in a glow of chivalry, "You're thedearest, the best, and the prettiest cousin in the world! You don'tmind my thinking you're the prettiest?"

"Mind it? I delight in it! I shall come to your ship and pour out teafor you in my most fetching frock. Your friends will say: 'Who is thatparticularly agreeable lady, Carnaby?' And you, with swelling chest, will respond, 'That's my American cousin, Mrs. Loring. She's a nicecreature; I'm glad you like her!'"

Robinette's imitation of Carnaby's possible pomposity was so amusingand so clever that it drew a laugh from the boy in spite of himself. 

"Just let anyone try to call you a 'creature'!" he exclaimed. "He'dhave me to reckon with! Oh! I am so tired of being a boy! The insideof me is all grown up and everybody keeps on looking at the outsideand thinking I'm just the same as I always was!"

"Dear old Middy, you're quite old enough to be my protector and thatis what you shall be! Now shall we go in? I want you to stand near bywhile I ask your grandmother a favor. "

"She won't do it if she can help it, " was Carnaby's succinct reply. 

"Oh, I am not sure! Where shall we find her, --in the library?"

"Yes; come along! Get up your circulation; you'll need it!"

"Aunt de Tracy, there is something at Stoke Revel I am very anxious tohave if you will give it to me, " said Robinette, as she came into thelibrary a few minutes later. 

Mrs. De Tracy looked up from her knitting solemnly. "If it belongs tome, I shall no doubt be willing, as I know you would not ask foranything out of the common; but I own little here; nearly all isCarnaby's. "

"This was my mother's, " said Robinette. "It is a picture hanging inthe smoking room; one that was a great favorite of hers, called'Robinetta. ' Her drawing-master found an Italian artist in London whowent to the National Gallery and made a copy of the Sir Joshuapicture, and I was named after it. "

"I wish your mother could have been a little less romantic, " sighedMrs. De Tracy. "There were such fine old family names she might haveused: Marcia and Elspeth, and Rosamond and Winifred!"

"I am sorry, Aunt de Tracy. If I had been consulted I believe I shouldhave agreed with you. Perhaps when my mother was in America the familyties were not drawn as tightly as in the former years?"

"If it was so, it was only natural, " said the old lady. "However, ifyou ask Carnaby, and if the picture has no great value, I am sure hewill wish you to have it, especially if you know it to have been yourmother's property. " Here Carnaby sauntered into the room. "That's allright, grandmother, " he said, "I heard what you were saying; only Iwish it was a real Sir Joshua we were giving Cousin Robin instead of acopy!"

"Thank you, Carnaby dear, and thank you, too, Aunt de Tracy. You can'tthink how much it is to me to have this; it is a precious link betweenmother's girlhood, and mother, and me. " So saying, she dropped a timidkiss upon Mrs. De Tracy's iron-grey hair, and left the room. 

"If she could live in England long enough to get over that excessivefreedom of manner, your cousin would be quite a pleasing person, but Iam afraid it goes too deep to be cured, " Mrs. De Tracy remarked as shesmoothed the hairs that might have been ruffled by Robinette's kiss. 

Carnaby made no reply. He was looking out into the garden and feelinghalf a boy, half a man, but wholly, though not very contentedly, akinsman. 

XI

THE SANDS AT WESTON

"Thursday morning? Is it possible that this is Thursday morning? And Imust run up to London on Saturday, " said Lavendar to himself as hefinished dressing by the open window. He looked up the day of the weekin his calendar first, in order to make quite sure of the fact. Yes, there was no doubt at all that it was Thursday. His sense of time musthave suffered some strange confusion; in one way it seemed only anhour ago that he had arrived from the clangour and darkness of Londonto the silence of the country, the cuckoos calling across the riverbetween the wooded hills, and the April sunshine on the orchard trees;in another, years might have passed since the moment when he first sawRobinette Loring sitting under Mrs. Prettyman's plum tree. 

"Eight days have we spent together in this house, and yet since thattime when we first crossed in the boat, I've never been more than halfan hour alone with her, " he thought. "There are only three otherpeople in the house after all, but they seem to have the power ofmultiplying themselves like the loaves and fishes (only when they'renot wanted) so that we're eternally in a crowd. That boy particularly!I like Carnaby, if he could get it into his thick head that hispresence isn't always necessary; it must bother Mrs. Loring too; he'squite off his head about her if she only knew it. However, it's mylast day very likely, and if I have to outwit Machiavelli I'll manageit somehow! Surely one lame old woman, and a torpid machine forknitting and writing notes like Miss Smeardon, can't want to be out ofdoors all day. Hang that boy, though! He'll come anywhere. " Here hestopped and sat down suddenly at the dressing-table, covering his facewith his hands in comic despair. "Mrs. Loring can't like it! She mustbe doing it on purpose, avoiding being alone with me because she seesI admire her, " he sighed. "After all why should I ever suppose that Iinterest her as much as she does me?"

No one could have told from Lavendar's face, when he appeared freshand smiling at the breakfast table half an hour later, that he washatching any deep-laid schemes. 

Robinette entered the dining room five minutes late, as usual, prettyas a pink, breathless with hurrying. She wore a white dress again, with one rose stuck at her waistband, "A little tribute from thegardener, " she said, as she noticed Lavendar glance at it. She wentrapidly around the table shaking hands, and gave Carnaby's red cheeksa pinch in passing that made Lavendar long to tweak the boy's ear. 

"Good morning, all!" she said cheerily, "and how is my first cousinonce removed? Is he going to Weston with me this morning to buyhairpins?"

"He is!" Carnaby answered joyfully, between mouthfuls of bacon andeggs. "He has been out of hairpins for a week. "

"Does he need tapes and buttons also?" asked Robinette, taking thepiece of muffin from his hand and buttering it for herself; an acthighly disapproved of by Mrs. De Tracy, who hurriedly requested Batesto pass the bread. 

"He needs everything you need, " Carnaby said with heightened colour. 

"My hair is giving me a good deal of trouble, lately, " remarkedLavendar, passing his hand over a thickly thatched head. 

"I have an excellent American tonic that I will give you afterbreakfast, " said Robinette roguishly. "You need to apply it with abrush at ten, eleven, and twelve o'clock, sitting in the suncontinuously between those hours so that the scalp may be wellinvigorated. Carnaby, will you buy me butter scotch and lemonade andoranges in Weston?"

"I will, if Grandmother'll increase my allowance, " said Carnabymalevolently, "for I need every penny I've got in hand for thehairpins. "

"I hope you are not hungry, Robinetta, " said Mrs. De Tracy, "that youhave to buy food in Weston. "

"No, indeed, " said Robinette, "I was only longing to test Carnaby'sgenerosity and educate him in buying trifles for pretty ladies. "

"He can probably be relied on to educate himself in that line when thetime comes, " Mrs. De Tracy remarked; "and now if you have all finishedtalking about hair, I will take up my breakfast again. "

"Oh, Aunt de Tracy, I am so sorry if it wasn't a nice subject, but Inever thought. Anyway I only talked about hairpins; it was Mr. Lavendar who introduced hair into the conversation; wasn't it, Middydear?"

Lavendar thought he could have annihilated them both for their opencomradeship, their obvious delight in each other's society. Was he tobe put on the shelf like a dry old bachelor? Not he! He wouldcircumvent them in some way or another, although the rôle ofgooseberry was new to him. 

The two young people set off in high spirits, and Mrs. De Tracy andMiss Smeardon watched them as they walked down the avenue on their wayto the station, their clasped hands swinging in a merry rhythm as theyhummed a bit of the last popular song. 

"I hope Robinetta will not Americanize Carnaby, " said Mrs. De Tracy. "He seems so foolishly elated, so feverishly gay all at once. Hermanner is too informal; Carnaby requires constant repression. "

"Perhaps his temperature has not returned to normal since his attackof quinsy, " Miss Smeardon observed, reassuringly. 

Meanwhile Lavendar sat in Admiral de Tracy's old smoking room for halfan hour writing letters. Every time that he glanced up from his work, and he did so pretty often, his eyes fell on a picture that hung uponthe opposite wall. It was the copy of Sir Joshua's "Robinetta" madelong ago and just presented to its namesake. 

In the portrait the girl's hair was a still brighter gold; yetcertainly there was a likeness somewhere about it, he thought; partlyin the expression, partly in the broad low forehead, and the eyes thatlooked as if they were seeing fairies. 

Of course to his mind Mrs. Loring was a hundred times more lovely thanSir Joshua's famous girl with a robin. He felt very ill-used becauseRobinette and Carnaby had deliberately gone for an excursion withouthim and had left him toiling over business papers when they had goneoff to enjoy themselves. 

How bright it was out there in the sunshine, to be sure! And whyshould it be Carnaby, not he, who was by this time walking along thesea front of Weston, and watching the breeze flutter Robinette's scarfand bring a brighter colour to her lips?

There! the last words were written, and taking up his bunch ofletters, watch in hand, he sought Mrs. De Tracy, and explained that hewould bicycle to Weston and catch the London post himself. 

"I'll send William"--she began; but Lavendar hastily assured her thathe should enjoy the ride, and hurried off in triumph. Miss Smeardonsmiled an acid smile as she watched him go. "He has forgotten allabout poor Miss Meredith, I suppose, " she murmured. "Yet it was not solong ago that they were supposed to be all in all to each other!"

"It was a foolish engagement, Miss Smeardon, " said Mrs. De Tracy in acold voice. "I never thought the girl was suited to Mark, and Iunderstand that old Mr. Lavendar was relieved when the whole thingcame to an end. "

"Quite so; certainly; no doubt Miss Meredith would never have made himhappy, " said Miss Smeardon at once, "though it is always moreagreeable when the lady discovers the fact first. In this case sheconfessed openly that Mr. Lavendar broke her heart with hisindifference. "

"She was an ill-bred young woman, " said Mrs. De Tracy, as if thesubject were now closed. "However, I hope that the son of my familysolicitor would think it only proper to pay a certain amount ofattention to the Admiral's niece, were she ever so obnoxious to him. "

Miss Smeardon made no audible reply, but her thoughts were to theeffect that never was an obnoxious duty performed by any man with abetter grace. 

The sea front at Weston was the most prosaic scene in the world, along esplanade with an asphalt path running its full length, and uglyjerrybuilt houses glaring out upon it, a gimcrack pier with agingerbread sort of band-stand and glass house at the end;--all thatcould have been done to ruin nature had been determinedly done there. But you cannot ruin a spring day, nor youth, nor the colour of thesea. Along the level shore, the placid waves swept and broke, and thengathered up their white skirts, and retreated to return with the samemusical laugh. Children and dogs played about on the wet sands. Thewind blew freshly and the sea stretched all one pure blue, till it meton the horizon with the bluer skies. 

Weston seemed to Lavendar a very fresh and delightful spot atthat moment, although had he been in a different mood its sordidnessonly would have struck him. Yes, there they were in the distance;he knew Robinette's white dress and the figure of the boy besideher. Hang that boy! Were they really going to buy hairpins? Ifso, then a hair-dresser's he must find. Lavendar turned up thelittle street that led from the sea-front, scanning all thesigns--Boots--Dairies--Vegetable shops--Heavens! were therenothing but vegetable and boot shops in Weston? Boots again. At lasta Hairdresser; Lavendar stood in the doorway until he made surethat Robinette and the middy had turned in that direction, andthen he boldly entered the shop. 

To his horror he found himself confronted by a smiling young woman, whose own very marvellous erection of hair made him think she must beused as an advertisement for the goods she supplied. 

In another moment Robinette and the boy would be upon him, and he mustbe found deep in fictitious business. He cast one agonized glance atthe mysteries of the toilet that surrounded him on every side, thenclearing his throat, he said modestly but firmly, that he wanted tobuy a pair of curling tongs for a lady. 

"These are the thing if you wish a Marcel wave, " was the reply, "butjust for an ordinary crimp we sell a good many of the plain ones. "

"Yes, thank you. They will do; the lady--my sister, also wished--"

"A little 'addition, ' was it, sir?" she moved smilingly to a drawer. "A few pin curls are very easily adjusted, or would our guineaswitch--"

At this moment the boy and Robinette entered the shop. Lavendar waspaying for the curling tongs, and not a muscle of his face relaxed. "Oh, here you are. I have just finished my business, " he said, turninground, "I thought we might encounter one another somewhere!"

Robinette and Carnaby exchanged knowing glances of which Lavendar wasperfectly conscious, but he stood by while Mrs. Loring bought herhairpins, and Carnaby endeavoured to persuade her to invest in a few"pin curls. " "Not an hour before it is absolutely necessary, Middydear, " she said; "then I shall bear it as bravely as I can. Come now, carry the hairpins for me, and let me take Mr. Lavendar out of thisshop, or he will be tempted to buy more than he needs. "

"Oh, no!" Lavendar remarked pointedly. "I have what I came for!"

"Don't forget your parcel, " Carnaby exclaimed, darting after Lavendaras they went into the street. "You've left it on the counter. "

"How careless!" said Mark. "It was for my sister. "

"You never told me you had a sister, " said Robinette, as they walkedtogether, Lavendar wheeling his bicycle and Carnaby sulking behindthem. 

"I am blessed with two; one married now; the other, my sister Amy, lives at home. "

"Well, you see, in spite of all our questions the first time we met, we really know very little about each other, " she went on lightly. "Ittakes such a long time to get thoroughly acquainted in this country. Do they ever count you a friend if you do not know all their aunts andsecond cousins?"

Lavendar laughed. "Willingly would I introduce you to my aunts and myuttermost cousins, and lay the map of my life before you, uneventfulas it has been, if that would further our acquaintance. "

Even as he spoke a hateful memory darted into his thoughts, and hereddened to his temples, until Mrs. Loring wondered if she had saidanything to annoy him. 

Some fortunate accident at this point ordered that Carnaby shouldmeet a friend, another middy about his own age, and they set offtogether in quest of a third boy who was supposed to be in the nearneighbourhood. 

As soon as the lads were out of sight Lavendar found the jests theyhad been bandying together die on his lips. "I'm going down deeper; Ishall be out of my depth very soon, " he thought to himself, as hewalked in silence by Robinette's side. 

"Let us come down to the beach again; we can't go to the station forhalf an hour yet, " she said. "I like to look out to sea, and realizethat if I sailed long enough I could step off that pier, and arrive inAmerica. "

They stood by the sea-wall together with the fresh wind playing ontheir faces. "Isn't it curious, " said Robinette, "how instinctivelyone always turns to look at the sea; inland may be ever so lovely, butif the sea is there we generally look in that direction. "

"Because it is unbounded, like the future, " said Lavendar. He waslooking as he spoke at some children playing on the sands justbeside them. There was a gallant little boy among them with a barecurly head, who refused help from older sisters and was toiling awayat his sand castle, his whole soul in his work; throwing upspadefuls--tremendous ones for four years old--upon its ramparts, as if certain they could resist the advancing tide. 

"What a noble little fellow!" exclaimed Robinette, catching thedirection of Lavendar's glance. "Isn't he splendid? toiling like that;stumping about on those fat brown legs!"

"How beautiful to have a child like that, of one's own!" thoughtLavendar as he looked. On the sands around them, there were numbers ofsuch children playing there in the sun. It seemed a happy world to himat the moment. 

Suddenly he saw his companion turn quickly aside; a nurse in uniformcame towards them pushing, not a happy crooning baby this time, but alittle emaciated wisp of a child lying back wearily in a wheel chair. Something in Robinette's face, or perhaps the bit of fluttering laceshe wore upon her white dress, had attracted its notice, and itstretched out two tiny skeleton hands towards her as it passed. With aquick gesture, brushing tears away that in a moment had rushed to hereyes, young Mrs. Loring stepped forward, and put her fingers into thewasted hands that were held out to her. She hung above the child for amoment, a radiant figure, her face shining with sympathy and a sort ofheavenly kindness; her eyes the sweeter for their tears. 

"What is it, darling?" she asked. "Oh, it's the bright rose!" Then shehurriedly unfastened the flower from her waist-belt and turned toLavendar. "Will you please take your penknife and scrape away all thelittle thorns, " she asked. 

"The rose looked very charming where it was, " he remarked, halfregretfully, as he did what she commanded. 

"It will look better still, presently, " she answered. 

The child's hands were outstretched longingly to grasp the flower, itseyes, unnaturally deep and wise with pain, were fixed upon Robinette'sface. She bent over the chair, and her voice was like a dove's voice, Lavendar thought, as she spoke. Then the little melancholy carriagewas wheeled away. Motherhood always seemed the most sacred, thesupreme experience to Robinette; a thing high and beautiful like thetopmost blooms of Nurse Prettyman's plum tree. "If one had to choosebetween that sturdy boy and this wistful wraith, it would be hard, "she thought. "All my pride would run out to the boy, but I could diefor love and pity if this suffering baby were mine!"

Lavendar had turned, and leaned on the wall with averted face. "Sweetwoman!" he was saying to himself. "It is more than a merry heart thatis able to give such sympathy; it's a sad old world after all wheresuch things can be; but a woman like that can bring good out ofevil. "

Robinette had seated herself on a low wall beside him. Her littleembroidered futility of a handkerchief was in her hand once more. "Arose and a smile! that's all we could give it, " she said; "and wewould either of us share some of that burden if we only could. " Shewatched the merry, healthy children playing beside them, and added, "After all let us comfort ourselves that brown cheeks and fat legs arein the majority. Rightness somehow or other must be at the root ofthings, or we shouldn't be a living world at all. "

"Amen, " said Lavendar, "but the sight of suffering innocents likethat, sometimes makes me wish I were dead. "

"Dead!" she echoed. "Why, it makes me wish for a hundred lives, ahundred hearts and hands to feel with and help with. "

"Ah, some women are made that way. My stepmother, the only mother I'veknown, was like that, " Lavendar went on, dropping suddenly again intopersonal talk, as they had done before. He and she, it seemed, couldnot keep barriers between them very long; every hour they spenttogether brought them more strangely into knowledge of each other'spast. 

"She was a fine woman, " he went on, "with a certain comfortablebreadth about her, of mind and body; and those large, warm, capablehands that seem so fitted to lift burdens. "

Lavendar was in an absent-minded mood, and never much given to notingdetails at any time. He bent over on the low wall in retrospectivesilence, looking at the blue sea before them. 

Robinette, who was perched beside him, spread her two small hands onher white serge knees and regarded them fixedly for a moment. 

"I wonder if it's a matter of size, " she said after a moment. "Iwonder! Let's be confidential. When I was a little girl we were not atall well-to-do, and my hands were very busy. My father's success cameto him only two or three years before his death, when his reputationbegan to grow and his plans for great public buildings began to beaccepted, so I was my mother's helper. We had but one servant, and Ilearned to make beds, to dust, to wipe dishes, to make tea and coffee, and to cook simple dishes. If Admiral de Tracy's sister had to work, Admiral de Tracy's niece was certainly going to help! Later on came myfather's illness and death. We had plenty of servants then, but myhands had learned to be busy. I gave him his medicines, I changed hispillows, I opened his letters and answered such of them as were withinmy powers, I fanned him, I stroked his aching head. The end came, andmother and I had hardly begun to take hold of life again when herhealth failed. I wasn't enough for her; she needed father and her facewas bent towards him. My hands were busy again for months, and theyheld my mother's when she died. Time went on. Then I began again tomake a home out of a house; to use my strength and time as a good wifeshould, for the comfort of her husband; but oh! so faultily, for I wasall too young and inexperienced. It was only for a few months, thendeath came into my life for the third time, and I was less thantwenty. For the first time since I can remember, my hands are idle, but it will not be for long. I want them to be busy always. I wantthem to be full! I want them to be tired! I want them ready to do thetasks my head and heart suggest. "

Lavendar had a strong desire to take those same hands in his and kissthem, but instead he rose and spread out his own long brown fingers onthe edge of the wall, a man's hands, fine and supple, but meant towork. 

