THAT STICK

 BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE AUTHOR OF 'THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE', 'UNKNOWN TO HISTORY', ETC. 

 [Picture: She was a little brown mouse of a woman, with soft dark eyes, smooth hair, and a clear olive complexion]

 London MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK

 1892

 _All rights reserved_

Chap. Page

1 HONOURS 12 HONOURS REFLECTED 93 WHAT IS HONOUR? 204 HONOURS WANING 255 THE PEER 296 THE WEIGHT OF HONOURS 367 MORTONS AND MANNERS 418 SECOND THOUGHTS 499 THE HEIR-PRESUMPTUOUS 5310 COMING HONOURS 6411 POSSESSION 7012 THE BURTHEN OF HONOURS 7713 THE DOWER HOUSE 8114 WESTHAVEN VERSIONS OF 88 HONOURS15 THE PIED ROOK 9916 WHAT IS REST? 10717 ON THE SURFACE 11418 DESDICHADO 12019 THE DOLOMITES 12920 RATZES 13721 THE HEIR-APPARENT 14322 OUT OF JOINT 14723 VELVET 15524 THE REVENGE OF SORDID 163 SPIRITS25 THE LOVE 16926 IDA'S WARNING 17527 THE YOUNG PRETENDER 18028 TWO BUNDLES OF HAY 18729 JONES OR RATTLER 19330 SCARLET FEVER 20231 MITE 20832 A SHOCK 21633 DARKNESS 22334 THE PHANTOM OF THE 230 STATION35 THE QUEST 23936 IDA'S CONFESSION 24737 HOPE 25238 THE CLUE 26239 THE HONOURABLE PAUPER 27040 JOY WELL-NIGH 277 INCREDIBLE41 THE CANADIAN NORTHMOOR 28442 HUMBLE PIE 29043 THE STAFF 295

CHAPTER IHONOURS

'Oh, there's that stick. What can he want?' sighed one of a pair ofdignified elderly ladies, in black silk, to the other, as in a quietcountry-town street they saw themselves about to be accosted by a man ofabout forty, with the air of a managing clerk, who came up breathlessly, with a flush on his usually pale cheeks. 

'Miss Lang; I beg pardon! May I be allowed a few words with MissMarshall? I know it is unusual, but I have something unusual to tellher. '

'Nothing distressing, I hope, Mr. Morton, ' said one of the ladies, startled. 

'Oh no, quite the reverse, ' he said, with a nervous laugh; 'in fact, Ihave unexpectedly come into a property!'

'Indeed!' with great astonishment, 'I congratulate you, ' as the colourmounted in his face, pleasant, honest, but with the subdued expressionleft by long years of patience in a subordinate position. 

'May I ask--' began the other sister. 

'I hardly understand it yet, ' was the answer; 'but I must go to town bythe 5. 10 train, and I should like her to hear it from myself. '

'Oh, certainly; it does you honour, Mr. Morton. '

They were entering the sweep of one of those large substantial houses onthe outskirts of country towns that have a tendency to becomeboarding-schools, and such had that of the Misses Lang been long beforethe days of the High School. 

'Fortunately it is recreation-time, ' said Miss Lang, as she conducted Mr. Morton to the drawing-room, hung round with coloured drawings, in goodtaste, if stiff, and chiefly devoted to interviews with parents. 

'Poor little Miss Marshall!' murmured one sister, when they had shut himin. 

'What a loss she will be!'

'She deserves any good fortune. '

'She does. Is it not twenty years?'

'Twenty-two next August, sister. '

Yes, it was twenty-two years since Mary Marshall had been passed from theClergy Orphan Asylum to be English governess at Miss Lang's excellentschool at Hurminster. In that town resided, with her two sons, Mrs. Morton, the widow of a horse-dealing farmer in the late Mr. Marshall'sparish. On discovering the identity of the English governess with thelittle girl who had admired the foals, lambs, and chickens in past times, Mrs. Morton gave invitations to tea. She was ladylike, the sonsunexceptionable, and no objection could reasonably be made by the MissesLang, though the acquaintance was regretted by them. 