"I seem to have done nothing, " he exclaimed. "You look so young, soirresponsible, so like a bird on a bough, that I cannot associate dullcare with you, yet you have lived more deeply than I. Life seems tohave touched me on the shoulder and passed me by; these hands of minehave never done a real day's work, Mrs. Loring, for they've been theservants of an unwilling brain. I hated my own work as a younger man, and, though I hope I did not shirk it, I certainly did nothing that Icould avoid. " He paused, and went on slowly, "I've thought sometimes, of late I mean, that if life is to be worth much, if it is to be reallife, and not mere existence, one must put one's whole heart into it, and that two people--" He stopped; he was silent with embarrassment, conscious of having said too much. 

"Can help each other. Indeed they can, " Mrs. Loring went on serenely, "if they have the same ideals. Hardly anyone, fortunately, is so aloneas I, and so I have to help myself! Your sisters, now; don't theyhelp?"

"Not a great deal, " Lavendar confessed. "One would, but she's marriedand in India, worse luck! The other is--well, she's a candid sister. "He laughed, and looked up. "If my best friend could hear my sisterAmy's view of me, just have a little sketch of me by Amy without fearor favour, he, or she, would never have a very high opinion of meagain, and I am not sure but that I should agree with her. "

"Nonsense! my dear friend, " exclaimed Robinette in a maternal tone shesometimes affected, --a tone fairly agonizing to Mark Lavendar; "weshould never belittle the stuff that's been put into us! My equipmentisn't particularly large, but I am going to squeeze every ounce ofpower from it before I die. "

"Life is extraordinarily interesting to you, isn't it?"

"Interesting? It is thrilling! So will it be to you when you make upyour mind to squeeze it, " said Robinette, jumping off the wall. "Thereis Carnaby signalling; it is time we went to the station. "

"Life would thrill me considerably more if Carnaby were not eternallyin evidence, " said Lavendar, but Robinette pretended not to hear. 

XII

LOVE IN THE MUD

The next day Robinette was once more sitting in the boat opposite toLavendar as he rowed. They were going down the river this time, notacross it. Somehow they had managed that afternoon to get out bythemselves, which sounds very simple, but is a wonderfully difficultthing to accomplish when there is no special reason for it, and whenthere are several other people in the house. 

Fortunately Mrs. De Tracy did not like to be alone, so that wherevershe went Miss Smeardon had to go too, and there happened to be a saleof work at a neighbouring vicarage that afternoon where she consideredher presence a necessity. Robinette had vanished soon after luncheonand the middy had been dull, so after loitering around for a while, hetoo had disappeared upon some errand of his own. Lavendar walked veryslowly toward the avenue gateway, then he turned and came back. Hecould scarcely believe his good fortune when he saw Mrs. Loring comeout of the house, and pause at the door as if uncertain of her nextmovements. She looked uncommonly lovely in a white frock with touchesof blue, while the ribbon in her hair brought out all its gold. Shewore a flowery garden hat, and a pair of dainty most un-English shoespeeped from beneath her short skirt. 

"Are you going out, or can I take you on the river?" Lavendar asked, trying without much success to conceal the eagerness that showed inhis voice and eyes. 

Robinette stood for a moment looking at him (it seemed as if she readhim like a book) and then she said frankly, "Why yes, there is nothingI should like so much, but where is Carnaby?"

"Hang Carnaby! I mean I don't know, or care. I've had too much of hissociety to-day to be pining for it now. "

"Well, he does chatter like a magpie, but I feel he must have such adull time here with no one anywhere near his own age. Elderly as I am, I seem a bit nearer than Aunt de Tracy or Miss Smeardon. Aunt deTracy, all the same, will never understand my relations with that boy, or with anyone else for that matter. I did try so hard, " she went on, "when I first arrived, just to strike the right note with her, andI've missed it all the time, by that very fact, no doubt. I'm sounused to trying--at home. "

"You mean in America?"

"Yes, of course; I don't try there at all, and yet my friends seem tounderstand me. "

"Does it seem to you that you could ever call England 'home'?"

"I could not have believed that England would so sink into my heart, "she said, sitting down in the doorway and arranging the flowers on herhat. "During those first dull wet days when I was still a stranger, and when I looked out all the time at the dripping cedars, and feltwhenever I opened my lips that I said the wrong thing, it seemed to meI should never be gay for an hour in this country; but the lastenchanting sunny days have changed all that. I remember it's mymother's country, and if only I could have found a little affectionwaiting for me, all would have been perfect. "

"You may find it yet. " Lavendar could not for the life of him helpsaying the words, but there was nothing in the tone in which he saidthem to make Robinette conscious of his meaning. 

"I'm afraid not, " she sighed, thinking of Mrs. De Tracy's indifference. "I'm much more American than English, much more my father's daughterthan the Admiral's niece; perhaps my aunt feels that instinctively. NowI must slip upstairs and change if we are going boating. "

"Never!" cried Lavendar. "If I don't snatch you this moment from thedevouring crowd I shall lose you! I will keep you safe and dry, neverfear, and we shall be back well before dark. "

They went down the river after leaving the little pier, passing theorchards heaped on the hillsides above Wittisham, and Lavendar wantedto row out to sea, but Robinette preferred the river; so he rowednearer to the shore, where the current was less swift, and the boatrocked and drifted with scarcely a touch of the oars. They had talkedfor some time, and then a silence had fallen, which Robinette broke bysaying, "I half wish you'd forsake the law and follow lines of lesserresistance, Mr. Lavendar. Do you know, you seem to me to be drifting, not rowing! I've been thinking ever since of what you said to me onthe sands at Weston. "

"Ungrateful woman!" he exclaimed, trying to evade the subject, "whenthese two faithful arms have been at your service every day since wefirst met! Think of the pennies you would have taken from that tinygold purse of yours for the public ferry! However, I know what youmean; I never met anyone so plain-spoken as you, Mrs. Robin; I haven'tforgotten, I assure you!"

"How about the candid sister? Isn't she plain-spoken?"

"Oh, she attacks the outside of the cup and platter; you questionmotive power and ideals. Well, I confess I have less of the formerthan I ought, and more of the latter than I've ever used. " Lavendarhad rested on his oars now and was looking down, so that the twinkleof his eyes was lost. "I suppose I shall go on as I have donehitherto, doing my work in a sort of a way, and getting a certainamount of pleasure out of things, --unless--"

"Oh, but that's not living!" she exclaimed; "that's only existing. Don't you remember:--

 It is not growing like a tree In bulk doth make man better be. 

It's really _living_ I mean, forgetting the things that are behind, and going on and on to something ahead, whatever one's aim may be. "

"What are you going to do with yourself, if I may ask?" said Lavendar. "Don't be too philanthropic, will you? You're so delightfullysymmetrical now!"

"I shall have plenty to do, " cried Robinette ardently. "I've told youbefore, I have so much motive power that I don't know how to use it. "

"How about sharing a little of it with a friend!"

Lavendar's voice was full of meaning, but Robinette refused to hearit. She had succumbed as quickly to his charm as he to hers, but whileshe still had command over her heart she did not intend parting withit unless she could give it wholly. She knew enough of her own natureto recognize that she longed for a rowing, not a drifting mate, andthat nothing else would content her; but her instinct urged thatLavendar's indecisions and his uncertainties of aim were accidentsrather than temperamental weaknesses. She suspected that hisintrospective moods and his occasional lack of spirits had a definitecause unknown to her. 

"I haven't a large income, " she said, after a moment's silence, changing the subject arbitrarily, and thereby reducing her companionto a temporary state of silent rage. 

"Yet no one would expect a woman like this to fall like a ripe pluminto a man's mouth, " he thought presently; "she will drop only whenshe has quite made up her mind, and the bough will need a good deal ofshaking!"

"I haven't a large income, " repeated Robinette, while Lavendar wassilent, "only five thousand dollars a year, which is of coursemicroscopic from the American standpoint and cost of living; so Ican't build free libraries and swimming baths and playgrounds, or doany big splendid things; but I can do dear little nice ones, leftundone by city governments and by the millionaires. I can sing, andread, and study; I can travel; and there are always people needingsomething wherever you are, if you have eyes to see them; one needn'tlive a useless life even if one hasn't any responsibilities. But"--shepaused--"I've been talking all this time about my own plans andambitions, and I began by asking yours! Isn't it strange that themoment one feels conscious of friendship, one begins to want to knowthings?"

"My sister Amy would tell you I had no ambitions, except to buy asmany books as I wish, and not to have to work too hard, " said Marksmiling, "but I think that would not be quite true. I have some, of adull inferior kind, not beautiful ones like yours. "

"Do tell me what they are. "

He shook his head. "I couldn't; they're not for show; shabby thingslike unsuccessful poor relations, who would rather not have too muchnotice taken of them. In a few weeks I am going to drag them out oftheir retreat, brighten them up, inject some poetry into their veins, and then display them to your critical judgment. "

They were almost at a standstill now and neither of them was noticingit at all. As Mrs. Loring moved her seat the boat lurched somewhat toone side. Mark, to steady her, placed his hand over hers as it restedon the rail, and she did not withdraw it. Then he found the other handthat lay upon her knee, and took it in his own, scarcely knowing whathe did. He looked into her face and found no anger there. "I wish totell you more about myself, " he stammered, "something not altogethercreditable to me; but perhaps you will understand. Perhaps even if youdon't understand you will forgive. "

She drew her hands gently away from his grasp. "I shall try tounderstand, you may rely on that!" she said. 

"I'm not going to trouble you with any very dreadful confessions, " hesaid, "only it's better to hear things directly from the peopleconcerned, and you are sure to hear a wrong version sooner orlater. "--Then stopping suddenly he exclaimed, "Hullo! we're stuck, Ideclare! look at that!"

Robinette turned and saw that their boat was now scarcely surroundedwith water at all. On every side, as if the flanks of some great whalewere upheaving from below, there appeared stretches of glistening mud. Just in front of them, where there still was a channel of water, wasan upstanding rock. "Shall we row quickly there?" she cried. "Thenperhaps we can get out and pull the boat to the other side, wherethere is more water. What has happened?"

"Oh, something not unusual, " said Lavendar grimly, "that I'm a fool, and the sea-tide has ebbed, as tides have been known to do before. I'mafraid a man doesn't watch tides when he has a companion like you! Nowwe're left high, but not at all dry, as you see, till the tideturns. "

By a swift stroke or two he managed to propel their craft as far asthe rock. They scrambled up on it, and then he tried to haul the boataround the miniature islet; but the more he hauled, the quicker thewater seemed to run away, and the deeper the wretched thing stuck inthe mud. He jumped in again, and made an effort to push her off withan oar; meanwhile Robinette nearly fell off the rock in her efforts toget the head of the boat around towards the current again, and makinga frantic plunge into the ooze, sank above her ankles in an instant. Lavendar caught hold of her and helped her to scramble back into theboat. "It's all right; only my skirt wet, and one shoe gone!" shepanted. "Now, what are we to do?" She spread out her hands in dismay, and looked down at her draggled mud-stained skirt, her little feet, one shoeless and both covered with mud and slime. "What an object Ishall be to meet Aunt de Tracy's eye, when, if ever, it does light onme again! Meanwhile it seems as if we might be here for some hours. The boat is just settling herself into the mud bank, like a rathertired fat old woman into an armchair, and pray, Mr. Lavendar, what doyou propose to do? as Talleyrand said to the lady who told him shecouldn't bear it. "

Lavendar looked about them; the main bed of the river was fifty yardsaway; between it and them was now only an expanse of mud. 

"It's perfectly hopeless, " he said, "the best thing we can do is tobeget some philosophy. "

"Which at any moment we would exchange for a foot of water, " sheinterpolated. 

"We must just sit here and wait for the tide. Shall it be in the boator on the rock?"

"I don't see much difference, do you? Except that the passing boats, if there are any, might think it was a matter of choice to sit on adamp rock for two hours, but no one could think we wanted to sit in aboat in the mud. "

They landed on the rock for the second time. "For my part it's nogreat punishment, " said Lavendar, when they settled themselves, "sincethe place is big enough for two and you're one of them!"

"Wouldn't this be as good a stool of repentance from which to confessyour faults as any?" asked Robinette, as she tucked her shoeless footbeneath her mud-stained skirt and made herself as comfortable aspossible. "I'll even offer a return of confidence upon my ownweaknesses, if I can find them, but at present only miles of virtuestretch behind me. Ugh! How the mud smells; quite penitential! Now:--

 "What have you sought you should have shunned, And into what new follies run?"

"Oh, what a bad rhyme!" said Lavendar. 

"It's Pythagoras, any way, " she explained. 

Then suddenly changing his tone, Lavendar went on. "This is not merelya jest, Mrs. Loring. Before you admit me really amongst the number ofyour friends I should like you to know that--to put it plainly--myown little world would tell you at the moment that I am a heartlessjilt. "

"That is a very ugly expression, Mr. Lavendar, and I shall choose notto believe it, until you give me your own version of the story. "

"In one way I can give you no other; except that I was just foolenough to drift into an engagement with a woman whom I did not reallylove, and just not enough of a fool to make both of us miserable forlife when I, all too late, found out my mistake. "

There passed before him at that moment other foolish blithe littleloves, like faded flowers with the sweetness gone out of them. Theyhad been so innocent, so fragile, so free from blame; all but thelast; and this last it was that threatened to rise like a shadowperhaps, and defeat his winning the only woman he could ever love. 

Robinette stared at the stretches of ooze, and then stole a look atMark Lavendar. "The idea of calling that man a jilt, " she thought. "Look at his eyes; look at his mouth; listen to his voice; there istruth in them all. Oh for a sight of the girl he jilted! How much itwould explain! No, not altogether, because the careless making of hisengagement would have to be accounted for, as well as the breaking ofit. Unless he did it merely to oblige her--and men are such idiotssometimes, --then he must have fancied he was in love with her. Perhapshe is continually troubled with those fancies. Nonsense! you believein him, and you know you do. " Then aloud she said, sympathetically, "I'm afraid we are apt to make these little experimental journeys inyouth, when the heart is full of _wanderlust_. We start out on them solightly, then they lead nowhere, and the walking back alone iswearisome and depressing. "

"My return journey was depressing enough at first, " said Lavendar, "because the particular She was unkinder to me than I deserved even;but better counsels have prevailed and I shall soon be able to meetthe reproachful gaze of stout matrons and sour spinsters more easilythan I have for a year past; you see the two families were friends andeach family had a large and interested connection!"

"If the opinion of a comparative stranger is of any use to you, " saidRobinette, standing on the rock and scraping her stockinged foot freeof mud, "_I_ believe in you, personally! You don't seem a bit 'jilty'to me! I'd let you marry my sister to-morrow and no questions asked!"

"I didn't know you had a sister, " cried Lavendar. 

"I haven't; that's only a figure of speech; just a phrase to show myconfidence. "

"And isn't it ungrateful to be obliged to say I can't marry yoursister, after you have given me permission to ask her!"

"Not only ungrateful but unreasonable, " said Robinette saucily, turning her head to look up the river and discovering from her pointof vantage a moving object around the curve that led her to makehazardous remarks, knowing rescue was not far away. "What have youagainst my sister, pray?"

"Very little!" he said daringly, knowing well that she held him in herhand, and could make him dumb or let him speak at any moment shedesired. "Almost nothing! only that _she_ is not offering me _her_sister as a balm to my woes. "

"She _has_ no sister; she is an only child!--There! there!" criedRobinette, "the tide is coming up again, and the mud banks off in thatdirection are all covered with water! I see somebody in a boat, rowingtowards us with superhuman energy. Oh! if I hadn't worn a white dress!It will _not_ come smooth; and my lovely French hat is ruined by thedampness! My one shoe shows how inappropriately I was shod, andwhoever is coming will say it is because I am an American. He willnever know you wouldn't let me go upstairs and dress properly. "

"It doesn't matter anyway, " rejoined Mark, "because it is only Carnabycoming. You might know he would find us even if we were at the bottomof the river. "

XIII

CARNABY TO THE RESCUE

At Stoke Revel, in the meantime, the solemn rites of dinner had beeninaugurated as usual by the sounding of the gong at seven o'clock. Mrs. De Tracy, Miss Smeardon, and Bates waited five minutes in silentresignation, then Carnaby came down and was scolded for being late, but there was no Robinette and no Lavendar. 

"Carnaby, " said his grandmother, "do you know where Mark intendedgoing this afternoon?"

"No, I don't, " said Carnaby, sulkily. 

"Your cousin Robinetta, "--with meaning, --"perhaps you know herwhereabouts?"

"Not I!" replied Carnaby with affected nonchalance. "I was ferretingwith Wilson. " He had ferreted perhaps for fifteen minutes and thenspent the rest of the afternoon in solitary discontent, but he wouldnot have owned it for the world. 

"Call Bates, " commanded Mrs. De Tracy. Bates entered. "Do you know ifMr. Lavendar intended going any distance to-day? Did he leave anymessage?"

"Mr. Lavendar, ma'am, " said Bates, "Mr. Lavendar and Mrs. Loring theywent out in the boat after tea. Mr. Lavendar asked William for thekey, and William he went down and got out the oars and rudder, ma'am. "

"Does William know where they went?" asked Mrs. De Tracy in highdispleasure. "Was it to Wittisham?"

"No, ma'am, William says they went down stream. He thinks perhaps theywere going to the Flag Rock, and he says the gentleman wouldn't have ahard pull, as the tide was going out. But Mr. Lavendar knows the riverwell, ma'am, as well as Mr. Carnaby here. "

"Then I conclude there is no immediate cause for anxiety, " said Mrs. De Tracy with satire. "You can serve dinner, Bates; there seems noreason why we should fast as yet! However, Carnaby, " she continued, "as the men cannot be spared at this hour, you had better go at onceand see what has happened to our guests. "

"Right you are, " cried Carnaby with the utmost alacrity. He washungry, but the prospect of escape was better than food. He rushedaway, and his boat was in mid-river before Mrs. De Tracy and MissSmeardon had finished their tepid soup. 

A very slim young moon was just rising above the woods, but her tenderlight cast no shadows as yet, and there were no stars in the sky, forit was daylight still. The evening air was very fresh and cool; therewas no wind, and the edges of the river were motionless and smooth, although in mid-stream the now in-coming tide clucked and swirled asit met the rush. Over at Wittisham one or two lights were beginning totwinkle, and there came drifting across the water a smell of woodsmoke that suggested evening fires. Carnaby handled a boat well, forhe had been born a sailor, as it were, and his long, powerful strokestook him along at a fine pace. But although he was going to look forRobinette and Mark, he was rather angry with both of them, and in nohurry. He rested on his oars indifferently and let the tide carry himup as it liked, while, with infinite zest, he unearthed a cigarettecase from the recesses of his person, lit a cigarette, and smoked itcoolly. Under Carnaby's apparent boyishness, there was a certainsomewhat dangerous quality of precocity, which was stimulated ratherthan checked by his grandmother's repressive system. His smoking nowwas less the monkey-trick of a boy, than an act of slightly cynicaldefiance. He was no novice in the art, and smoked slowly and daintily, throwing back his head and blowing the smoke sometimes through hislips and sometimes through his nose. He looked for the moment olderthan his years, and a difficult young customer at that. His presentsulky expression disappeared, however, under the influence of tobaccoand adventure. 

"Where the dickens are they?" he began to wonder, pulling harder. 

A bend in the river presently solved the mystery. On a wide stretch ofmud-bank, which the tide had left bare in going out, but was nowbeginning to cover again, a solitary boat was stranded. 

With this clue to guide him, Carnaby's bright eyes soon discovered thetwo dim forms in the distance. 

"Ahoy!" he shouted, and received a joyous answer. Robinette and Markwere the two derelicts, and their rescuer skimmed towards them withall his strength. 

He could get only within a few yards of the rock to which their boatwas tied, and from that distance he surveyed them, expecting to find adismal, ship-wrecked pair, very much ashamed of themselves andgetting quite weary of each other. On the contrary the faces he couldjust distinguish in the uncertain light, were radiant, and Robinette'svoice was as gay as ever he had heard it. He leaned upon his oars andlooked at them with wonder. 

"Angel cousin!" cried Robinette. "Have you a little roast mutton aboutyou somewhere, we are so hungry!"

"You _are_ a pretty pair!" he remarked. "What have you been anddone?"

"We just went for a row after tea, Middy dear, " said Robinette, "andlook at the result. "

"You're not rowing now, " observed Carnaby pointedly. 

"No, " said Mark, "we gave up rowing when the water left us, Carnaby. Conversation is more interesting in the mud. "

"But how did you get here? I thought you were going to the Flag Rock?"demanded Carnaby. 

"Is there a Flag Rock, Middy dear? I didn't know, " said Robinetteinnocently. "It shows we shouldn't go anywhere without our firstcousin once removed. We just began to talk, here in the boat, and thewater went away and left us. " Then she laughed, and Mark laughed too, and Carnaby's look of unutterable scorn seemed to have no effect uponthem. They might almost have been laughing at him, their mirth was sosenseless, viewed in any other light. 

"It's nearly eight o'clock, " he said solemnly. "Perhaps you can formsome idea as to what grandmother's saying, and Bates. "

"Well, you're going to be our rescuer, Middy darling, so it doesn'tmatter, " said Robinette. "Look! the water's coming up. "

But Carnaby seemed in no mood for waiting. He had taken off his boots, and rolled up his trousers above his knees. 

"I'd let Lavendar wade ashore the best way he could!" he said, "but Is'pose I've got to save you or there'd be a howl. "

"No one would howl any louder than you, dear, and you know it. Don'tstep in!" shrieked Robinette, "I've confided a shoe already to theriver-mud! I just put my foot in a bit, to test it, and down the poorfoot went and came up without its shoe. Oh, Middy dear, if your younglife--"

"Blow my young life!" retorted Carnaby. He was performing gymnasticson the edge of his boat, letting himself down and heaving himself up, by the strength of his arms. His legs were covered with mud. 

"No go!" he said. "It's as deep as the pit here; sometimes you canfind a rock or a hard bit. We must just wait. "

They had not long to wait after all, for presently a rush of the tidesent the water swirling round the stranded boat, and carried Carnaby'scraft to it. 

"Now it'll be all right, " said he. "You push with the boat-hook, Mark, and I'll pull"; but it took a quarter of an hour's pushing and pullingto get the boat free of the mud. 

Except for the moon it would have been quite dark when the partyreached the pier. They mounted the hill in some silence. It wasdifficult for Robinette to get along with her shoeless foot; Lavendarwanted to help her, but she demanded Carnaby's arm. He was sulkingstill. There was something he felt, but could not understand, in thesubtle atmosphere of happiness by which the truant couple seemed to besurrounded; a something through which he could not reach; that seemedto put Robinette at a distance from him, although her shoulder touchedhis and her hand was on his arm. Growing pangs of his manhood assailedhim, the male's jealousy of the other male. For the moment he hatedMark; Mark talking joyous nonsense in a way rather unlike himself, asif the night air had gone to his head. 

"I am glad you had the ferrets to amuse you this afternoon, " saidRobinette, in a propitiatory tone. "Ferrets are such darlings, aren'tthey, with their pink eyes?"

"O! _darlings_, " assented Carnaby derisively. "One of the darlingsbit my finger to the bone, not that that's anything to you. "

"Oh! Middy dear, I am sorry!" cried Robinette. "I'd kiss the place tomake it well, if we weren't in such a hurry!"

Carnaby began to find that a dignified reserve of manner was verydifficult to keep up. His grandmother could manage it, he reflected, but he would need some practice. When they came to a place where therewere sharp stones strewn on the road, he became a mere boy again quitesuddenly, and proposed a "queen's chair" for Robinette. And so he andLavendar crossed hands, and one arm of Robinette encircled the boy'shead, while the other just touched Lavendar's neck enough to besteadied by it. Their laughter frightened the sleepy birds that night. The demoralized remnant of a Bank Holiday party would have been, Lavendar observed, respectability itself in comparison with them; andcertainly no such group had ever approached Stoke Revel before. Theywere to enter by a back door, and Carnaby was to introduce them tothe housekeeper's room, where he undertook that Bates would feed them. Lavendar alone was to be ambassador to the drawing room. 

"The only one of us with a boot on each foot, of course we appoint himby a unanimous vote, " said Robinette. 

But the chief thing that Carnaby remembered, after all, of thatevening's adventure, was Robinette's sudden impulsive kiss as she badehim good-night, Lavendar standing by. She had never kissed him before, for all her cousinliness, but she just brushed his cool, round cheekto-night as if with a swan's-down puff. 

"That's a shabby thing to call a kiss!" said the embarrassed butexhilarated youth. 

"Stop growling, you young cub, and be grateful; half a loaf is betterthan no bread, " was Lavendar's comment as he watched the draggled andmuddy but still charming Robinette up the stairway. 

XIV

THE EMPTY SHRINE

Lavendar had discovered, much to his dismay, that he must return toLondon upon important business; it was even a matter of uncertaintywhether his father could spare him again or would consent to hisreturning to Stoke Revel to conclude Mrs. De Tracy's arrangementsabout the sale of the land. 

Affairs of the heart are like thunderstorms; the atmosphere maysometimes seem charged with electricity, and yet circumstances, like asudden wind that sweeps the clouds away before they break, may causethe lovers to drift apart. Or all in a moment may come thunder, lightning, and rain from a clear sky, and there is nothing that is aptto precipitate matters like an unexpected parting. 

When Lavendar announced that he had to leave Stoke Revel, two pairsof eyes, Miss Smeardon's and Carnaby's, instantly looked at Robinetteto see how she received the news, but she only smiled at the moment. She was just beginning her breakfast, and like the famous Charlotte, "went on cutting bread and butter, " without any sign of emotion. 

"Hurrah!" thought the boy. "Now we can have some fun, and I'll perhapsmake her see that old Lavendar isn't the only companion in theworld. "

"She minds, " thought Miss Smeardon, "for she buttered that piece ofbread on the one side a minute ago, and now she's just done it on theother--and eaten it too. "

"She doesn't care a bit, " thought Lavendar. "She's not even changedcolour; my going or staying is nothing to her; I needn't come back. "

He had made up his mind to return just the same, if it were at allpossible, and he told Mrs. De Tracy so. She remarked graciously thathe was a welcome guest at any time, and Carnaby, hearing this, pinched Lord Roberts till he howled like a fiend, and fled for comfortto his mistress's lap. 

"You little coward, " said Carnaby, "you should be ashamed to bear thename of a hero. "

"I've mentioned to you before, Carnaby, I think, that I dislike thatjest, " said his grandmother, and Carnaby advancing to the injuredbeast said, "Yes, ma'am, and so does Bobs, doesn't he, Bobs?" reducingthe lap-dog to paroxysms of fury. "Would it be any better if I calledhim _Kitchener_?" hissing the word into the animal's face. "Jealous, Bobs? Eh? _Kitchener_. " This last word had a rasping sound thatirritated the little creature more than ever; his teeth jibbered withanger, and Miss Smeardon had to offer him a saucer of cream before hecould be calmed down enough for the rest of the party to hearthemselves speak. 

"Had you nice letters this morning? Mine were very uninteresting, "Robinette remarked to Lavendar as they stood together at the doorwayin the sunshine, while Carnaby chased the lap-dog round and round thelawn. 

"I had only two letters; one was from my sister Amy, the candid one!her letters are not generally exhilarating. "

"Oh, I know, home letters are usually enough to send one straight tobed with a headache! They never sound a note of hope from first tolast; although if you had no home, but only a house, like me, with noone but a caretaker in it, you'd be very thankful to get them, dolefulor not. "

"I doubt it, " Mark answered, for Amy's letter seemed to be burning ahole in his pocket at that moment. He had skimmed it hurriedlythrough, but parts of it were already only too plain. 

When the others had gone into the house, he went off by himself, andjumping the low fence that divided the lawn from the fields beyond, heflung himself down under a tree to read it over again. Carnaby, spying him there, came rushing from the house, and was soon pouringout a tale of something that had happened somewhere, and throwingstones as he talked, at the birds circling about the ivied tower ofthe little church. 

The field was full of buttercups up to the very churchyard walls. "Imust get away by myself for a bit, " Lavendar thought. "That boy'schatter will drive me mad. " At this point Carnaby's volatile attentionwas diverted by the sight of a gardener mounting a ladder to clear thesparrows' nests from the water chutes, and he jumped up in a twinklingto take his part in this new joy. Lavendar rose, and strolled off withhis hands in his pockets and his bare head bent. The grass he walkedin was a very Field of the Cloth of Gold. His shoes were gilded by thepollen from the buttercups, his eyes dazzled by their colour; it was arelief to pass through the stone archway that led into the littlechurchyard. To his spirit at that moment the chill was refreshing. Heloitered about for a few minutes, and then seeing that the door wasopen, he entered the church, closing the door gently behind him. 

It was very quiet in there and even the chirping of the sparrows wassoftened into a faint twitter. Here at last was a place set apart, amoment of stillness when he might think things out by himself. 

He took out Amy's letter, smoothing it flat on the prayer books beforehim, and forced himself to read it through. The early paragraphs dealtwith some small item of family news which in his present state of mindmattered to Lavendar no more than the distant chirruping of the birds, out there in the sunshine. "You seem determined to stay for some timeat Stoke Revel, " his sister wrote. "No doubt the pretty American isthe attraction. She sounds charming from your description, but my dearman, that's all froth! How many times have I heard this sort of thingfrom you before! Remember I know everything about your former loves. "

"You _don't_, then, " said Lavendar to himself. Down, down, down at thebottom of the well of the heart where truth lies, there is always someremembrance, generally a very little one, that can never be told toany confidant. 

"You will find out faults in Mrs. Loring presently, just like the restof them, " continued the pitiless writer. (Amy's handwriting waspainfully distinct. ) "I must tell you that at the Cowleys' the otherday, I suddenly came face to face with Gertrude Meredith _and Dolly_!Dolly looks a good deal older already and fatter, I thought. I fearshe is losing her looks, for her colour has become fixed, and she_will_ wear no collars still, although on a rather thick neck, it'snot at all becoming. I spoke to her for about three minutes, as it wasless awkward, when we met suddenly face to face like that. She laugheda good deal, and asked for you rather audaciously, I thought. Theylive near Winchester now, and since the Colonel's death are prettybadly off, Gertrude says. Dolly is going to Devonshire to stay withthe Cowleys; you may meet her there any day, remember. It does seemincredible to me that a man of your discrimination could have been wonby the obvious devotion of a girl like Dolly; but having given yourword I almost think you would better have kept it, rather than sufferall this criticism from a host of mutual friends. "

Lavendar groaned aloud. He had a good memory, and with all too greatdistinctness did he now remember Dolly Meredith's laugh. How wretchedit had all been; not a word had ever passed between them that had anyvalue now. If he could have washed the thought of her forever from hismemory, how greatly he would have rejoiced at that moment. 

Well, it was over; written down against him, that he had been what theworld called a jilt and a fool; yes, certainly a fool, but not sogreat a one as to follow his folly to its ultimate conclusion, and tiehimself for life to a woman he did not love. 

Lavendar was extraordinarily sensitive about the breaking of hisengagement; partly because Miss Meredith herself, in her first rage, had avowed his responsibility for her blighted future, giving him nochance for chivalrous behaviour; partly because in all his transientlove affairs he had easily tired of the women who inspired them. Heseemed thirsty for love, but weary of it almost as soon as the draughtreached his lips. 

And now had he a chance again?--or was it all to end in disappointmentonce more, in that cold disappointment of the heart that has receivedstones for bread? It was not entirely his own fault; he had expectedmuch from life, and hitherto had received very little. But Robinette!

"Let me find all her faults now, " he said to himself, "or evermorekeep silent; meantime I hope I am not concealing too many of myown. "

He tried to force himself into criticism; to look at her as a coldobserver from the outside would have done; for that curious Bordercountry of Love which he had entered has not an equable climate atall. It is fire and frost alternate; and criticism is either rousedalmost to a morbid pitch, or else the faculty is drugged, and nothing, not even the enumeration of a hundred foibles will awaken it for atime. 

When the cold fit had been upon him the evening before, Lavendar hadsaid to himself that her manner was too free--that she had led him ontoo quickly; no, that expression was dishonourable and unjust; herepented it instantly; she had been too unself-conscious, too girlish, too unthinking, in what she said and did. "But she's a widow afterall, though she's only two and twenty, " he went on to himself. "Hangit! I wish she were not! If her heart were in her husband's grave Ishould be moaning at that; and because I see that it is not, I becomecritical. There's nothing quite perfect in life!"

He had begun by noticing some little defects in her personalappearance, but he was long past that now; what did such triflesmatter, here or there? Then he remembered all that he had heard saidabout American women. Did those pretty clothes of hers mean that shewould be extravagant and selfish to obtain them? Could a young manwith no great fortune offer her the luxury that was necessary to her?and even so, what changes come with time! He had a full realization ofwhat the boredom of family life can be, when passion has grown stale. 

"At seventy, say, when I am palsied and she is old and fat, willromance be alive then? Will such feeling leave anything real behind itwhen it falls away, as the white blossoms on Mrs. Prettyman's plumtree will shrink and fall a fortnight hence?"

He looked about him. On the walls of the little church were tabletswith the de Tracy names; the names of her forefathers amongst them. Under his feet were other flags with names upon them too; and outthere in the sunshine were the grave-stones of a hundred dead. Howmany of them had been happy in their loves?

Not so many, he thought, if all were told, and why should he hope tobe different? Yet surely this was a new feeling, a worthy one, atlast. It was not for her charming person that he loved her; notbecause of her beauty and her gaiety only; but because he had seen inher something that gave a promise of completion to his own nature, thesomething that would satisfy not only his senses but his empty heart. 

He clenched his hands on the carved top of the old pew in front ofhim, which was fashioned into a laughing gnome with the body of aduck. "And if this should be all a dream, " he asked himself again, "ifthis should all be false too! Good Lord!" he cried half aloud, "Iwant to be honest now! I want to find the truth. My whole life is onthe throw this time!"

There was a moment's silence after he had uttered the words. He got upand moved slowly down the aisle, opening the door, seeing again themeadow of buttercups, yellow as gold, and listening again to thesparrows chirruping in the sunshine outside. 

"I have been in that church a quarter of an hour, " he said to himself, "and in trying to dive to the depths of myself and find out whether Iwas giving a woman all I had to give, I did not get time to considerthat woman's probable answer, should I place my uninteresting life andliberty at her disposal. "

XV

"NOW LUBIN IS AWAY"

Lavendar made his adieux after luncheon and went off to London. "Good-bye for the present, Mrs. De Tracy; I shall be back on Wednesdayprobably, if I can arrange it, " he said. "Good-bye, Mrs. Loring, " andhere he altered the phrase to "Shall I come back on Wednesday?" forhis hostess had left the open door. 

There was no hesitation, but all too little sentiment, aboutRobinette's reply. 

"Wednesday, at the latest, are my orders, " she answered merrily, andwith the words ringing in his ears Lavendar took his departure. 

"Do you remember that this is the afternoon of the garden party atRevelsmere?" Mrs. De Tracy enquired, coming into the drawing room afew minutes later, where Mrs. Loring stood by the open window. Shehad allowed herself just five minutes of depression, staring out atthe buttercup meadow. How black the rooks looked as they flew about itand how dreary everything was, now that Lavendar had gone! She waswoman enough to be able to feel inwardly amused at her own absurdity, when she recognized that the ensuing three days seemed to stretch outinto a limitless expanse of dullness. "The village seemed asleep ordead now Lubin was away!" Still, after all, it was an occasion forwearing a pretty frock, and she knew herself well enough to feel surethat the sight of a few of her fellow-creatures even pretending toenjoy themselves, would make her volatile spirits rise like themercury in a thermometer on a hot day. 

Miss Smeardon was to be her companion, as Mrs. De Tracy had a headachethat afternoon and was afraid of the heat, she said. "What heat?"Robinette had asked innocently, for in spite of the brilliant sunlightthe wind blew from the east, keen as a knife. "I shall take a goodwrap in the carriage in spite of this tropical temperature, " shethought. Carnaby refused point blank to drive with them; he wouldbicycle to the party or else not go at all, so it was alone with MissSmeardon that Robinette started in the heavy old landau behind thepalsied horse. 

Miss Smeardon gave one glance at Mrs. Loring's dress, and Robinettegave one glance at Miss Smeardon's, each making her own comments. 

"That white cloth will go to the cleaner, I suppose, after onewearing, and as for that thing on her head with lilac wistariadrooping over the brim, it can't be meant as a covering, or aprotection, either from sun or wind; it's nothing but an ornament!"Miss Smeardon commented; while to herself Robinette ejaculated, --

"A penwiper, an old, much-used penwiper, is all that Miss Smeardonresembles in that black rag!"

Carnaby, watching the start at the door, whistled in open admirationas Robinette came down the steps. 

"Well, well! we are got up to kill this afternoon; pity old Mark hasjust gone; but cheer up, Cousin Robin, there's always a curate onhand!"

For once Robinette's ready tongue played her false, and a sense ofloneliness overcame her at the sound of Lavendar's name. She gatheredup her long white skirts and got into the carriage with as muchdignity as she could muster, while Carnaby, his eyes twinkling withmischief, stood ready to shut the door after Miss Smeardon. 

"Hope you'll enjoy your drive, " he jeered. "You'll need to hold onyour hats. Bucephalus goes at such fiery speed that they'll be tornoff your heads unless you do. "

"Middy dear, you're not the least amusing, " said Robinette quitecrossly, and with a lurch the carriage moved off. 

Miss Smeardon settled herself for conversation. "I'm afraid you willfind me but a dull companion, Mrs. Loring, " she said, glancingsideways at Robinette from under the brim of her mushroom hat. 

"Oh, you will be able to tell me who everyone is, " said Robinette ascheerfully as she could. 

"I am no gossip, " Miss Smeardon protested. 

"It isn't necessary to gossip, is it?--but I've a wholesome interestin my fellow creatures. "

"And it is well to know about people a little; when one comes amongstrangers as you do, Mrs. Loring; one can't be too careful--anAmerican, particularly. "

Miss Smeardon's voice trailed off upon a note of insinuation; butRobinette took no notice of the remark. She did not seem to haveanything to say, so Miss Smeardon took up another subject. 

"What a pity that Mr. Lavendar had to leave before this afternoon; hewould have been such an addition to our party!"

"Yes, wouldn't he?" Robinette agreed, though she carefully kept out ofher voice the real passion of assent that was in her heart. 

"Mr. Lavendar is so agreeable, I always think, " Miss Smeardon went on. "Everyone likes him; he almost carries his pleasant ways too far. Isuppose that was how--" She paused, and added again, "Oh, but as Isaid, I never talk scandal!"

"Do you think it's possible to be too pleasant?" Robinette remarked, stupidly enough, scarcely caring what she said. 

"Well, when it leads a poor girl to imagine that she is loved! I hearthat Dolly Meredith is just heart-broken. The engagement kept on forquite a year, I believe, and then to break it off so heartlessly!--Iwas reminded of it all by coming here. Miss Meredith is a cousin ofour hostess, and they met first at Revelsmere when they were quiteyoung. "

"There is always a certain amount of talk when an engagement has tobe broken off, " said Robinette in a cold voice. 

"They seemed quite devoted at first, " Miss Smeardon began; butRobinette interrupted her. 

"The sooner such things are forgotten the better, I think, " she said. "No one, except the two people concerned, ever knows the realtruth. --Tell me, Miss Smeardon, whom we are likely to meet atRevelsmere? Who is our hostess? What sort of parties does she give?"

Being so firmly switched off from the affairs of Mr. Lavendar and MissMeredith, it was impossible for Miss Smeardon to talk about them anymore, and she had to turn to a less congenial theme. 

"We shall meet the neighbours, " she told Robinette, "but I am afraidthey may not interest you very much. I understand that in America youare accustomed to a great deal of the society of gentlemen. Here thereare so few, and all of them are married. "

"All?" laughed Robinette. 