Mr. Morton, the father, had died in debt and distress, and the eldest sonhad been thankful for a clerkship in the office of Mr. Burford, asolicitor in considerable practice, and man of business to several of thecounty magnates. Frank Morton was not remarkable for talent orenterprise, but he was plodding and trustworthy, methodical and accurate, and he had continued in the same position, except that time had made himsenior instead of junior clerk. Partly from natural disposition, partlyfrom weight of responsibility, he had always been a grave, steady youth, one of those whom their contemporaries rank as sticks and muffs, becausenot exalted by youthful spirits or love of daring. His mother andbrother had always been his primary thought; and his recreations were ofthe sober-sided sort--the chess club, the institute, the choral society. He was a useful, though not a distinguished, member of the choir of St. Basil's Church, and a punctual and diligent Sunday-school teacher of theleast interesting boys. To most of the world of Hurminster he was almostinvisible, to the rest utterly insignificant. Even his mother was farless occupied with him than with his brother Charles, who was muchhandsomer, more amusing and spirited, as well as far less contented oreasy to be reckoned upon. But there was one person to whom he waseverything, namely, little brown-eyed, soft-voiced Mary Marshall. 

She felt herself the happiest of creatures when, after two years ofoccasional evening teas and walks to Evensong at St. Basil's, it wassettled that she should become his wife as soon as his salary should beincreased, and Charlie be in condition to assist in supporting hismother. Ever since, Mary had rested on that hope, and the privileges itgave. She had loyally informed the Misses Lang, who were scarcelypropitious, but could not interfere, as long as their pupils (or theybelieved so) surmised nothing. So the Sunday evening intercourse becamemore frequent, and in the holidays, when the homeless governess hadalways remained to superintend cleaning and repairs, there were manypleasant hours spent with kind old Mrs. Morton, who, if she had everwished that Frank had waited longer and chosen some one with means, neverbetrayed it to the girl whom she soon loved as a daughter. 

Two years had at first been thought of as the period of patience. Charles had a situation as clerk in a shipping office at Westhaven, asmall seaport about twenty miles off, and his mother was designing to goto keep house for him, when he announced that his banns had been askedwith the daughter of the captain and part-owner of a small trading vesselof the port. 

The Hurminster couple must defer their plans till further promotion; andso far from helping his mother, Charles ere long was applying to her, when in need, for family expenses. 

Then came a terrible catastrophe. Charlie had been ill, and in hisconvalescence was taken on a voyage by his father-in-law. There was acollision in the Channel, and the _Emma Jane_ and all on board were lost. The insurance did not cover the pecuniary loss; debts came to light, andnothing was left for the widow and her three children except a seasidelodging-house in which her father had invested his savings. 

The children's education and great part of their maintenance must fall ontheir uncle; and again his marriage must wait till this burthen waslessened. Old Mrs. Morton died; and meetings thus became more difficultand infrequent. Frank had hoped to retain the little house where he hadlived so long; but his sister-in-law's demands were heavy, and he foundhimself obliged to sell his superfluous furniture, and commit himself tothe rough attendance of the housekeeper at the office, where two roomswere granted to him. 

Thus had year after year gone by, unmarked except by the growth of theyoung people at Westhaven and the demand of their mother on the savingsthat were to have been a nest-egg, while gray threads began to appear inMary's hair, and Frank's lighter locks to leave his temples bare. 

So things stood when, on this strange afternoon, Miss Marshall wassummoned mysteriously from watching the due performance of an imposition, and was told, outside the door, that Mr. Morton wanted to speak to her. 

It was startling news, for though the Misses Lang were kindly women, andhad never thrown obstacles in the way of her engagement, they had merelypermitted it, and almost ignored it, except when old Mrs. Morton wasdying, and they had freely facilitated her attendance. 'Surely somethingas dreadful as the running down of the _Emma Jane_ must have happened!'thought Mary as she sped to the drawing-room. She was a little brownmouse of a woman, with soft dark eyes, smooth hair, and a clear olivecomplexion, on which thirty-eight years of life and eighteen of waitinghad not left much outward trace; for the mistresses were good women, whohad never oppressed their underling, and though she had not met with muchoutward sympathy or companionship, the one well of hope and joy might attimes suffer drought, but had never run dry, any more than the betterfountain within and beyond. 

In she came, with eyes alarmed but ready to console. 'Oh, Frank, what isit? What can I do for you?'

'It is no bad news, ' was his greeting, as he put his arm round hertrembling little figure and kissed her brow. 'Only too good. '

'Oh, is Mrs. Charles going to be married?' the only hopeful contingencyshe could think of. 

'No, ' he said; 'but, Mary, an extraordinary incident has taken place. Ihave inherited a property. '

'A property? You are well off! Oh, thank God!' and she clasped herhands, then held his. 'At last! But what? How? Did you know?'