"Well, there is Mr. Finch, the curate, but he is a celibate; and youngMr. Tait of Strewe, but he is slightly paralysed. "

"Why, Carnaby must be quite an eligible bachelor in these parts, " saidRobinette; but Miss Smeardon was so deadly literal that she acceptedthe remark as a serious one. 

"Not quite yet; in a few years' time we shall need to be very careful, there are so many girls here, but not all of them desirable, ofcourse. "

"There are? What a dull time they must have with the Married Men, theCelibate, the Paralytic, and Carnaby! I'm glad my girlhood wasn'tspent in Devonshire. "

Conversation ended here, for the carriage rumbled up the avenue, andRobinette looked about her eagerly. Revelsmere was a nice old house, surrounded by fine sloping lawns and a background of sombrebeechwoods. The lawns to-day were dotted with groups of people, mainlywomen, and elderly at that. As Robinette and Miss Smeardon alightedat the door an elderly hostess welcomed them, and an elderly host ledthem across the lawn and straightly they fell into the clutches ofmore and more elderlies. 

"It is fairly bewildering!" Robinette cried in her heart; then she sawa bevy of girls approaching; such nice-looking girls, happy, welldressed, but all unattended by their suitable complement of youngmen. 

"For whom do they dress, here? They've a deal of self-respect, Ithink, to go on getting themselves up so nicely for themselves and theCelibate, the Paralytic, and Carnaby, " thought Robinette, as shewatched them. 

Presently another couple came across the lawn; the young woman was byno means a girl, rather heavily built, with a high fixed colour. Shewas attended by a man. "Not the Celibate certainly, " thought Mrs. Loring with a glance at his bullock-like figure, his thick neck, andglossy black hair, "nor the Paralytic; and it's not Carnaby. It mustbe a new arrival!"

At that moment it began to rain, but nothing daunted, their hostessapproached her, and saying pleasantly that she wished to introduce herto Miss Meredith, she left Robinette and the young woman standingtogether under a spreading tree, and took the gentleman away withher. 

The moment that she heard the name, Robinette realized who MissMeredith was. They seated themselves side by side on a garden bench, and Miss Meredith remarked upon the heat, planting a rather fat handupon the arm of the garden seat, and surveying it complacently, especially the very bright diamond ring upon the third finger. 

After a few preliminary remarks, she asked Mrs. Loring if she werestopping in the neighbourhood. 

"Yes, I am staying at Stoke Revel for a short time, " Robinettereplied; "Mrs. De Tracy is my aunt, or at least I am Admiral deTracy's niece. "

Her companion did not seem to take the least interest in this part ofthe information, only when Stoke Revel was mentioned she looked aroundsuddenly as if surprised. 

They talked upon indifferent subjects, while Robinette, as she watchedMiss Meredith, was saying a good deal to herself, although she onlyspoke aloud about the weather and the Devonshire scenery. 

"I will be just, if I can't be generous, " she thought. "She has (orshe must once have had) a fine complexion. I dare say she is sincereenough; she may be sensible; she might be good-humoured, --whenpleased. "

"There is going to be a shower, " said Miss Meredith, "but I've nothingon to spoil, " she added, glancing at Robinette's hat. 

Sitting there on the bench, hearing the spitting rain upon the waterbelow them and watching the leaden mists that slowly gathered over thelandscape, Robinette fell upon a moment of soul sickness very unusualto her. Miss Meredith too was silent, absorbed in her own thoughts. 

"If she had looked even a little different it would have been so mucheasier to explain, " thought Robinette. Then suddenly she glanced up. She saw that her companion's face had softened, and changed. There wasa look, --Robinette caught it just for one moment, --such as a proudangry child might have worn: sulky, hurt to the heart, but determinednot to cry. Instantly a chord was struck in Robinette's soul. "She hassuffered, anyway, " she thought. "May I be forgiven for my harshjudgment!"

With a shiver she drew her wrap about her shoulders, and Miss Meredithturned towards her. The expression Robinette had noticed passed fromthe high-coloured face and left it as before, self-complacent andslightly patronizing. "You seem to feel cold, " she said. "I never do;which is rather unfortunate, as I'm just going out to India!"

"Indeed? How soon are you going?"

"In about six weeks. I'm just going to be married, and we saildirectly afterwards, " said Miss Meredith. "You saw Mr. Joyce, I think, when we came up together a few minutes ago?"

A weight as if of a ton of lead was lifted from Robinette's heart asshe spoke. She could scarcely refrain from jumping up to throw herarms about Dolly Meredith's neck and kiss her. As it was, she bubbledover with a kind of sympathetic interest that astonished the otherwoman. It is only too easy to lead an approaching bride to talk abouther own affairs, for she can seldom take in the existence of even hernearest and dearest at such a time, and in a few minutes the two youngwomen were deep in conversation. When a quarter of an hour later MissSmeardon appeared to tell Robinette that they must be going, shelooked up with a start at the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. "Oh, you are here, Mrs. Loring; we couldn't think where you hadgone, " said Miss Smeardon, acidly. 

"And here is Miss Meredith of all people!" she continued, "I thoughtyou were sure to be on the tennis court, Miss Meredith; Mr. Joyce isplaying now. "

"Oh, we have had such a delightful talk, " said Dolly, so flushed withpleasure that Miss Smeardon gazed at her in astonishment. 

"If only I knew her well enough to send her a munificent weddingpresent! How I should love to do so; just to register my own joy, "said Robinette to herself. As it was she shook hands very warmly withMiss Meredith before they parted, and when half way across the lawn, looked back again, and waved her hand gaily. Miss Meredith was pacingthe grass, and treading heavily beside her, with a very gallant air, was her bullock-like young man. 

"Mr. Joyce is quite wealthy, " said Miss Smeardon. "I understand thathe is an only son too, and will some day inherit a fine property. Miss Meredith is most fortunate, at her age and with her history. "

Robinette said nothing. She looked out at the glistening reaches ofthe river, now shining through the silver mist; at the fields yellowwith buttercups, and the folds of the distant hills. As they drove upthe lane to the house, the birds, refreshed by the rain, were singinglike angels. In her heart too, something was singing as blithely asany bird amongst them all. 

"Sometimes, sometimes our mistakes do not come home to roost!" shethought, "but fly away and make nests elsewhere--rich nests in Indiatoo!"

"How did you enjoy the party, Cousin Robin?" said Carnaby, whowas waiting for them in the doorway. "I had a good tuck-in ofstrawberries. The ladies were a little young for my taste; justimmature girls; no one under sixty, and rather frisky, don't youthink? By the way did you see Number One and her millionaire?"

"I don't know what you mean by Number One, " said Robinette, haughtily, as she passed in at the door. 

"You will, when you're Number Two!" rejoined Carnaby, stooping topinch Lord Roberts' tail till the hero yelped aloud. 

XVI

TWO LETTERS

Lavendar tore up his fourth sheet of paper and began afresh. "DearMrs. Loring. " No, that would not do; he took another sheet, and beganagain:--

"My dear Mrs. Loring, --Your commission for old Mrs. Prettyman hastaken some little time to execute, for I had to go to two or threeshops before finding a chair 'with green cushions, and a wide seat, socomfortable that it would almost act as an anæsthetic if herrheumatism happened to be bad, and yet quite suitable for a cottageroom. ' These were my orders, I think, and like all your orders theydemand something better than the mere perfunctory observance. My ownproportions differing a good deal from those of the old lady, it isstill an open question whether what seemed comfortable to me will bequite the same to her. I can but hope so, and the chair will bedispatched at once. 

"London is noisy and dusty, and grimy and stuffy, and, to one man atleast, very, very dull. A boat on Greenshaw ferry seems the only spotin the world where any gaiety is to be found. You can hear the cuckooscalling across the river as you read this, no doubt, and Carnaby isrendered happier than he deserves by being allowed to row you down totell Mrs. Prettyman about the chair. I feel as if, like the Japanese, I could journey a hundred miles to worship that wonderful tree. --Don'tlet the blossoms fall until I come!

"There seems a good deal of business to be done. My father unfortunatelyis no better, so he cannot come down to Stoke Revel, and I shallprobably return upon Wednesday morning. A poem of Browning's runs in myhead--something about three days--I can't quote exactly. 

"If my sister were writing this letter, she would say that I have beenvery hard to please, and uninterested in everything since I came home. Indeed it seems as if I were. London in this part of it, in hotweather, makes a man weary for green woods, a sliding river, and aBook of Verses underneath a Bough. Well, perhaps I shall have all ofthem by Wednesday afternoon. You will think I can do nothing butgrumble. All the same, into what was the mere dull routine ofuncongenial work before, your influence has come with a current of newenergy; like the tide from the sea swelling up into the inlandriver. --I'm at it again! Rivers on the brain evidently. 

"I hope meanwhile that Carnaby behaves himself, and is not too much ofa bore, and that England, --England in spring at least, is gaining acorner in your heart? Your mother called it home, remember. Yes, dotry to remember that!

"Did you go to the garden party? Did you walk? Did you drive? Did youlike it? Who was there? Were you dull?"

 * * * * *

There was a postscript:--

"I have found the verse from Browning, 'So I shall see her in threedays. '

 "M. L. "

 * * * * *

 "Tuesday, 19th. 

"Dear Mr. Lavendar: First, many thanks for Nurse's armchair, whicharrived in perfect order, and is a shining monument to your goodtaste. She does nothing but look at it, shrouding it when she retiresto bed with an old table-cover, to protect it from the night air. 

"Whether she will ever make its acquaintance thoroughly enough to sitin it I do not know, but it will give her an enormous amount ofpleasure. Perhaps her glow of pride in its possession does her as muchgood as the comfort she might take in its use. 

"Her 'rheumatics' are very painful just now, and I have a good deal todo with Duckie. You remember Duckie? I call her Mrs. Mackenzie, afterthat lady in The Newcomes who talked the Colonel to death. Mrs. Mackenzie is heavy, elderly, and strong-willed. I am acquainted withevery bone, tendon, and sinew in her body, having to lift her into acoop behind the cottage where she will not wake Nurse at dawn with hereternal quacking. She has heretofore slept under Nurse's bedroomwindow and dislikes change of any kind. So lucky she has no offspring!I tremble to think of what maternal example might do in such atalkative family!

"Stoke Revel is as it was and ever will be, world without end; onlyAunt de Tracy is crosser than when you are here and life is not asgay, although Carnaby does his dear, cubbish best. If ever youdesire your mental jewels to shine at their brightest; if ever youwish a tolerably good disposition to seem like that of an angel; ifever, in a fit of vanity, you would like to appear as a blend ofApollo, Lancelot, Demosthenes, Prince Charlie, Ajax, and Solomon, just fly to Stoke Revel and become part of the household. Assumenothing; simply appear, and the surroundings will do the rest; likethe penny-in-the-slot arrangements. Seen upon a background of Bates, William, Benson, Big Cummins, the Curate, Miss Smeardon, and may Idare to add, the lady of the Manor herself, --any living breathingman takes on an Olympian majesty. I shouldn't miss you in Bostonnor in London; perhaps even in Weston I might find a wretchedsubstitute, but here you are priceless!

"I have some news for you. On Saturday Miss Smeardon and I went to agarden party. That was what it was called. The thermometer was onlyslightly below zero when we started, and that luminary masquerading asthe sun was pretending to shine. Soon after we arrived at the festivescene, there were gusts of wind and rain. I sought the shelter of aspreading tree, the kitchen fire not being available, and I was joinedthere by the hostess, who presented her niece, your Miss Meredith. 

"Dear Mr. Lavendar, this is a subject we cannot write about, you andI. I am loyal to my sex, and what Miss Meredith said, and looked, anddid, are all as sacred to me as they ought to be. I only want to tellyou that she is happy; that she has this very week become engaged, andis going to India with her husband in a month. Now that littlecankerworm, that has been gnawing at your roots of life for the lastyear or two, has done its worst, and you are perfectly free to go andmake other mistakes. I only hope you'll get 'scot free' from those, too, for I don't like to see nice men burn their fingers. We becamesuch good friends huddled up in that boat when we were stuck in themud--Ugh! I can smell it now!--that I am glad to be the first to sendyou pleasant news. 

 "Sincerely yours, "ROBINETTA LORING. "

XVII

MRS. DE TRACY CROSSES THE FERRY

Lavendar's blunt refusal, except under certain conditions, toannounce to Mrs. Prettyman her coming ejection from the cottage atWittisham, was unprofessional enough, as he himself felt; but itwas final and categorical. Conveying as it did a sort of tacitremonstrance, this refusal had an unfortunate effect, for it onlyserved to rouse Mrs. De Tracy's formidable obstinacy. She hadseized upon one point only in their numberless and wearisomediscussions of the matter: Mrs. Prettyman had no legal claim uponStoke Revel. To give her compensation for the plum tree would be toallow that she had; to create a precedent highly dangerous under thecircumstances. How could one refuse to other old women or old menleaving their cottages what one had weakly granted to her? Thedemands would be unceasing, the trouble endless. So arguing, Mrs. DeTracy soon brought herself to a state of determination bordering on asort of mania. She was old, and in exaggerated harshness her life wasretreating as it were into its last stronghold, at bay. 

As good as her word, for she had vowed she would warn Mrs. Prettymanherself, and she was never one to procrastinate, the lady of the Manorproceeded to plan her visit to Wittisham. She had not crossed theriver for years. Wittisham, one of the loveliest villages in England, perhaps, though little known, was a thorn in her side, as it wouldhave been in that of any other landlord with empty pockets. 

What you could not deal with to your own advantage, it was better toignore, and on this autocratic principle, Mrs. De Tracy had leftWittisham to itself. 

But now the boat carried her there, alone and fierce--_thrawn_, asthe Scotch say--bent upon a course of conduct that she knew wouldhold her up to the hatred of every right-thinking person of heracquaintance, and bitterly triumphant in the knowledge. Themeanness of her errand never struck her. On the contrary, she wouldhave argued it was one well worthy of her, a part of the scheme inthe consummation of which she had spent her married life and her wholeindomitable energy, losing actually her own identity in the process, and becoming an inexorable machine. That scheme was the holdingtogether of Stoke Revel for the de Tracys, the maintenance of familydignity and power, the pre-eminence of a race that had always ruled. The river beneath her, carrying her to the fulfilment of her duty, the noble river, widening to the sea, subject to its tides and madeturbulent by its storms, typified to Mrs. De Tracy only thegreatness of Stoke Revel. From its banks the de Tracys had sent out, generation after generation, men who had commanded fleets, whohad upheld the national honour upon the farthest seas, very often atthe cost of life. There was no sacrifice of herself at which Mrs. De Tracy would have hesitated in upholding this ideal, no sacrificeof others, either. What was Lizzie Prettyman in comparison? A bagof old bones, fit for nothing but the workhouse!

"A little faster, William, " said the widow, sitting upright in thestern, and William the footman bent to his oars, the beads ofperspiration standing on his brow. When Mrs. De Tracy stepped out uponthe pier, she had to be reminded where the Prettyman cottage was. 

"You'll know it by the plum tree, ma'am, " said William respectfully, "everybody does. "

It was not far off on the river side. The tide had ebbed and left astretch of muddy foreshore in front of it, where the rotting poles forhanging the fishing nets out to dry stood gauntly up. Mrs. De Tracyapproached the steps, which merged into the flagged path before thedoor, and paused to survey the property she intended to part with. Shehad no eye for the picturesque. A few white petals from the blossomingplum tree, scattered by the breeze, fell upon her black bonnet andshoulders. A faint scent of honey came from it and the hum of bees, for the day was warm. The tumble-down condition of the cottage engagedMrs. De Tracy's attention. 

"And for this, " she thought scornfully, "a man will give hundreds ofpounds! There's truth in the adage that a fool and his money are soonparted!"

She mounted the steps that led up to the patch of garden, her keen, cold eyes everywhere at once. "A cat can't sneeze without she 'ears'im!" her villagers at Stoke Revel were wont to say, disappearing intotheir houses as rabbits into their burrows at sight of a terrier. 

Old Elizabeth Prettyman stood at her door, and it took some time tomake her realize who her august visitor was. She was getting blind;she had never been a favourite with Mrs. De Tracy, nor had she enteredStoke Revel Manor since her nursling disgraced it by marrying a Bean. She curtseyed humbly to the great lady. 

"There now, ma'am, " she said, "it's not often we have seen you acrossthe river. Will you please to come inside and sit down, ma'am? 'T isvery warm this afternoon, it is. " She was a good deal fluttered in herwelcome, for there was that in Mrs. De Tracy's air that seemed to bodemisfortune. 

"I shall sit down for a few minutes, Elizabeth, " was the reply, "whileI explain my visit to you. "

Mrs. Prettyman stood aside respectfully, and Mrs. De Tracy swept pasther into the cottage and seated herself there. It never occurred toher to ask the old woman to sit down in her own house; she expectedher to stand throughout the interview. Without further preamble, then, Mrs. De Tracy came to the point:--

"Elizabeth, " she said, "I have come to tell you that I am going tosell the land on which this cottage stands, and that you will have tofind some other home. "

The old woman did not understand for a minute. "You be going to sellthe land, ma'am?" she repeated stupidly. 

"Yes, I am. A gentleman from London wishes to buy it; you will need togo. "

"A gentleman from London! Lor, ma'am, no gentleman from Londonwouldn't live 'ere!" Elizabeth cried, perfectly dazed by thestatement. 

Mrs. De Tracy repeated: "It is not your business, Elizabeth, what heintends to do with the place; all you have to do is to remove from thehouse. "

The old woman sank down on the nearest chair and covered her face withher hands. She was so old and so tired that she had no heart to facelife under new conditions, even should they be better than those sheleft. A younger woman would have snapped her fingers in Mrs. DeTracy's face, so to speak, and wished her joy of her old rattletrap ofa house, but Elizabeth Prettyman, after a lifetime of struggles, hadnot vitality enough for such an action. She had never dreamed ofleaving the cottage, and where was she to go? Her furrowed face worean expression of absolute terror now when she looked up. 

"But where be I to live, ma'am?" she cried. 

"I do not know, Elizabeth; you must arrange that with your relations, "said Mrs. De Tracy. 

"I don't 'ave but only me niece--'er as married down Exeter way. "

"Well, you should write to her then. "

"She don't want to keep me, Nettie don't, --she's but a poor man'swife, and five chillen she 'as; it's not like as if she were medaughter, ma'am. "

"You have some small sum of money of your own every year, have younot?" Mrs. De Tracy asked. 

"Ten pound a year, ma'am; the same that me 'usband left me; two'undred pounds 'e 'ad saved and 't is in an annuity; that's all I'ave--that and me plum tree. "

"The plum tree is not yours, either, Elizabeth; that belongs to theland, " said Mrs. De Tracy curtly. 

"'T was me 'usband planted it, ma'am, years ago. We watched 'en andpruned 'en and tended 'en like a child we did--an' now to be told 'erain't mine!"

"You're forgetting yourself, Elizabeth, I think, " said Mrs. De Tracy. It was simply impossible for her to see with the old woman's eyes; allshe remembered was the legal fact that any tree planted in Stoke Revelground belonged to the owner of the ground. 

"But ma'am, 't is a big part of me living is the plum tree; onlyyesterday I says to the young lady--Miss Cynthia's young lady--Isays, 'Dear knows how 't would be with me without I had the plumtree. '"

"I cannot help that, Elizabeth: the plum tree is not yours, it belongsto Stoke Revel. "

"Then ma'am, you'll be 'lowing me something for it surely?"

"No, " said Mrs. De Tracy obstinately, "you have no legal claim tocompensation, Elizabeth. I cannot undertake to allow you anything forwhat is not yours. If I did it in your case you know quite well Ishould have to do it in many others. "

There was a long and heavy silence. Elizabeth Prettyman was taking inher sentence of banishment from her old home; Mrs. De Tracy was merelywondering how long it would take her to walk down that nasty steep bitof path to the ferry. At last the old woman looked up. 

"When must I be goin' then, ma'am?" she asked meekly. 

Mrs. De Tracy considered. "The transfer of land from one person toanother generally takes some time: you will have several weeks herestill; I shall send you notice later which day to quit. "

"Thank you, ma'am, " said Elizabeth simply, and added, "The plum treeblossoms 'ul be over by that time. "

"I don't see what that has to do with it, " said Mrs. De Tracy, inwhose heart there was room for no sentiment. 

"'T would have been 'arder leavin' it in blossom time, " the old womanexplained; but her hearer could not see the point. She rose slowlyfrom her chair and looked around the cottage. 

"I am glad to see that you keep your place clean and respectable, Elizabeth, " she said. "I wish you good afternoon. "

Elizabeth never rose from her chair to see her visitor to the door--(anomission which Mrs. De Tracy was not likely to overlook)--she just satthere gazing stupidly around the tiny kitchen and muttering a word ortwo now and then. At last she got up and tottered to the garden. 

"I'll 'ave to leave it all--leave the old bench as me William did putfor me with his own 'ands, and leave Duckie, Duckie can't never go toExeter if I goes there, --and leave the plum tree. " She limped acrossthe little bit of sunny turf, and stood under the white canopy of theblossoming tree, leaning against its slender trunk. "Pity 't is weain't rooted in the ground same as the trees are, " she mused. "Then noone couldn't turn us out; only the Lord Almighty cut us down when ourtime came; Lord knows I'm about ready for that now--grave-ripe as youmay say. " She leaned her poor weary old head against the tree stem andwept, ready, ah! how ready, at that moment, to lay down the burden ofher long and toilsome life. 

"Good afternoon, Nursie dear!" a clear voice called out in her ear, and Elizabeth started to find that Robinette had tip-toed across thegrass and was standing close beside her. She lifted her tear-stainedface up to Robinette's as a child might have done. 

"I've to quit, Missie, " she sobbed, "to leave me 'ome and Duckie andthe plum tree, an' I've no place to go to, and naught but my tenpounds to live on--and 't won't keep me without I've the plum tree, not when I've rent to pay from it; not if I don't eat nothing but teaan' bread never again!"

In a moment Robinette's arms were about her: her soft young cheekspressed against the withered old face. 

"What's this you're saying, Nurse?" she cried. "Leaving your cottage?Who said so?"

"It's true, dear, quite true; 'asn't the lady 'erself been here totell me so?"

"Was that what Aunt de Tracy was here about? I met her on the roadfive minutes ago; she said she had been here on business! But tell me, Nurse, why does she want you to leave? Are you going to get a bettercottage? Does she think this one isn't healthy for you?"

"No, no, dear, 't isn't that, she 've sold the cottage over me 'ead, that's what 't is, or she's going to sell it, to a gentleman fromLondon--Lord knows what a gentleman from London wants wi' 'en--andI've to quit. "

Robinette tried to be a peacemaker. 

"Then you'll get a much more comfortable house, that's quite certain. You know, though this one is lovely on fine days like this, that thethatch is all coming off, and I'm sure it's damp inside! Just wait abit, and see if you don't get some nice cosy little place, with asound roof and quite dry, that will cure this rheumatism of yours. "

But Mrs. Prettyman shook her head. 

"No, no, there won't be no cosy place given to me; I'm no more worththan an old shoe now, Missie, and I'm to be turned out, the lady saidso 'erself; said as I must go to Exeter to live with me niece Nettie, and 'er don't want us--Nettie don't--and whatever shall I do without I'ave Duckie and the plum tree?"

"Oh, but"--Robinette began, quite incredulously, and the old womantook up her lament again. 

"And I asked the lady, wouldn't I 'ave something allowed me for theplum tree--that 'ave about clothed me for years back? And 'No, ' shesays, ''t ain't your plum tree, Elizabeth, 't is mine; I can't 'lownothing on me own plum tree. '"

Robinette still refused to believe the story. 

"Nurse, dear, " she said, "you're a tiny bit deaf now, you know, andperhaps you misunderstood about leaving. Suppose you keep your dearold heart easy for to-night, and I'll come down bright and earlyto-morrow and tell you what it really is! If you have to leave theplum tree you'll get a fine price put on it that may last you foryears; it's such a splendid tree, anyone can see it's worth a gooddeal. "

"That it be, Missie, the finest tree in Wittisham, " the old womansaid, drying her eyes, a little comforted by the assurance inRobinette's voice and manner. 

"There now, we won't have any more tears: I've brought a new canisterof tea I sent for to London. I'm just dying to taste if it's good;we'll brew it together, Nursie; I shall carry out the little tablefrom the kitchen and we'll drink our tea under the plum tree, "Robinette cried. 

She was carrying a great parcel under her arm, and when Mrs. Prettymanopened it, she could scarcely believe that this lovely red tincanister, filled with pounds of fragrant tea, could really be hers!The sight of such riches almost drove away her former fears. Robinettewhisked into the kitchen and came out carrying the little round tablewhich she set down under the white canopy of the plum tree. Thentogether they brought out the rest of the tea things, and what a merrymeal they had!

"It's just nonsense and a bit of deafness on your part, Nurse, so wewon't remember anything about leaving the house, we are only going tothink of enjoyment, " Robinette announced. Then the old woman wascomforted, as old people are wont to be by the brave assurances ofthose younger and stronger than themselves, forgot the spectre thatseemed to have risen suddenly across her path, and laughed and talkedas she sipped the fragrant London tea. 

XVIII

THE STOKE REVEL JEWELS

"Hullo! Cousin Robin, hurry up, you'll need all your time!" It wasCarnaby of course who saluted Robinette thus, as she came towards thehouse on her return from Wittisham. 

"I'm not late, am I?" she said, consulting her watch. 

"I thought you'd be making a tremendous toilette; one of your killingones to-night, " Carnaby said. "Do! I love to see you all dressed uptill old Smeardon's eyes look as if they would drop out when you comeinto the room. "

"I'll wear my black dress, and her eyes may remain in her head, "Robinette laughed. 

"And what about Mark's eyes? Wouldn't you like them to drop out?" theboy asked mischievously. "He's come back by the afternoon train whileyou were away at Wittisham. "

"Oh, has he?" Robinette said, and Carnaby stared so hard at her, thatto her intense annoyance she blushed hotly. 

"Horrid lynx-eyed boy, " she said to herself as she ran upstairs, "He'sgrowing up far too quickly. He needs to be snubbed. " She dashed to thewardrobe, pulled out the black garment, and gave it a vindictive shake. "Old, dowdy, unbecoming, deaconess-district-visitor-bible-woman, great-grand-auntly thing!" she cried. 

Then her eye lighted on a cherished lavender satin. She stood for amoment deliberating, the black dress over her arm, her eyes fixed uponthe lavender one that hung in the wardrobe. 

"I don't care, " she cried suddenly: "I'll wear the lavender, so heregoes! Men are all colour blind, so he'll merely notice that I looknice. I must conceal from myself and everybody else how depressed I amover the interview with Nurse, and how I dread discussing the cottagewith Aunt de Tracy. That must be done the first thing after dinner, orI shall lose what little courage I have. "

Lavendar thought he had never seen her look so lovely as when he mether in the drawing room a quarter of an hour later. There was nothingextraordinary about the dress but its exquisite tint and the sheen ofthe soft satin. The suggestion that lay in the colour was entirelylost upon him, however: if asked to name it he would doubtless havesaid "purplish. " How he wished that he might have escorted her intothe dining room, but Mrs. De Tracy was his portion as usual, andRobinette was waiting for Carnaby, who seemed unaccountably slow. 

"Your arm, Middy, when you are quite ready, " she said to him at last. Carnaby's extraordinary unreadiness seemed to arise from his trying tosmuggle some object up his sleeve. This proved, a few moments later, to be a bundle of lavender sticks tied with violet ribbon that he haddiscovered in his bureau drawer. He laid it by Robinette's plate witha whispered "My compliments. "

"What does your cousin want that bunch of lavender for, at the table?"Mrs. De Tracy enquired. 

"She likes lavender anywhere, ma'am, " Carnaby said with a wink on theside not visible by his grandmother. "It's a favourite of hers. "

Robinette could only be thankful that Lavendar was occupied in a_sotto voce_ discussion of wine with Bates, and she was able toconceal the bundle of herbs before his eyes met hers, for the fury shefelt against her precious young kinsman at that moment she could haveexpressed only by blows. 

Dinner seemed interminably long. Robinette, for more reasons than one, was preoccupied; Lavendar made few remarks, and Carnaby was possessedby a spirit of perfectly fiendish mischief, saying and doingeverything that could most exasperate his grandmother, put her gueststo the blush, and shock Miss Smeardon. 

But at last Mrs. De Tracy rose from the table, and the ladies followedher from the room, leaving Lavendar to cope alone with Carnaby. 

"My fair American cousin is more than usually lovely to-night, eh, Mr. Lavendar?" the boy said, with his laughable assumption of a man of theworld. 

"There, my young friend; that will do! you're talking altogether toomuch, " said Lavendar, as he poured himself out a glass of wine and satdown by the open window to drink it. Carnaby, perhaps not unreasonablyoffended, lounged out of the room, and left the older man to his ownmeditations. 

Robinette in the meantime went into the drawing room with her aunt, and they sat down together in the dim light while Miss Smeardon wentupstairs to write a letter. 

"Aunt de Tracy, " Robinette began, "I was calling on Mrs. Prettymanjust after you had been with her this afternoon, and do you know thedear old soul had taken the strangest idea into her head! She says youare going to ask her to leave the cottage. "

"The land on which her cottage stands is about to be sold, " said Mrs. De Tracy. "It is necessary that she should move. "

"Yes, she quite understood that; but she thinks she is not going toget another house; that was what was distressing her, naturally. Ofcourse she hates to leave the old place, but I believe if she getsanother nicer cottage, that will quite console her, " said Robinettequickly. 

"I have no vacant cottage on the estate just now, " said Mrs. De Tracyquietly. 

"Then what is she to do? Isn't it impossible that she should moveuntil another place is made ready for her?" Robinette rose and stoodbeside the table, leaning the tips of her fingers on it in an attitudeof intense earnestness. She was trying to conceal the anger and dismayshe felt at her aunt's reply. 

"Mrs. Prettyman has relatives at Exeter, " said Mrs. De Tracy withoutthe quiver of an eyelid. 

"Yes; but they are poor. They aren't very near relations, and theydon't want her. O Aunt de Tracy, is it necessary to make her leave?She depends upon the plum tree so! She makes twenty-five dollars ayear from the jam!"

"Dollars have no significance for me, " said Mrs. De Tracy with an icysmile. 

"Well, pounds then: five pounds she makes. How is she ever going tolive without that, unless you give her the equivalent? It's half herlivelihood! I promised you would consider it? Was I wrong?"

Old bitternesses rose in Mrs. De Tracy's heart, the prejudices and thegrudges of a lifetime. Everything connected with Robinette's motherhad been wrong in her eyes, and now everything connected withRobinette was wrong too, and becoming more so with startlingrapidity. 

"You had no right whatsoever to make any promises on my behalf, " shenow said harshly. "You have acted foolishly and officiously. This isno business of yours. "

"I'll gladly make it my business if you'll let me, Aunt de Tracy!"pleaded Robinette. "If you don't feel inclined to provide for Mrs. Prettyman, mayn't I? She is my mother's old nurse and she shan't wantfor anything as long as I have a penny to call my own!" Robinette'seyes filled with tears, but Mrs. De Tracy was not a whit moved by thisshow of emotion, which appeared to her unnecessary and theatrical. 

"You are forgetting yourself a good deal in your way of speaking to meon this subject, " she said coldly. "When I behaved unbecomingly in myyouth, my mother always recommended me to go upstairs, shut myself upalone in my room, and collect my thoughts. The process had invariablya calming effect. I advise you to try it. "

Robinette did not need to be proffered the hint twice. She rushed outof the room like a whirlwind, not looking where she went. In the hall, she came face to face with Lavendar, who had just left the diningroom. 

"Mr. Lavendar!" she cried. "Do go into the drawing room and speak tomy aunt. Preach to her! Argue with her! Convince her that she can'tand mustn't act in this way; can't go and turn Mrs. Prettyman out, androb her of the plum tree, and leave her with hardly a penny in theworld or a roof over her head!"

"It's not a very pretty or a very pleasant business, Mrs. Loring, Iadmit, " said Lavendar quietly. 

"Is it English law?" cried Robinette with indignation. "If it is, Icall it mean and unjust!"

"Sometimes the laws seem very hard, " said Lavendar. "I'd like todiscuss this affair with you quietly another time. "

As he spoke, Carnaby appeared and wanted to be told what the matterwas, but Robinette discovered that it is not very easy to criticise agrandmother to her youthful grandson, more especially when the lady inquestion is your hostess. 

"Aunt de Tracy and I have had a little difference of opinion aboutMrs. Prettyman and her cottage, and the plum tree, " she said to theboy quietly, and Lavendar nodded approval. 

"Prettyman's got the sack, hasn't she?" Carnaby enquired with a boy'scarelessness. 

Robinette looked very grave. "My dear old nurse is to leave hercottage, " she said with a quiver in her voice. "She's to lose her plumtree--"

"But of course she'll get compensation, " cried Carnaby. 

"No, Middy; she's to get no compensation, " said Robinette in a lowvoice. 

"Well, I call that jolly hard! It's a beastly shame, " said Carnaby, evidently pricking up his ears and with a sudden frown that changedhis face. "I say, Mark--" But Lavendar did not think the momentsuitable for a discussion of Mrs. Prettyman's wrongs. Besides, he didnot wish Robinette to be banished from the drawing room for a wholeinterminable evening. He contrived to silence Carnaby for the timebeing. 

"Let's bury the hatchet for a little while, " he suggested. "Have youforgotten, Mrs. Loring, that I made Mrs. De Tracy promise to show offthe Stoke Revel jewels for your benefit this very night?"

"O! but now I'm in disgrace, she won't!" said Robinette. 

"Yes, she will!" said Carnaby. "Nothing puts the old lady in such aheavenly temper as showing off the jewels. Don't you miss it, CousinRobin! It's like the Tower of London and Madam Tussaud's rolled intoone, this show, I can assure you. Come on! Come back into the drawingroom. Needn't be afraid when Mark's there!"

Robinette found that a black look or two was all that she had to fearfrom Mrs. De Tracy at present, and even these became less severeunder the alchemy of Lavendar's tact. A reminder that an exhibition ofthe jewelry had been promised was graciously received. Bates andBenson were summoned, and armed with innumerable keys, they descendedto subterranean regions where safes were unlocked and jewel-boxessolemnly brought into the drawing room. Mrs. De Tracy wore an airalmost devotional, as she unlocked the final receptacles with keysnever allowed to leave her own hands. 

"If the proceedings had begun with prayer and ended with a hymn, itwouldn't have surprised me in the least!" Robinette said to herself, looking silently on. Her silence, luckily for her, was taken for thespeechlessness of awe, and did a good deal to make up, in the eyes ofher august relative, for her late indiscretions. As a matter of fact, her irreverent thoughts were mostly to the effect that all but thehistorical pieces of the Stoke Revel _corbeille_ would be the betterof re-setting by Tiffany or Cartier. 

Mrs. De Tracy opened an old shagreen case and the firelight flickeredon the diamonds of a small tiara. 

"This is a part of the famous Montmorency set, " she announced proudly, with the tone of a Keeper of Regalia. Then she took out a rope ofpearls ending in tassels. "These belonged to Marie Antoinette, " shesaid. 

An emerald set was next produced, and the emeralds, it was explained, had once adorned a crown. Deep green they were, encrusted in theirdiamond setting; costly, unique; but they left Robinette cold, thoughlike most American women, she loved precious stones as an adornment. One of those emeralds, she was thinking, was worth fifty times morethan old Lizzie Prettyman's cottage: the sale of one of them wouldhave averted that other sale which was to cause so much distress to apoor harmless old woman. 

"When do you wear your jewels, Aunt de Tracy?" she asked gravely. 

"I have not worn them since the Admiral's death, " was the virtuousreply, "and I have never called or considered them mine, Robinetta. They are the de Tracy jewels. When Carnaby takes his place as the headof the house, they will be his. He will see that his wife wears themon the proper occasions. "

"Carnaby's wife!" thought Robinette. "Why! she mayn't be born! He maynever have a wife! And to think of all those precious stones hidingtheir brightness in these boxes like prisoners in a dungeon for yearsand years, only to be let out now and then by Bates and Benson, jingling their keys like jailers! And this house is a prison too!" shesaid to herself; "a prison for souls!" and the thought of its hoardedwealth made her indignant; all this hidden treasure in a house wherethere was never enough to eat, where guests shivered in firelessbedrooms, where servants would not stay because they were starved! AndCarnaby, too, whose youth was being embittered by unnecessaryeconomies: Carnaby, who had so little pocket-money that he was alaughing-stock among his fellows--it was for Carnaby these sacrificeswere being made! Strange traditions! Fetiches of family pride almostas grotesque to her thinking as those of any savages under the sun. 

"My poor dear Middy!" she thought. "What chance has he, brought up inan atmosphere like this?" But she happened to raise her eyes at themoment, and to see the actual Carnaby of the moment, not the Carnabyher gloomy imagination was evoking from the future with the "pettyhoard of maxims preaching down" his heart. He had contrived to gethold of the Marie Antoinette pearls without his grandmother'sknowledge and to hang them around his neck; he had poised theMontmorency tiara on his own sleek head; he had forced a heavybracelet by way of collar round Rupert's throat, and now with thatchoking and goggling unfortunate held partner-wise in his arms, he waswaltzing on tiptoe about the farther drawing room behind theunconscious backs of Mrs. De Tracy and Miss Smeardon. 

"He's only a careless boy, " thought Robinette, "a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care, hare-brained youngster. They can't have poisoned hisnature yet, and I'm sure he has a good heart. If he were at the headof affairs at Stoke Revel instead of his grandmother, I wonder whatwould be done in the matter of my poor old nurse?" Robinette stood inthe doorway for a moment before going up to her room. Her wholeattitude spoke depression as Carnaby stole up behind her. 

"See here, Cousin Robin, I can't bear to have you go on like this. Don't take Prettyman's trouble so to heart. We'll do something! I'lldo something myself! I have a happy thought. "

XIX

LAWYER AND CLIENT

Robinette had a bad night after the jewel exhibition, and a heavy headand aching eyes prompted her to ask Little Cummins to bring herbreakfast to her bedroom. 

It was touching to see that small person hovering over Robinette:stirring the fire, sweeping the hearth, looping back the curtains, tucking the slippers out of sight, and moving about the room like amother ministering to an ailing child. Finally she staggered in withthe heavy breakfast tray that she had carried through long halls andup the stairs, and put it on the table by the bed. 

"There's a new-laid egg, ma'am, that cook 'ad for the mistress, but Ithought you needed it more; an' I brewed the tea meself, to be sure, "she cooed; "an' I've spread the loaf same as you like, an' cut thebread thin, an' 'ere's one o' the roses you allers wears to breakfast;an' wouldn't your erming coat be a comfort, ma'am?"

"Dear Little Cummins! How did you know I needed comfort? How did youguess I was homesick?"

Robinette leaned her head against the housemaid's rough hand, alwaysstained with black spots that would give way to no scrubbing. Frommorning to night she was in the coal scuttle or the grate or thesaucer of black lead, for she did nothing but lay fires, light fires, feed fires, and tidy up after fires, for eight or nine months of theyear. 

"You mustn't touch me, ma'am; I ain't fit; there's smut on me, an'hashes, this time o' day, " said Little Cummins. 

"I don't care. I like you better with ashes than lots of peoplewithout. You mustn't stay in the coal scuttle all your life, LittleCummins; you must be my chambermaid some of these days when we can geta good substitute for Mrs. De Tracy. Would you like that, if themistress will let you go?"

Little Cummins put her apron up to her eyes, and from its depths cameinarticulate bursts of gratitude and joy. Then peeping from it justenough to see the way to the door, she ran out like a hare andsecluded herself in the empty linen-room until she was sufficientlyherself to join the other servants. 