'I knew of the connection, but that the family had never taken notice ofmy father. As to the rest I was entirely unprepared. Mygreat-grandfather was a younger son of the first Lord Northmoor, but forsome misconduct was cast off and proscribed. As you know, my grandfatherand father devoted themselves to horses on the old farm, and made nopretensions to gentility. The elder branch of the family was oncenumerous, but it must have since dwindled till the old lord was left withonly a little grandson, who died of diphtheria a short time before hisgrandfather. '

'Poor old man!' began Mary. 'Then--oh! do you mean that he died too?'

'Yes; he was ill before, and this was a fatal blow. It appears that hewas aware that I was next in the succession, and after the boy's deathhad desired the solicitor to write to me as heir-at-law. '

'Heir-at-law! Frank, do you mean that you are--' she said, turning pale. 

'Baron Northmoor, ' he answered, 'and you, my patient Mary, will be thebaroness as soon as may be. '

'Oh, Frank!'--and there was a rush of tears--'dear Frank, your hard workand cares are all over!'

'I am not sure of that, ' he said gravely; 'but, at least, this longwaiting is over, and I can give you everything. '

'But, oh!' she cried, sobbing uncontrollably, with her face hidden in herhandkerchief. 

'Mary, Mary! what does this mean? Don't you understand? There's nothingto hinder it now. '

She made a gesture as if to put him back from her, and struggled forutterance. 

'It is very dear, very good; but--but it can't be now. You must not dragyourself down with me. '

'That is just nonsense, Mary. You are far fitter for this than I am. You are the one joy in it to me. '

'You think so now, ' she said, striving to hold herself back; 'but youwon't by and by. '

'Do you think me a mere boy to change so easily?' said the new lordearnestly. 'I look on this as a heavy burthen and very seriousresponsibility: but it is to you whom I look to sweeten it, help methrough with it, and guard me from its temptations. '

'If I could. '

'Come, Mary, I am forced to go to London immediately, and then on to thefuneral. I shall miss the train if I remain another minute. Don't sendme away with a sore heart. Tell me that your affection has not been wornout by these weary years. '

'You cannot think so, Frank, ' she sobbed. 'You know it has only grown. I only want to do what is best for you. '

'Not another word, ' he said, with a fresh kiss. 'That is all I want forthe present. '

He was gone, while Mary crept up to her little attic, there to weep outher agitated, uncertain feelings. 

'Oh, he is so good! He deserves to be great. That I should be his firstthought! Dear dear fellow! But I ought to give him up. I ought not tobe a drag on him. It would not be fair on him. I can love him and watchhim all the same; but oh, how dreary it will be to have no Sundayafternoons! Is this selfish? Is this worldly? Oh, help me to do right, and hold to what is best for him!'

And whenever poor Mary had any time to herself out of sight of curiouseyes, she spent it in concocting a letter that went near to the breakingof her constant heart. 

CHAPTER IIHONOURS REFLECTED

On the beach at Westhaven, beyond the town and harbour, stood a row ofhouses, each with a garden of tamarisk, thrift, and salt-loving flowers, frequented by lodgers in search of cheap sea breezes, and sometimes byfamilies of yachting personages who liked to have their headquarters onshore. 

Two girls were making their way to one of these. One was so tall thoughvery slight, that in spite of the dark hair streaming in the wind, shelooked more than her fifteen years, and her brilliant pink-and-whitecomplexioned face confirmed the impression. Her sister, keeping as muchas she could under her lee, was about twelve years old, much morechildish as well as softer, smaller, with lighter colouring and blueeyes. Going round the end of the house, they entered by the back door, and turning into a little parlour, they threw off their hats and gloves. The younger one began to lay the table for dinner, while the elder, throwing herself down panting, called out--

'Ma, here's a letter from uncle. I'll open it. I hope he's not crustyabout that horrid low millinery business. '

'Yes, do, ' called back a voice across the tiled passage. 'I've had notime. This girl has put me about so with Mrs. Leeson's luncheon thatI've not had a moment. Of all the sluts I've ever been plagued with, she's the very worst, and so I tell her till I'm ready to drop. What isit then, Ida?' as an inarticulate noise was heard. 

 [Picture: Frontispiece--Ma! ma!]

'Ma! ma! uncle is a lord!' came back in a gasp. 

'What?'