Robinette finished her breakfast and dressed. She had lacked courageto meet the family party, although she longed for a talk with MarkLavendar. It was entirely normal, feminine, and according to all law, human and divine, but it appealed also to her sense of humour, thatshe should feel that this new man-friend could straighten out all thedifficulties in the path. She waited patiently at her window until shesaw him walk around the corner of the house, under the cedars, and upthe twisting path, his head bent and bare, his hands in his pockets. Then she flung her blue cape over her shoulders and followed him. 

"Mr. Lavendar, " she called, as she caught up with his slow step, "yousaid you would advise me a little. Let us sit on this bench a momentand find out how we can untangle all the knots into which Aunt deTracy tied us yesterday. I am so afraid of her that I am sure I spoketimidly and respectfully to her at first; but perhaps I showed morefeeling at the end than I should. I am willing to apologize to her forany lack of courtesy, but I don't see how I can retract anything Isaid. "

"It is hard for you, " Lavendar replied, "because you have a naturalaffection for your mother's old nurse; and Mrs. De Tracy, I begin tobelieve, is more than indifferent to her. She has some active dislike, perhaps, the source of which is unknown to us. "

"But she is so unjust!" cried Robinette. "I never heard of an Irishlandlord in a novel who would practice such a piece of eviction. If Imust stand by and see it done, then I shall assert my right to providefor Nurse and move her into a new dwelling. After you left the drawingroom last night, I begged as tactfully as I could that Aunt de Tracywould sell me some of the jewels, so that she need not part with theland at Wittisham. She was very angry, and wouldn't hear of it. Then Iproposed buying the plum-tree cottage, that it might be kept in thefamily, and she was furious at my audacity. Perhaps the Admiral'sniece is _not_ in the family. "

"She cannot endure anything like patronage, or even an assumption ofequality, " said Lavendar. "You must be careful there. "

"Should I be likely to patronize?" asked Robinette reproachfully. 

"No; but your acquaintance with your aunt is a very brief one, and sheis an extraordinary character; hard to understand. You may easilystumble on a prejudice of hers at every step. "

"I shouldn't like to understand her any better than I do now, " andRobinette pushed back her hair rebelliously. 

"Will you be my client for about five minutes?" asked Lavendar. 

"Yes, willingly enough, for I see nothing before me but to take NursePrettyman and depart in the first steamer for America. "

Mrs. Loring looked as if she were quite capable of this rather radicalproceeding, and very much, too, as if any growing love for Lavendarthat she might have, would easily give way under this new pressure ofcircumstances. 

"This is the situation in a nutshell, " said Lavendar, filling hispipe. "Mrs. De Tracy is entirely within her legal rights when she asksMrs. Prettyman to leave the cottage; legally right also when shedeclines to give compensation for the plum tree that has been a sourceof income; financially right moreover in selling cottage and land at afancy price to find money for needed improvements on the estate. "

"None of this can be denied, I allow. "

"All these legal rights could have been softened if Mrs. De Tracy hadbeen willing to soften them, but unfortunately she has been put on thedefensive. She did not like it when I opposed her in the first place. She did not like it when my father advised her to make some smallsettlement, as he did, several days ago. She resented Mrs. Prettyman'sassumption of owning the plum tree; she was outraged at your valiantespousing of your nurse's cause. "

"I see; we have simply made her more determined in her injustice. "

"Now it is all very well for you to show your mettle, " Lavendar wenton, "for you to endure your aunt's displeasure rather than give up acause you know to be just; but look where it lands us. "

Robinette raised her troubled eyes to Lavendar's, giving a sigh toshow she realized that her landing-place would be wherever the lawyerfixed it, not where she wished it. 

"Go on, " she sighed patiently. 

"Your legal adviser regards it as impossible that you should come overfrom America and quarrel with your mother's family;--your only family, in point of fact. If this affair is fought to a finish you will feellike leaving your aunt's house. "

"I shouldn't have to wait for that feeling, " said Robinetteirrepressibly. "Aunt de Tracy would have it first!"

"In such an event I could and would stand by you, naturally. "

"_Would_ you?" cried Robinette glowing instantly like a jewel. 

Lavendar looked at her in amazement. "Pray what do you take me for? Onwhose side could I, should I be, my dear--my dear Mrs. Loring? But tokeep to business. In the event stated above, neither my father nor Icould very well continue to have charge of the estate. That is a smallmatter, but increases the difficulties, owing to a long friendshipdating back to the Admiral's time. Then we have Carnaby. Carnaby, mydear Mrs. Loring, belongs to you. Do you want to give him up? Headores you and you will have an unbounded influence on him, if youchoose to exercise it. "

"How can I influence Carnaby--in America?"

This was a blow, but Lavendar made no sign. "You may not always be inAmerica, " he said. "Now why not let Mrs. De Tracy sell the land andcottage and plum tree in the ordinary course of things? Oh, how I wish_I_ could buy the blessed thing!" he exclaimed, parenthetically. 

"Oh! how I wish _I_ could buy the plum tree, and keep it, alwaysblossoming, in my morning-room!" sighed Robinette. 

"But unfortunately, Waller R. A. Will buy the plum tree, confound him!Now, just after Mrs. De Tracy has definitely sold the premises and alltheir appurtenances, suppose you, in your prettiest and most docileway (docility not being your strong point!) ask your aunt if she hasany objection to your taking care of Mrs. Prettyman during the fewyears remaining to her. Meantime keep her from irritating Mrs. DeTracy, and make the poor old dear happy with plans for her future. Ifyou are short on docility you are long on making people happy!"

"Never did I hear such an argument! It would make Macduff fall intothe arms of Macbeth; it would tranquillize the Kilkenny catsthemselves! I'll run in and apologize abjectly to my thrice guiltyaunt, then I'll reward myself by going over to Wittisham. "

"If you'll take the ferry over, I'd like to come and fetch you if Imay. That shall be my reward. "

"Reward for what?"

"For giving you advice very much against my personal inclinations. Courses of action founded entirely on policy do not appeal to me verystrongly. "

XX

THE NEW HOME

It was in rather a chastened spirit that Robinette set off to see Mrs. Prettyman. "I've been foolish, I've been imprudent; oh! dear me! I'vestill so much to learn!" she sighed to herself. "No good is ever doneby losing one's temper; it only puts everything wrong. I shall have totry and take Mr. Lavendar's advice. I must be very prudent with Nursethis morning--never show her that I think Aunt de Tracy is in thewrong; just persuade her ever so gently to move to another home, andarrange with her where it is to be. "

It is always difficult for an impetuous nature like Robinette's tohold back about anything. She would have liked to run straight intoMrs. Prettyman's room, and, flinging her arms round the old woman'sneck, cry out to her that everything was settled. And instead shemust come to the point gently, prudently, wisely, "like other people"as she said to herself. 

The cottage seemed very still that afternoon, and Robinette knockedtwice before she heard the piping old voice cry out to her to comein. 

"Why, Nurse dear, where are you? Were you asleep?" Robinette said asshe entered, for Mrs. Prettyman was not sitting in the fine new chair. Then she found that the voice answered from the little bedroom off thekitchen, and that the old woman was in bed. 

"I ain't ill, so to speak, dear, just weary in me bones, " sheexplained, as Robinette sat down beside her. "And Mrs. Darke, meneighbour, she sez to me, 'You do take the day in bed, Mrs. Prettyman, me dear, an' I'll do your bit of work for 'ee'--so 'ere I be, Missie, right enough. "

"I'm afraid you were worried yesterday, " said Robinette; "worriedabout leaving the house. "

"I were, Missie, I were, " she confessed. 

"That's why I came to-day; you must stop worrying, for I've settledall about it. I spoke to my aunt last night, and it's true that youhave to leave this house; but now I've come to make arrangements withyou about a new one. "

The old woman covered her face with her hands and gave a little crythat went straight to Robinette's heart. 

"Lor' now, Miss, 'ow am I ever to leave this place where I've been allthese years? I thought yesterday as you said 'twas a mistake I'dmade. "

"But alas, it wasn't altogether a mistake, " Robinette had to confesssadly, her eyes filling with tears as she realized how she had onlydoubled her old friend's disappointment. Then she sat forward and tookMrs. Prettyman's hand in hers. 

"Nursie dear, " she said, "I don't want you to grieve about leavingthe old home, for it isn't an awfully good one; the new one is goingto be ever so much better!"

"That's so, I'm sure, dearie, only 'tis _new_, " faltered Mrs. Prettyman. "If you're spared to my age, Missie, you'll find as newthings scare you. "

"Ah, but not a new house, Nursie! Wait till I describe it! Everythingstrong and firm about it, not shaking in the storms as this onedoes; nice bright windows to let in all the sunshine; so no more'rheumatics' and no more tears of pain in your dear old eyes!"

Robinette's voice failed suddenly, for it struck her all in a momentthat her glowing description of the new home seemed to have in itsomething prophetic. That bent little figure beside her, these shakinglimbs and dim old eyes, --all this house of life, once so carefullybuilded, was crumbling again into the dust, and its tenant indeedwanted a new one, quite, quite different! A sob rose in Robinette'sthroat, but she swallowed it down and went on gaily. 

"I've settled about another thing, too; you're to have another plumtree, or life wouldn't be the same thing to you. And you know they cantransplant quite big trees now-a-days and make them grow wonderfully. Some one was telling me all about how it is done only a few days ago. They dig them up ever so carefully, and when they put them into thenew hole, every tiny root is spread out and laid in the rightdirection in the ground, and patted and coaxed in, and made firm, andthey just catch hold on the soil in the twinkle of an eye. Isn't itmarvellous? Well, I'll have a fine new tree planted for you socleverly that perhaps by next year you'll be having a few plums, whoknows? And the next year more plums! And the next year, jam!"

"'Twill be beautiful, sure enough, " said the old woman, kindling atlast under the description of all these joys. "And do you think, Missie, as the new cottage will really be curing of me rheumatics?"

"Why yes, Nurse. Whoever heard of rheumatism in a dry new house?"

"The house be new, but the rheumatics be old, " said Mrs. Prettymansagely. 

"Well, we can't make _you_ entirely new, but we'll do our best. I'mgoing to enquire about a nice cottage not very far from here; there'splenty of time before this one is sold. It shall be dry and warm andcosy, and you will feel another person in it altogether. "

"These new houses be terrible dear, bain't they?" the old woman saidanxiously. 

"Not a bit; besides that's another matter I want to settle with you, Nursie. I'm going to pay the rent always, and you're going to have anice little girl to help you with the work, and there will besomething paid to you each month, so that you won't have anyanxiety. "

"Oh, Missie, Missie, whatever be you sayin'? _Me_ never to have noanxiety again!"

"You never shall, if I can help it; old people should never haveworries; that's what young people are here for, to look after them andkeep them happy. "

Mrs. Prettyman lay back on the pillow and gazed at Robinetteincredulously; it wasn't possible that such a solution had come to allher troubles. For seventy odd years she had worked and struggled andsometimes very nearly starved and here was some one assuring her thatthese struggles were over forever, that she needn't work hard anymore, or ever worry again. Could it be true? And all to come from MissCynthia's daughter!

Robinette bent down and kissed the wrinkled old face softly. 

"Good-night, Nursie dear, " she said. "I'm not going to stay any longerwith you to-day, because you're tired. Have a good sleep, and waken upstrong and bright. "

"Good-night, Missie, good-night, dear, " the old woman said. Her facehad taken on an expression of such peacefulness as it had never wornbefore. 

She turned over on her pillow and closed her eyes, scarcely waitingfor Robinette to leave the room. 

"I've been allowed to do that, anyway, " Robinette said to herself, standing in the doorway to look back at the quiet sleeper, and thenlooking forward to a little boat nearing the shore. The cottagesheltered almost the only object that connected her with her past; theboat, she felt, held all her future. 

 * * * * *

The river, when Lavendar rowed himself across it, was very quiet. "Theswelling of Jordan, " as Robinette called the rising tide, was over;now the glassy water reflected every leaf and twig from the trees thathung above its banks and dipped into it here and there. 

Mooring his boat at the landing, Mark sauntered up to Mrs. Prettyman'scottage, and having tapped lightly at the door to let Mrs. Loringknow of his arrival, as they had agreed he should do, he went alongthe flagged pathway into the garden, and sat down on the edge of thelow wall that divided it from the river. Just in front of him was thelittle worn bench where he had first seen Robinette as she sat besideher old nurse with the tiny shoe on her lap. It was scarcely afortnight ago; yet it seemed to him that he could hardly remember thekind of man he had been that afternoon; a new self, full of a newpurpose, and at that moment of a new hope, had taken the place of theobjectless being he had been before. 

Everything was very still; there was scarcely a sound from the villageor from the shipping farther down the river. Lavendar fancied he heardRobinette's clear voice within the cottage; then he started suddenlyand the blood rushed to his heart as he listened to her light stepscoming along the paved footpath. 

"Here you are!" she whispered. "Let us not speak too loud, for Nursewas just dropping asleep when I left her. I've put a table-cover anda blanket over 'Mrs. Mackenzie' to keep her from quacking. Mrs. Prettyman has not been very well, poor dear, and is in bed. We've justtalked about the lovely new home she's going to have, and thetransplanted plum tree; small, but warranted to bear in a year or twoand give plums and jam like this one. I left her so happy!"

She stopped and looked up. "Oh! can any new tree be as beautiful asthis one? Was ever anything in the world more exquisite? It hasjust come to its hour of perfection, Mr. Lavendar; it couldn'tlast, --anything so lovely in a passing world. "

She sat down on the low wall, and looked up at the tree. It stood andshone there in its perfect hour. Another day, and the blossoms, toofully blown, would begin to drift upon the ground with every littleshaking wind; now it was at its zenith, a miracle of such white beautythat it caused the heart to stop and consider. Bees and butterflieshummed and flew around it; it cast a delicate shadow on the grass, andleaning across the wall it was imaged again in the river like a bridein her looking-glass. 

Robinette sat gazing at the tree, and Lavendar sat gazing at her. Atthat moment he "feared his fate too much" to break the silence by anyquestion that might shatter his hope, as the first breeze would breakthe picture that had taken shape in the glassy water beneath them. 

"I feel in a better temper now, " said Robinette. "Who could be angry, and look at that beautiful thing? I've left dear old Nurse quite happyagain, and I haven't yet offended Aunt de Tracy irrevocably, and allbecause you persuaded me not to be unreasonable. All the same I coulddo it again in another minute if I let myself go. Doesn't injusticeever make people angry in England?"

Lavendar laughed. "It often makes me feel angry, but I've never foundthat throwing the reins on the horses' necks when they wanted tobolt, made one go along the right road any faster in the end. "

"I often think, " said Robinette, "if we could see people really angryand disagreeable before we--" She hesitated and added, "get to knowthem well, we should be so much more careful. "

"Yes, " said Mark, bending down his head and speaking very deliberately, "that's why I wish you could have seen me in all my worst moments. I'd stand the shame of it, if you could only know, but, alas, onecan't show off one's worst moments to order; they must be hit uponunexpectedly. "

"I don't believe thirty years of life would teach one about somepeople--they are so _crevicey_, " said Robinette musingly. She hadrisen and leaned against the plum tree for a moment, looking upthrough the white branches. 

Lavendar rose and stood beside her. "Thirty years--I shall be gettingon to seventy in thirty years. "

A little gust of wind shook the tree; some petals came drifting downupon them, like white moths, like flakes of summer snow, a warningthat the brief hour of perfection would soon be past . . . And under ithuman creatures were talking about thirty years!

XXI

CARNABY CUTS THE KNOT

That afternoon, Carnaby was having what he called "an absolutelymouldy time, " and since his leave was running out and his remainingafternoons were few, he considered himself an injured individual. Robinette and Lavendar seemed for ever preoccupied either with eachother or with some subject of discussion, the ins and outs of whichthey had not confided to him. 

"It's partly that blessed plum tree, " he said to himself; "but ofcourse they're spooning too. Very likely they're engaged by this time. Didn't I tell her she'd marry again? Well, if she must, it might aswell be old Lavendar as anyone else. He's a decent chap, or he was, before he fell in love. "

Carnaby sighed. This effort of generosity towards his rival made himfeel peculiarly disconsolate. He had fished and rowed on the river allthe morning; he had ferreted; he had fed Rupert with a privatepreparation of rabbits which infallibly made him sick, the desiredresult being obtained with almost provoking celerity. Thus evensuccess had palled, and Carnaby's sharp and idle wits had begun towork on the problem which seemed to be occupying his elders. NeitherRobinette nor Lavendar could expatiate to the boy on his grandmother'speculiarities, but Carnaby had contrived to find out for himself howthe land lay. 

"Why is Waller R. A. So keen on the plum tree?" he had enquired. 

"He wants to make a quartette of studies, " answered Lavendar. "ThePlum Tree in spring, summer, autumn, and winter. "

"What a rotten idea!" said Carnaby simply. 

"Far from rotten, my young friend, I can assure you!" Lavendarreturned. "It will furnish coloured illustrations for countlesssummer numbers of the _Graphic_ and _The Lady's Pictorial_, and fillWaller R. A. 's pockets with gold, some of which will shortly filter inadvance into the Stoke Revel banking account, we hope. "

"I'm not so sure about that!" said Carnaby; but he said it to himself, while aloud he only asked with much apparent innocence, "Waller R. A. Wouldn't look at the cottage or the land without the plum tree, Isuppose?"

"Certainly not, " Lavendar had answered. "The plum tree is safeguardedin the agreement as I'm sure no plum tree ever was before. Waller R. A. 's no fool!"

Digesting this information and much else that he had gleaned, Carnabynow climbed to the top of a tree where he had a favourite perch, anddid some serious and simple thinking. 

"It's a beastly shame, " he said to himself, "to turn that old womanout of her cottage. Cousin Robin thinks it's a beastly shame, andwhat's more, Mark does, and he's a man, and a lawyer into thebargain. "

Carnaby thought remorsefully of a pot of jam which old Mrs. Prettymanhad given him once to take back to college. What good jam it hadbeen, and how large the pot! He had never given her anything--he hadnever a penny to bless himself with; and now his grandmother wastaking away from the poor old creature all that she had. "It'sregular covetousness, " he thought, "and that infernal plum tree's atthe bottom of it all. Naboth's vineyard is a joke in comparison, andWhat's-his-name and the one ewe lamb simply aren't in it. " He grewhot with mortification. Then he reflected, "If the plum tree weren'tthere, Waller R. A. Wouldn't want the cottage, and old Mrs. Prettymancould live in it till the end of the chapter. " A slow grin dawned uponhis face, its most mischievous expression, the one which Rupert withcanine sagacity had learned to dread. He felt and pinched themuscle of his arm fondly. (_Mussle_ he always spelled the wordhimself, upon phonetic principles. )

"I may be a fool and a minor" (generally spelt _miner_ by him), hesaid, as he climbed down from his perch, "but at least I can cut downa tree!"

He became lost to view forthwith in the workshops and tool-shedsattached to the home premises of Stoke Revel, and presently emerged, furnished with the object he had made diligent and particular searchfor; this he proceeded to carry in an inconspicuous way to a distantcottage where he knew there was a grindstone. He spent a happy hourwith the object, the grindstone, and a pail of water. _Whirr_, _whirr_, _whirr_, sang the grindstone, now softly, now loudly--"_thisis an axe, an axe, an axe, and a strong arm that holds it_!"

"You be goin' to do a bit of forestry on your own, Master Carnaby, eh?" suggested the grinning owner of the grindstone. 

"I am; a very particular bit, Jones!" replied the young master, lovingly feeling the edge of the tool, which was now nearly as fine asthat of a razor. 

"You be careful, sir, as you don't chop off one of your own toes withthat there axe, " said the man. "It be full heavy for one o' your age. But there! you zailor-men be that handy! 'Tis your trade, so tospeak!"

"Quite right, Jones, it is!" replied Carnaby. "Good-afternoon andthank you for the use of the grindstone. " He was already planningwhere he would hide the axe, for he had precise ideas about everythingand left nothing to chance. 

Carnaby went to bed that night at his usual hour. His profession hadalready accustomed him to awaking at odd intervals, and he had morethan the ordinary boy's knowledge of moon and tide, night and dawn. When he slipped out of bed after a few hours of sound sleep, he put ona flannel shirt and trousers and a broad belt, and then, carrying hisboots in his hand, crept out of his room and through the sleepinghouse. He would much rather have climbed out of the window, in amanner more worthy of such an adventure, but his return in thatfashion might offer dangers in daylight. So he was content with anunfrequented garden door which he could leave on the latch. 

The moon, which had been young when she lighted the lovers in themud-bank adventure, was now a more experienced orb and shed a usefullight. Carnaby intended to cross the river in a small tub which waspropelled by a single oar worked at the stern, the rower standing. This craft was intended for pottering about the shore; to cross theriver in it was the dangerous feat of a skilled waterman, but Carnabyhad a knack of his own with every floating thing. As he balancedhimself in the rocking tub, bare-headed, bare-necked, bare-armed, paddling with the grace and ease of strength and training, he lookeda man, but a man young with the youth of the gods. The moon shone inhis keen grey eyes and made them sparkle. A cold sea-wind blew up theriver, but he did not feel its chill, for blood hot with adventureraced in his veins. 

Wittisham was in profound darkness when he landed, and the moon havinggone behind a bank of cloud, he had to grope his way to Mrs. Prettyman's cottage, shouldering the axe. The isolated position of thehouse alone made the adventure possible, he reflected; he could nothave cut down a tree in the hearing of neighbours, and as to oldElizabeth herself, he hoped she was deaf. Most old women were, hereflected, except unfortunately his grandmother!

Soon he was entering the little garden and sniffing the scent ofblossom, which was very strong in the night air. He could see the dimoutline of the plum tree, and just as he wanted light, the moon cameout and shone upon its whiteness, giving a sort of spiritual beautyto the flowering thing that was very exquisite. 

"What price, Waller R. A. Now?" thought Carnaby impishly. "The plumtree in moonlight! eh? Wouldn't he give his eyes to see it! But hewon't! Not if I know it!" The boy was as blind to the tree's beauty ashis grandmother had been, but he had scientific ideas how to cut itdown, for he had watched the felling of many a tree. 

First, standing on a lower branch, you lopped off all the side shootsas high as you could reach. This made the trunk easy to deal with, andits fall less heavy, and Carnaby set to work. 

"She goes through them all as slick as butter!" he said to himself inhigh satisfaction. The axe had assumed a personality to him and was"she, " not "it. " "She makes no more noise than a pair of scissorscutting flowers; not half so much!" he said proudly. Branch afterbranch fell down and lay about the tree like the discarded garments ofa bathing nymph. The petals fell upon Carnaby's face, upon his hairand shoulders; he was a white figure as he toiled. Frightened birdsand bats flew about, but he did not notice them. His only care was thecottage itself and its inmate. If _she_ should awake! But the littlehabitation, shrouded in thatch and deep in shadow, was dark and silentas the grave. 

"She must be sound asleep and deaf, " thought the boy. "Yes, verydeaf. " He paused. The first stage in his task was accomplished. Shivering and naked, one absurd tuft of blossom and leaves at thetip--the murdered tree now stood in the moonlight, imploring the _coupde grâce_ which should end its shame. 

"Jolly well done, " said the murderer complacently. He stretched hisarms, looked at the palms of his hands to see if they had blistered, and addressed himself to the second part of his business. Thud! thud!went the axe on the trunk of the tree, and the sweat broke out allover Carnaby's skin, not with exertion but with nervous terror. 

"If that doesn't wake the dead!" he thought--but there was no awakingin the cottage. Its tiny window blinked in the moonlight, and Carnabythought he heard the drowsy quack of a duck in an out-house. But thedanger passed. Thud! went the axe again. The slim severed shaft of thetree was poised a moment, motionless, erect before it fell. Then itsubsided gently among its broken and trodden boughs, and Carnaby'stask was done. 

XXII

CONSEQUENCES

Early that morning before the sun had risen, when the light was stillgrey in the coming dawn, Robinette was awakened by a bird that calledout from a tree close to her open window, every note like the strikingof a golden bell. She jumped up and looked out, but the little singer, silenced, had flown away. Instead, she caught sight of a figurestealing across the lawn towards the side door which opened from thelibrary. Even in the dim light she could distinguish that it wasCarnaby, Carnaby with something in his hand. What he carried she couldnot quite make out, but the sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolledup above his elbows in a fatally business-like way, and he walked withan air of stealth. 

"What mischief can that boy have been up to at this time of day?"thought Robinette as she lay down again, but she was too sleepy towonder long. 

She forgot all about it until she saw Carnaby at the breakfast tablesome hours later. Sometimes the gloom of that meal--never a favoriteor convivial one in the English household, and most certainly neitherat Stoke Revel--would be enlivened by some of the boy's pranks. Hewould pass over to the sideboard, pepper-pot slyly in hand, andRupert, whose meal at this hour consisted of grape-nuts and cream, would unaccountably sneeze and snuffle over his plate. 

"Bless it, Bobs!" his tormentor would exclaim tenderly. "Is itcatching cold? Poor old Kitchener! Hi! _Kitch!_ _Kitch!_" (like aviolent sneeze) and the outraged Rupert would forget grape-nuts andpepper alike in a fit of impotent fury. But this morning the dog fedin peace and Carnaby never glanced at him or his basin. Robinette, looking at the boy and remembering where she had seen him last, noticed that he was rather silent, that his cheeks were redder thancommon, and that under his eyes were lines of fatigue not usuallythere. 

"What were you doing on the lawn at four o'clock this morning?" shebegan, but checked herself, suddenly thinking that if Carnaby had beenup to mischief she must not allude to it before his grandmother. 

No one had heard her. The meal dragged on. Robinette and Lavendartalked little. Miss Smeardon was preoccupied with the sufferings andthe moods of Rupert. Mrs. De Tracy alone seemed in better spirits thanusual; she was talkative and even balmy. 

"The work at the spinney begins to-day, " she observed complacently, addressing herself to Lavendar and alluding to the rooting up of anold copse and the planting of a new one--an improvement she had longplanned, though hitherto in vain. "The young trees have arrived. "

"But where is the money to come from?" enquired Carnaby suddenly, ina sepulchral tone. (His voice was at the disagreeable breaking stage, an agony and a shame to himself and always a surprise to others. ) Hisgrandmother stared: the others, too, looked in astonishment at theboy's red face. 

"I thought it had all been explained to you, Carnaby, " said Mrs. DeTracy, "but you take so little interest in the estate that I supposewhat you have been told went in at one ear and out at the other, asusual! It is the sale of land at Wittisham which makes theseimprovements possible, advantages drawn from a painful necessity, " andthe iron woman almost sighed. 

"There won't be any sale of land at Wittisham, --at least, not of Mrs. Prettyman's cottage, " said Carnaby abruptly. 

"It is practically settled. The transfers only remain to be signed;you know that, Carnaby, " said Lavendar curtly. He did not wish thevexed question to be raised again at a meal. 

"It _was_ practically settled--but it's all off now, " said the boy, looking hard at his grandmother. "Waller R. A. Won't want the placeany more. The bloomin' plum tree's gone--cut down. The bargain's off, and old Mrs. Prettyman can stay on in her cottage as long as shelikes!"

There was a freezing silence, broken only by the stertorous breathingof Rupert on Miss Smeardon's lap. 

"Repeat, please, what you have just said, Carnaby, " said hisgrandmother with dangerous calmness, "and speak distinctly. "

"I said that the cottage at Wittisham won't be sold because the plumtree's gone, " repeated Carnaby doggedly. "It's been cut down. "

"How do you know?"

"I've seen it. " Carnaby raised his eyes. "I cut it down myself, " headded, "this morning before daylight. "

"Who put such a thing into your head?" Mrs. De Tracy's words were ice:her glance of suspicion at Robinette, like the cold thrust of steel. "Who told you to cut the plum tree down?"

"My conscience!" was Carnaby's unexpected reply. He was as red asfire, but his glance did not falter. Mrs. De Tracy rose. Not a muscleof her face had moved. 

"Whatever your action has been, Carnaby, " she said with dignity--"whetherfoolish and disgraceful, or criminal and dangerous, it cannot bediscussed here. You will follow me at once to the library, andpresently I may send for Mark. A lawyer's advice will probably benecessary, " she added grimly. 

Carnaby said not a word. He opened the door for his grandmother andfollowed her out; but as he passed Robinette, he looked at herearnestly, half expecting her applause; for one of the motives in hisboyish mind had certainly been to please her--to shine in her eyes asthe doer of bold deeds and to avenge her nurse's wrongs. And all thathe had managed was to make her cry!

For Robinette had put her elbows on the table and had covered her eyeswith her hands. As he left the room, Carnaby could hear herexclamation:--

"To cut down that tree! That beautiful, beautiful, fruitful thing! O!how could anyone do it?"

So this was justice; this was all he got for his pains! Howunaccountable women were!

Lavendar awaited some time his summons to join Mrs. De Tracy and hergrandson in what seemed to him must be a portentous interview enough, trying meanwhile somewhat unsuccessfully to console Mrs. Loring forthe destruction of the plum tree, and exchanging with her somewhatawe-struck comments on the scene they had both just witnessed. Nosummons came, however; but half an hour later, he came across Carnabyalone, and an interview promptly ensued. He wanted to plumb the depthof the boy-mind and to learn exactly what motives had promptedCarnaby to this sudden and startling action in the matter of the plumtree. 

"Had you a bad quarter of an hour with your grandmother?" was hisfirst question. Carnaby, he thought, looked subdued, and not muchwonder. 

The boy hesitated. 

"Not so bad as I expected, " was his answer. "The old lady waswonderfully decent, for her. She gave me a talking to, of course. "

"I should hope so!" interpolated Lavendar drily. 

"She jawed away about our poverty, " continued Carnaby. "She's gotthat on the brain, as you know. She said that this loss of themoney--Waller R. A. 's money, she means, of course--is an awful blow. She _said_ it was, but it seemed to me--" Carnaby paused, lookingextremely puzzled. 

"It seemed to you--?" prompted Lavendar encouragingly. 

"That she wasn't so awfully cut up, after all, " said Carnaby. "Sheseemed putting it on, if you know what I mean. " Lavendar pricked uphis ears. Mrs. De Tracy's intense reluctance to sell the land recurredto him in a flash. To get her consent had been like drawing a tooth, like taking her life-blood drop by drop. Could it be that she was notvery sorry after all that the scheme had fallen through, secretlyglad, indeed? It was conceivable that this was Mrs. De Tracy's view, but her grandson's motive was still obscure. 

"Why did you do it, Carnaby?" Lavendar asked with kindness and gravityboth in his voice. "You have committed a very mischievous action, youknow, one that would have borne a harsher name had the transfers beensigned and had the plum tree changed hands. "

"But then I shouldn't have done it--you--you juggins, Mark!" cried theboy. "I've no earthly grudge against Waller R. A. If he'd actuallybought the tree, it would have been too late, and his beastlymoney--"

"You need the money, you know, " remarked Lavendar. "Remember that, myyoung friend!"

"It would have been dirty money!" said Carnaby, with a suddenflash that lit up his rather heavy face with a new expression. "You and Cousin Robin have been jolly polite when you thought I waslistening, but _I_ know what you really thought, and the kind ofthings you were saying to one another about this business! Youthought it beastly mean to take the cottage away from old Lizziein the way it was being done, and sheer robbery to deprive her ofthe plum tree without paying her for it. I quite agreed with youthere, and if I felt like that, do you think I could sit still andlet the money come in to Stoke Revel--money that had been got insuch a way? What do you take me for?" Lavendar was silent, lookingat the boy in surprise. "Oh, " continued Carnaby, "how I wish I wereof age! Then I could show Cousin Robin, perhaps, what an Englishlandlord can be! I mean that he can be a friend to his tenants, andkind and generous as well as just. As it is, Cousin Robin will goback to America and tell her friends what selfish brutes we areover here, and how jolly glad she was to get away!"

"Mrs. Loring will carry no tales, I am sure, " said Lavendar. "But tellme, my dear fellow, did you imagine that Mrs. Prettyman would be againer by your action?"

"Well, why not?" answered the boy. "Didn't you tell me yourself thatWaller R. A. Wouldn't look at the cottage without the tree? What's toprevent the old woman living on where she is? Do you think there'll bea rush of new tenants for that precious old hovel? Go on! You knowbetter than that!"

"But the tree, Carnaby, the plum tree!" cried Lavendar. "My youngGoth, hadn't you a moment's compunction? That beautiful, floweringthing, as your cousin called it; could you destroy it without apang?"

"The _tree_?" echoed Carnaby with unmeasured scorn. "What's a tree?It's just a tree, isn't it?"

 "A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more!"

quoted Mark, despairingly. 

"Well; and what more did he expect of a primrose, whoever the Johnnywas?" asked the contemptuous Carnaby. 

"At any rate, " commented Lavendar, "it isn't necessary to search asfar as Peter Bell for an analogy for your character, my young friend!You are your grandmother's grandson after all!"

"In some ways I suppose I can't help being, " answered Carnaby soberly, "but not in all, " he added, and suddenly turning red he fumbled in hispocket and produced a coin which he held out to Lavendar. "It's onlyten bob, " he said apologetically, "and I wish it was a jolly sightmore! But please give it to old Mrs. Prettyman to make up a bit forthe loss of her plums. Daresay I'll manage some more by and by. Anyway, I'll make it up to her when I come of age. --I'm nearly sixteenalready, you know. Be sure you tell her that!"

But Lavendar refused to take the money. 

"Mrs. Prettyman is provided for, my boy, " he said. "She has becomeyour cousin's especial care. You need have no fear about that. Thepoor old woman is very happy and will have a cottage more suited forher rheumatism and her general feebleness than the present one. But Ithink your cousin will understand your motives and believe that youmeant well by old Lizzie in your little piece of midnight madness. "

"Though I was a bit rough on the plum tree!" said Carnaby, with abroad smile. 

"You think it's a laughing matter?" Lavendar asked indignantly. "Iwish you had my father to deal with, and Waller R. A. ! It's all verywell for you. "

But Carnaby only laughed. The blood was still hot in his veins, andthe joy of his night's adventure. Mark told him that he and Mrs. Loring were crossing the river at once to see for themselves theextent of his mischief and what effect it had had upon old Mrs. Prettyman. Carnaby observed with diabolical meaning that as he had notbeen invited to join the party, he would make himself scarce. Gooseberries, he said, were very good fruit, but he wasn't fond ofthem; so he lounged off with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly heturned. "See here, old Mark! You'll speak a word for me with CousinRobin, won't you? It's hard on me to have her hate me when I wastrying to do my best to please her. "

"She won't hate you; she couldn't hate anybody, " said Lavendarabsently, watching first the door and then the window. 

"You say that because you're in love with her! I've a couple of eyesin my head, stupid as you all think me. You can deny it all you like, but you won't convince me!"

"I shan't deny it, Carnaby. I am so much in love with her at thismoment that the room is whirling round and round and I can see two ofyou!"

"Poor old Mark! Do you think she'll take you on?"

"Can't say, Carnaby!"

"You're a lucky beggar if she does; that's my opinion!" said the boy. 

"Put it as strong as you like, Carnaby, " Lavendar answered. "You can'texaggerate my feelings on that subject!"

"If you hadn't fifteen years' start of me I'd give you a run for yourmoney!" exclaimed Carnaby with a daring look. 

XXIII

DEATH AND LIFE

While these incidents were taking place at the Manor House, villagelife at Wittisham had been stirring for hours. Thin blue threads ofsmoke were rising from the other cottages into the windless air: onlyfrom Nurse Prettyman's there was none. Duckie in the out-house quackedand gabbled as she had quacked and gabbled since the light began, yetno one came to let her out and feed her. The halfpenny jug of milk hadbeen placed on the doorstep long ago, but Mrs. Prettyman had not yetopened the door to take it in. 

Outside in the garden, where the plum tree stood yesterday, there wasnow only a stump, hacked and denuded, and round about it a ruin ofbroken branches, leaves, and scattered blossoms. Over the wreck thebees were busy still, taking what they could of the honey thatremained; and in the air was the strong odour of juicy green wood andtorn bark. 

The children who brought the milk were the first to discover what hadhappened, and very soon the news spread amongst the other cottagers. Then came two neighbours to the scene, wondering and exclaiming. Theywent to the door, but Mrs. Prettyman did not answer their knock ortheir calling. Mrs. Darke looked in through the tiny window. 

"She be sleepin' that peaceful in 'er bed in there, " she said, "it 'udbe a shame to wake 'er. She's deaf now, and belike she never 'eard thetree come down, 'ooever's done it. But I'll go and see after Duckie:she's makin' noise enough to rouse 'er, anyway. "

Then Duckie was released and fed and departed to gabble her wrongs tothe other white ducks that were preening themselves amongst the deepgreen grass of the adjacent orchard. 

"You can 'ear that bird a mile away--she's never done talking!" saidMrs. Darke as the indignant gabble grew fainter in the distance. "But'ere's my old man a-come to look at the plum tree. Wonder what he'llsay to it? This be a queer job, sure enough!"

Old Darke, on two sticks, hobbled towards the scene of desolation withgrunts of mingled satisfaction and dismay. 'Twas a rare sensation, though a pity, to be sure!

Mrs. Darke stood by the well at the turn of the road, keeping a sharpeye on the cottage while she gossiped with the neighbour who wasfilling her pitcher. She did not want to miss the sight of Mrs. Prettyman's face when she opened her door and found out what hadhappened. 

"She be sleepin' too long; I'll go and waken her in a minute, " saidMrs. Darke. "'Tis but right she should be told what's come to 'ertree, poor thing. "

Then a beggar woman selling bootlaces came along the shore of theriver; she mounted the cottage steps and the gossips watched hertrailing up the pathway in her loose old shoes, and knocking at thedoor. She waited for a few minutes: there was no answer, so she turnedaway resignedly and trailed off along the sun-lit lane, in-shore, leaving the garden gate swinging to and fro. 

"There's summat the matter!" Mrs. Darke had just whispered withevident enjoyment, when some one else was seen approaching the cottagefrom the direction of the pier. It was the young lady from the Manor, this time. She wore a white dress and a green scarf, and her face wastinted with colour. She looked like a young blossoming tree herself, all lacy white and pale green, a strange morning vision in awork-a-day world! Robinette ran quickly up the pathway and knocked atthe door, but there was no answer to her knock. She called out in herclear voice:--

"Good morning, Nurse! Good morning! Aren't you ready to let me in?It's quite late!" But there was no answer to her call. She was justtrying to open the door, which seemed to be locked, when a gentlemancame up from the boat and followed her to the cottage. That, the womenwho were watching her thought quite natural, for surely such a younglady would be followed by a lover wherever she went! Indeed, Mrs. Darke said so. 

"'Tis in that there kind, " she observed philosophically, "like thecuckoo and the bird that follows; never sees one wi'out the other!"

"'Tis quite that way, Mrs. Darke, " agreed the neighbour, approvingly. 

Robinette turned a white face to Lavendar as he approached. 

"Nurse won't answer, and I can't get in!" she cried. "Something musthave happened. I--I'm afraid to go in alone. The door is locked, too. "

"It's not locked, " said Lavendar, and exerting a little strength, hepushed it open and gave a quick glance inside. "I'll go in first, " hesaid gently. "Wait here. "

He came again to the threshold in a few minutes, a peculiar expressionon his face which somehow seemed to tell Robinette what had happened. 

"Come in, Mrs. Robin, " he said very gravely and gently. "You need notbe afraid. "

Robinette instinctively held out her hand to him and they entered thelittle room together. 

She need not have feared for the old woman's distress over the ruinedplum tree, for nothing would ever grieve Nurse Prettyman again. Justas she had lain down the night before, she lay upon her bed now, having passed away in her sleep. "And they that encounter Death insleep, " says the old writer, "go forth to meet him with desire. " Theaged face was turned slightly upwards and wore a look of contentmentand repose that made life seem almost gaudy; a cheap thing to comparewith this attainment. . . . 