'Uncle's a lord! Oh!'

'Your uncle! That stick of a man! Don't be putting your jokes on me, when I'm worrited to death!' exclaimed Mrs. Morton, in fretful tones. 

'No joke. It's true--Lord Northmoor. ' And this brought Mrs. Morton outof the kitchen in her apron and bib, with a knife in one hand and a bunchof parsley in the other. She was a handsome woman, in the same style asIda, but her complexion had grown harder than accorded with the slightlysentimental air she assumed when she had time to pity herself. 

'It is! it is!' persisted Ida, reading scraps from the letter; '"Titleand estates devolve on me--family bereavements--elder line extinct. "'

'Give me the letter. Oh, you gave me such a turn!' said Mrs. Morton, sinking into a chair. 

'What's the row?' said another voice, as a sturdy bright-eyed boy, between the ages of his sisters, came bouncing in. 'I say, I want mygrub--and be quick!'

'Oh, Herbert, my dear boy, ' and his mother hugged him, 'your uncle is alord, and you'll be one one of these days. '

'I say, don't lug a man's head off. Who has been making a fool of you?'

'Uncle Frank is Lord Northmoor, ' said Ida impressively. 

'I say, that's a good one!' and Herbert threw himself into a chair infits of laughter. 

'It is quite true, Herbert, ' said his mother. 'Here is the letter. '

A bell rang sharply. 

'Bless me! I shall not hear much more of that bell, I hope. Run up, Conny, and say Mrs. Leeson's lunch will be up in a moment, but we werehindered by unexpected news, ' said Mrs. Morton, bustling into thekitchen. 'Oh dear! one doesn't know where one is. '

'Let her ring, ' said Ida. 'Send her off, bag and baggage! We've donewith lodgings and milliners and telegraphs, and all that's low. We shallall be lords and ladies, and ever so rich. '

'Hold hard!' said Herbert, who had got possession of the letter. 'Hedoesn't say so. '

'He'll be nasty and mean, I daresay, ' said Ida. 'What does he say? Ihadn't time to see. '

Herbert read from the neat, formal, distinct writing: "I do not yet knowwhat is in my power, nor what means I may be able to command; but I hopeto make your position more comfortable and to give my nephew and nieces areally superior education. You had better, however, not take any stepstill you hear from me again. " There, Ida, lots of schooling, that'sall. '

'Nonsense, Bertie; he must--if he is a lord, what are we?'

Hunger postponed this great question for a little while; but dinner hadbeen delayed till the afternoon school hour had passed, and indeed theyoung people agreed that they were far above going to their presentteachers any more. 

'We must acquire a few accomplishments, ' said Ida. 'Uncle never wouldafford me lessons on the piano--such a shame; but he can't refuse me now. Dancing lessons, too, we will have; and then, oh, Conny! we will go toCourt, and how they will admire us!'

At which Herbert burst out laughing loudly, and his mother rebuked him. 'You will be a nobleman, Herbert, and your sisters a nobleman's sisters. Why should they not go to Court like the best of them?'

'That's all my eye!' said Herbert. 'The governor has got a young womanof his own, hasn't he?'

'That dowdy old teacher!' said Ida. 'Of course he won't marry her now. '

'She will be artful enough to try to hold him to it, you may depend onit, ' said Mrs. Morton; 'but I shall take care he knows what a shame anddisgrace it would be. Oh no; he will not dare. '

'She is awfully old, ' said Ida. 

'Not near so old as Miss Pottle, who was married yesterday, ' saidConstance, who, at the time of her father's death, and at other timeswhen the presence of a young child was felt to be inconvenient at home, had stayed with her grandmother at Hurminster, and had grown fond of MissMarshall. 

'Don't talk about what you know nothing about, Constance, ' broke in hermother. 'Your uncle, Lord Northmoor, ain't going to lower and demeanhimself by dragging a mere school teacher up into the peerage, to cut outpoor Herbert and all his family. There's that bell again! I shall goand let Mrs. Leeson know how we are situated, and that I shall give hernotice one of these days. Clear the table, girls; we don't know who maybe dropping in. '

This done, chiefly by Constance, the sisters put on their hats, andsallied forth with their astounding news to such of their friends as werewithin reach, and by the time they had finished their expedition theywere convinced of their own nobility, and prepared to be called Lady Idaand Lady Constance Northmoor on the spot. 