Robinette came out of the cottage a little later, leaving theneighbours who had gathered in the room to their familiar and notuncongenial duties. She went into the garden, where Mark Lavendarawaited her. He longed to try to comfort her; indeed, his whole heartran out to her in a warmth and passion that astounded him; but herpale face, stained with weeping, warned him to keep silence yet alittle while. 

"I just came for one branch of the blossom, " Robinette said, "if it isnot all withered. Yes, this is quite fresh still. " She took a littlespray he had found for her and stood holding it as she spoke. "Onlyyesterday it was all so lovely! Oh! Mr. Lavendar, I needn't cry for myold Nurse, I'm sure! How should I, after seeing her face? She had cometo the end of her long life, and she was very tired, and now all thatis forgotten, and she will never have a moment of vexation about hertree. I don't know why I should cry for her; but oh, how couldCarnaby destroy that beautiful thing!"

"It was a genuine though mistaken act of conscience! You must not betoo hard on Carnaby!" pleaded Lavendar. "He would not touch the moneythat was to come from the sale of Mrs. Prettyman's cottage under thecircumstances, so it seemed best to him that the sale should not takeplace, and he prevented it in the directest and simplest way thatoccurred to him. It's like some of the things that men have done toplease God, Mrs. Robin, " Mark added, smiling, "and thought they weredoing it, too! But Carnaby only wanted to please you!"

"To _please_ me!" exclaimed Robinette, looking round her at the ruinbefore them. "Oh dear!" she sighed, "how confusing the world is, attimes! I am just going to take this snowy branch and lay it on Nurse'spillow. She so loved her tree! See; it's quite fresh and beautiful, and the dew still upon it, just like tears!"

"That seemed just right, " said Robinette softly as she came out intothe sunshine again, a few minutes later. "I laid the blossoms in herkind old tired hands, the hands that have known so much work and somany pains. It is over, and after all, her new home is better than anyI could have found for her!"

The two walked slowly down the little garden on their way to the gate. As they passed, old Mr. Darke, who had hobbled around again to haveanother look at the fallen tree, addressed Lavendar solemnly. 

"Best tree in Wittisham 'e was, sir, " touching the ruin of thebranches as he spoke. "'Ooever could ha' thought o' sich a piece ofwickedness as to cut 'im down? Murder, I calls it! 'Tis well as Mrs. Prettyman be gone to 'er rest wi'out knowledge of it; 'twould 'avebroken her old 'eart, for certain sure!"

"It nearly breaks mine to see it now, Mr. Darke!" said Robinette in atrembling voice. But the old labourer bent down, moving his creakingjoints with difficulty and steadying himself upon his sticks till hecould touch the stump of the tree with his rough but skilful hands. Hepushed away the long grass that grew about the roots and looked up atRobinette with a wise old smile. 

"'Tisn't dead and done for yet, Missy, never fear!" he said. "Give 'imtime; give 'im time! 'E's cut above the graft--see! 'E'll grow andshoot and bear blossom and fruit same as ever 'e did, given time. Seeto the fine stock of 'im; firm as a rock in the good ground! And theroots, they be sound and fresh. 'E'll grow again, Missy; never youcry!"

Robinette looked so beautiful as she lifted her luminous eyes andparted lips to old Darke, and then turned to him with a gesture ofhope and joy, that again Lavendar could hardly keep from avowing hislove; but the remembrance of the old nurse's still shape in the littlecottage hushed the words that trembled on his lips. 

XXIV

GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDSON

The disagreeable duty of announcing Mrs. Prettyman's death to the ladyof the Manor now lay before Lavendar and his companion, and thethought of it weighed upon their spirits as they crossed the river. Carnaby also must be told. How would he take it? Robinette, stillunder the shock of the plum tree's undoing, expected perhaps somefurther exhibition of youthful callousness, but Lavendar knew better. 

In their concern and sorrow, the young couple had forgotten all minormatters such as meals, and luncheon had long been over when theyreached the house. They could see Mrs. De Tracy's figure in thedrawing room as they passed the windows, occupying exactly her usualseat in her usual attitude. It was her hour for reading anddisapproving of the daily paper. 

Robinette and Lavendar entered quietly, but nothing in the gravity oftheir faces struck Mrs. De Tracy as strange. 

"I have a disturbing piece of news to give you, " Mark began, clearinghis throat. "Mrs. Prettyman died last night in her cottage atWittisham. "

The erect figure in the widow's weeds remained motionless. Perhaps theold hand that lowered the newspaper trembled somewhat, so that itsdiamonds quivered a little more than usual. 

"So Mrs. Prettyman is dead?" she said. Then, as the young people stoodlooking at her with an air of some expectancy, she added with a sourglance, "Do you expect me to be very much agitated by the news?"

"The death was unexpected, " began Lavendar lamely. 

"She was seventy-five; my age!" said Mrs. De Tracy with a wintrysmile. "Is death at seventy-five so unexpected an event?"

Lavendar said nothing; he had nothing to say, and Robinette forthe same reason was silent. She was gazing at her aunt, almostunconsciously, with a wondering look. "At any rate, " continued Mrs. De Tracy, addressing her niece, "your _protégée_ has been fortunatein two ways, Robinette. She will neither be turned out of hercottage nor see the destruction of her plum tree. By the way--"with a perfectly natural change of tone, dismissing at once bothMrs. Prettyman and Death--"the plum tree _is_ down, I suppose? Yousaw it?"

"Very much down!" answered Lavendar. "And certainly we saw it! Carnabydoes nothing by halves!"

A slight change, a kind of shade of softening, passed over Mrs. DeTracy's stern features, as the shadow of a summer cloud may pass overa rocky hill. She turned suddenly to Robinette. "Can you tell me onyour word of honour that you had nothing to do with Carnaby's action;that you did not put it into his head to cut the plum tree down!"

"I?" exclaimed Robinette, scarlet with indignation. "_I?_ Why--do youwant to know what I think of the action? I think it was perfectlybrutal, and the boy who did it next door to a criminal! There!"

Mrs. De Tracy seemed convinced by the energy of this disclaimer. "Ihave always considered yours a very candid character, " she observedwith condescension. "I believe you when you say that you did notinfluence Carnaby in the matter, though I strongly suspected youbefore. "

"Well, upon my word!" ejaculated Robinette when they had got out ofthe room, too completely baffled to be more original. "What does shemean? Has any one ever understood the workings of Aunt de Tracy'smind?"

"Don't come to me for any more explanations! I've done my best for myclient!" cried Lavendar. "I give up my brief! I always told you Mrs. De Tracy's character was entirely singular. "

"Let us hope so!" commented Robinette with energy. "I should be sorryfor the world if it were plural!"

 * * * * *

Carnaby was not in the house, and Lavendar proceeded to look for himout of doors. He knew the boy was often to be found in a high part ofthe grounds behind the garden, where he had some special resort of hisown, and he went there first. The afternoon had clouded over, and aslight shower was falling, as Mark followed the wooded path leading uphill. A rock-garden bordered it, where ferns and flowers were growing, each one of which seemed to be contributing some special and delicatefragrance to the damp, warm air. The beech trees here had low andspreading branches which framed now and again exquisite glimpses ofthe river far below and the wooded hills beyond it. 

Lavendar had not gone far when he found Carnaby, Carnaby intenselyperturbed, walking up and down by himself. 

"You don't need to tell me!" said the boy, with a quick and agitatedgesture of the hand. "Bates told me. Old Mrs. Prettyman's dead!" Hismerry, square-set face was changed and looked actually haggard, andhis eyes searched Lavendar's with an expression oddly different fromtheir usual fearless and straightforward one. They seemed afraid. "Wasit my grandmother's--was it our fault?" he asked. "I, I feel like amurderer. Upon my soul, I do!"

"Don't encourage morbid ideas, my dear fellow!" said Lavendar in amatter-of-fact tone. "There's trouble enough in the world withoutfoolish exaggeration. Mrs. Prettyman was 'grave-ripe, ' as she oftensaid to your cousin; a very feeble old woman, whose time had come. Thedoctor's certificate will tell you how rheumatism had affected herheart, and the neighbours would very soon set your mind at rest bydescribing the number of times poor old Lizzie had nearly diedbefore. "

"Think of it, though!" said Carnaby with wondering eyes. "Think of herlying dead in the cottage while I hacked and hewed at the plum treejust outside! By Jove! it makes a fellow feel queer!" He shuddered. The picture he evoked was certainly a strange one enough: a strangepicture in the moonlight of a night in spring; the doomed beauty ofthe blossoming tree, the blind, headstrong human energy working forits destruction, and Death over all, stealthy and strong!

"What an ass I was!" said Carnaby, summing up the situation in theonly language in which he could express himself. "Sweating and stewingand hacking away--thinking myself so awfully clever! And all the timethings . . . Things were being arranged in quite a different manner!"

"We are often made to feel our insignificance in ways like this, "said Lavendar. "We are very small atoms, Carnaby, in the path of thegreat forces that sweep us on. "

"I should rather think so!" assented the wondering boy. "And yet, cana fellow sit tight all the time and just wait till things happen?"

"Ask me something else!" suggested Lavendar ironically. 

There was a short pause. "I'm awfully sorry old Mrs. Prettyman'sdead, " Carnaby said in a very subdued tone. "I meant to do a lot forher, to try and make up for my grandmother's being such a beast. " Hestopped short, and to Lavendar's astonishment, his face worked, andtwo tears squeezed themselves out of his eyes and rolled over hisround cheeks as they might have done over a baby's. "It's the j-jam Iwas thinking of, " he sniffed. "Once a pal of mine and I were playingthe fool in old Mrs. Prettyman's garden, pretending to steal theplums, and giving her duck bits of bread steeped in beer to make its-squiffy (a duck can be just as drunk as a chap). She didn't mind abit. She was a regular old brick, and gave us a jolly good tea and apot of jam to take away. . . . And now she's dead and--and. . . . " Carnaby'sfeelings became too much for him again, and a handkerchief that hadseen better and much cleaner days came into play. Lavendar flung anarm round the boy's shoulder. 

"This kind of regret comes to us all, Carnaby, " he said. "I don'tsuppose there's a man with a heart in his breast who hasn't sometimehad to say to himself, I might have done better: I might have beenkinder: it's too late now! But it's never too late!" added Lavendarunder his breath--"not where Love is!"

The shower was over, and though the sun had not come out, a pleasantlight lay upon the river as the friends walked down; upon the riverbeyond which old Lizzie Prettyman was sleeping so peacefully, thesleep of kings and beggars, and just and unjust, and rich and pooralike. Carnaby had dried his eyes but continued in a pensive mood. 

"Cousin Robin's still angry with me about the tree, " he said, uncertainly. 

"She won't be angry long!" Lavendar assured him. "You and your CousinRobin are going to be firm friends, friends for life. "

Carnaby seemed a good deal comforted. "Mind you don't tell her Iblubbered!" he said in sudden alarm. "Swear!"

"She wouldn't think a bit the worse of you for that!" said Lavendar. 

"Swear, though!" repeated Carnaby in deadly earnest. 

And Lavendar swore, of course. 

 * * * * *

But an influence very unlike Lavendar's and a spirit very differentfrom Robinette's enfolded Carnaby de Tracy in his home and fought, asit were, for his soul. That night, after the last lamp had been putout by the careful Bates, and after Benson had bade a respectfulgood-night to her mistress, a light still burned in Mrs. De Tracy'sroom. Presently, carried in her hand, it flitted out along the silentpassages, past rows of doors which were closed upon empty rooms orupon unconscious sleepers, till it came to Carnaby's door; to theBoys' Room, as that far-away and most unluxurious apartment had alwaysbeen called. Mrs. De Tracy was making a pilgrimage to the shrine ofone of her gods. She opened the door, and closing it gently behindher, she stood beside Carnaby's bed and looked at him, intently andhaggardly. 

Mrs. De Tracy's was a singular character, as Mark Lavendar had said. The circumstances of her widowhood with its heavy responsibilities hadperhaps hardly been fair to her. There had been little room for thekindlier and softer feelings, though it is to be feared that theywould not have found much congenial soil in her heart. The personalselfishness in her had long been merged in the greater and harderselfishness of caste; she had become a mere machine for the keeping upof Stoke Revel. 

But to-night she was moved by the positively human sentiment which hadbeen stirred in her by Carnaby's startling act of cutting the plumtree down. Ah! let fools believe if they could that she was angry withthe boy! She had never felt anger less or pride more. While otherstalked and argued, shilly-shallied, made love, muddled and mademistakes, her grandson, the man of the race that always ruled, had cutthe knot for himself, without hesitation and without compunction, without consulting anyone or asking anyone's leave. That was the waythe de Tracys had always acted. And it seemed to Mrs. De Tracy acrowning coincidence, a fitting kind of poetical justice, thatCarnaby's action should actually have prevented the sale of the land;that dreaded, detestable sale of the first land that the de Tracyshad held upon the banks of the river. 

So, since Carnaby was to be a man of the right kind, his grandmotherhad come to look at him, not in love, as other women come to suchbedsides, but in pride of heart. The boy, after his "white night" atWittisham and the varied emotions of the succeeding day, lay on hisside, in the deep, recuperative sleep of youth whence its energies aredrawn and in which its vigors are renewed. His round cheek indentedthe pillow, his rumpled hair stirred in the breeze that blew in at thewindow, his arm and his open hand, relaxed, lay along the sheet. Another woman would have straightened the bed-clothes above him;another might have touched his hair or hand; another kissed his cheek. But not even because he was like her departed husband, like the manwho five and fifty years before had courted a certain cold and proud, handsome and penniless Miss Augusta Gallup, would Mrs. De Tracy dothese things. She had had her sensation, such as it was, her secretmoment of emotion, and was satisfied. She left the room as she hadcome, the candle casting exaggerated shadows of herself upon the wallswhere Carnaby's bats and fishing rods and sporting prints hung. 

It is sad to be old as Mrs. De Tracy was old, but her age was of herown making, a shrinkage of the heart, a drying up of the wells offeeling that need not have been. 

"I should be better out of the way, " her bitterness said within her, and alas! it was true. Her great, gaunt room seemed very lonely, veryfull of shadows when she returned to it. Rupert, who always slept ather bedside, awaited her. Disturbed at this unwonted hour, he stirredin his basket, wheezed and gurgled, turned round and round and couldnot get comfortable, whined, and looked up in his mistress's face. Shestood watching him with a sort of grim pity, and, strangely enough, bestowed upon him the caress she had not found for her grandson. 

"Poor Rupert! You are getting too old, like your mistress! Yourdeparture, like hers, will be a sorrow to no one!" Rupert seemed towheeze an asthmatical consent, and presently he snuggled down in hisbasket and went to sleep. 

XXV

THE BELLS OF STOKE REVEL

On Sunday morning Robinette and Lavendar were both ready for church, by some strange coincidence, half an hour too soon. He was standing atthe door as she came down into the hall. Mrs. De Tracy and MissSmeardon were nowhere to be seen; even Carnaby was invisible, but theshrill, infuriated yelping of the Prince Charles from the drawing roomindicated his whereabouts only too plainly. 

"We're much too early, " said Robinette, glancing at the clock. 

"Shall we walk through the buttercup meadow, then--you and I?" askedLavendar. His voice was low, and Robinette answered very softly. Shewore a white dress that morning without a touch of colour. 

"I couldn't wear black to-day for Nurse, " she said, in answer to hisglance, "but I couldn't wear any colour, either. "

"You're as white as the plum tree was!" said Lavendar. "I rememberthinking that it looked like a bride. " Robinette made no reply. Heventured to look up at her as he spoke, and she was smiling althoughher lip quivered and her eyes were full of tears. Lavendar's heartbeat uncomfortably fast as they walked through the meadow towards thestile which led into the churchyard. 

"It's too soon to go in yet, " he said. "The bells haven't begun. "

"Let's stop here. It's cool in the shadow, " said Robinette. She leanedon the wall and looked out at the shining reaches of the river. "Theswelling of Jordan is over now, " she said with a little smile and asigh. "The tide has come up, and how quiet everything is!"

The water mirrored the hills and the ships and the gracious sky abovethem. There was scarcely a sound in the air. At the point where theystood, the Manor House was hidden from view, and only the squat oldtower of the church was visible, and the yew tree rising above thewall against the golden field. A bush of briar covered with whiteroses hung above them, just behind Robinette, and Lavendar looking ather in this English setting on an English Sunday morning, wondered tohimself, as he had so often done before, if she could ever make thiscountry her home. 

"Yet she has English blood as well as I, " he thought. "Why, the veryname on the old bells of the church there, records the memory of anancestress of hers! We cannot be so far apart. " Looking at herstanding there, he rehearsed to himself all that he meant to say, oh, a great many things both true and eloquent, but at that moment everyword forsook him. Yet this was probably the best opportunity he wouldhave of telling her what was burning in his heart: telling her how shehad beguiled him at first by her quick understanding and herfrolicsome wit, because all that sort of thing was so new to him. Shehad come like a mountain spring to a thirsty man. He had been gropingfor inspiration and for help: now he seemed to find them all in her. She was so much more than charming, though it was her charm that firstimpressed him; so much more than pretty, though her face attracted himat first; so much more than magnetic, though she drew him to her attheir first meeting with bonds as delicate as they were strong. Thesewere tangible, vital, legitimate qualities--but were they all? Couldlips part so, could eyes shine so, could voice tremble so, if therewere not something underneath; a good heart, fidelity, warmth ofnature?

"For the first time, " he thought, "I long to be worthy of a woman. ButI would not tell her how I love her at this moment, unless I felt Ineed not be wholly unequal to her demands. I have never desiredanything strongly enough to struggle for it, up to now; but she hasset my springs in motion, and I can work for her until I die!"

All this he thought, but never a word he said. Then the church clockstruck and the clashing bells began. They shook the air, the earth, the ancient stones, the very nests upon the trees, and sent the rooksflying black as ink against the yellow buttercups in the meadow. 

"We must go, in a few minutes, " said Robinette. "Oh, will you pull mesome of those white roses up there?"

Lavendar swung himself up and drawing down a bunch he pulled off twowhite buds. 

"Will you take them?" he asked, holding them out to her. Then suddenlyhe said, very low and very humbly, "Oh, take me too; take me, Robinette, though no man was ever so unworthy!"

Robinette laid the roses on the wall beside her. 

"For my part, " she said, turning to Lavendar with a little laugh thatwas half a sob; "for my part, I like giving better than taking!" Sheput both her hands in his and looked into his face. "Here is mylife, " she said simply. "I want to belong to you, to help you, to liveby your side. "

"I oughtn't to take you at your word, " he said, his voice choked withemotion. "You are far too good for me!"

"Hush, " Robinetta answered, putting a finger on his lip; "it isn't aquestion of how great you are or how wonderful: it's a question ofwhat we can be to each other. I'd rather have you than the Duke ofWellington or Marcus Aurelius, and I believe you wouldn't change mefor Helen of Troy!"

"I have nothing to bring you, nothing, " said Lavendar again, "nothingbut my love and my whole heart. "

"If all the kingdoms of the earth were offered to me instead, I wouldstill take you and what you give me, " Robinette answered. 

Lavendar laid his cheek against her bright hair and sighed deeply. Inthat sigh there passed away all former things, and behold, all thingsbecame new. Two cuckoos answered each other from opposite banks of theriver and two hearts sang songs of joy that met and mingled andfloated upward. 

Again the bells broke out overhead, filling the air with music thathad rung from them ever since just such another morning hundreds ofyears before, when they rang their first peal from the church tower, bearing the legend newly cut upon them: "Pray for the Soul of Anne deTracy, 1538. " And Anne de Tracy's memory was forgotten--so longforgotten--except for the bells that carried her name!

Yet in these same meadows that she must have known, spring was comeonce more. The Devonshire plum trees had budded and blossomed and shedtheir petals year after year, and year after year, since the bellsfirst swung in the air; and now Hope was born once again, and Youth, and Love, which is immortal!

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