When they came in they found the parlour being prepared for company, andwere sent to procure sausages and muffins for tea. Mrs. Morton had, onreflection, decided that it was inexpedient to answer her brother-in-lawtill she had ascertained, as she said, her just rights, and she hadinvited to tea Mr. And Mrs. Rollstone and, to Constance's delight, hislittle daughter Rose, their neighbours a few doors off; but as Rose wasattending classes, it had been useless to go to her before. 

Mr. Rollstone was a great authority, for he had spent the best part ofhis life in what he termed the first families of the highest circles. Hehad been hall boy to a duke, footman to a viscountess, valet to an earl, butler to a right honourable baronet, M. P. , and when he had retired onthe death of the baronet and marriage with the housekeeper he had broughtaway a red volume, by name _Burke's Peerage_, by which, as well as by hisprevious knowledge, he was enabled to serve as an oracle respecting allowners of yachts worthy of consideration. If their names were notrecorded in that book, he scorned them as '_parvenoos_, ' however perfecttheir vessels might be in the eyes of mariners. The edition was indeed aquarter of a century old, but he had kept it up to date, by marking inneatly all the births, deaths, and marriages from the _Gazette_--hisdaily study. His daughter, a nice, modest-looking girl of fourteen, Constance's chief friend, came too. 

His wife was detained by her lodgers, but when he rolled in, with thebook under his arm, there was a certain resemblance between himself andit, for both were broad and slightly dilapidated--the one from gout, theother from wear, and the red cover had faded into a nondescriptwhity-brown, or browny-white, not unlike the complexion of a close-shavenface. He was carefully arrayed in evening costume, and was very choicein his language, being, in fact, much grander than all his aristocraticmasters rolled into one; so that though Mrs. Morton tried to recollectthat she was a great lady and he had been a servant, force of habit madeher feel his condescension when he held out his puffy white hand; and, with a gracious bend of his yellow-gray head, said, 'Allow me to offer mycongratulations, Mrs. Morton. I little suspected my proximity to a ladyso nearly allied to the aristocracy. '

'I am sure you are very kind, Mr. Rollstone. I had no notion--Ida cantell you I was quite overcome--though when I came to think of it, mypoor, dear Morton always did say he had high connections, but I alwaysthought it was one of his jokes. '

'Then as I understand, Mrs. Morton, the lamented deceased was junior tothe present Lord Northmoor?'

'Yes, poor dear! Oh, if he had but lived and been eldest, he would havebecome his honours ever so much better!'

'And oh, Mr. Rollstone, what are we?' put in Ida breathlessly, while Rosesqueezed Constance's hand in schoolgirl fashion. 

'Indeed, Miss Ida, I fear I cannot flatter you with any change in yourdesignation. If your respected parent had survived he might have becomethe Honourable Charles, but only by special grant from Her Majesty. Itwas so in the case of the Honourable Frances Fordingham, when her brotherinherited the title. '

'Then at least I am an Honourable!' exclaimed Mrs. Morton. 

'I am afraid not, Mrs. Morton. I know of no precedent for such honoursbeing bestowed on a relict; but as I understand that Lord Northmoor is nolonger in his first youth, your son might succeed to the title, and, inthat case, his sisters might be'--he paused for a word--'ennobled. '

'Then does not it really make any difference to us?' exclaimed Mrs. Morton. 

'That would rest in the bosom of his lordship, ' said Mr. Rollstonesolemnly. 

'I declare it is an awful shame, ' burst out Ida, while Constance cooed'Dear uncle!'

'Hush, hush, Ida!' said her mother. 'Your uncle has always treated ushandsomely, and we have every reason to expect that he will continue todo so. '

'He ought to have us to live with him in his house in London, and take usto Court, ' said Ida. 'Oh, Mr. Rollstone, is he not bound to do that?'

And Constance breathed, 'How delicious!'

Mr. Rollstone perhaps had his doubts of the figures Mrs. And Miss Mortonwould cut in society, but he contented himself with saying, 'It may bewell to moderate your expectations, Miss Ida, and to remember that LordNorthmoor is not compulsorily bound to consult any interests but hisown. '

'If he does not, it is perfectly abominable, ' cried Mrs. Morton, 'towardshis poor, only brother's children, with Herbert his next heir-apparent. '

'Heir-presumptuous, ' solemnly corrected Mr. Rollstone, at which Idalooked at Constance, but Constance respected Rosie's feelings, and wouldnot return her sister's glance, only blushed, and sniggered. 

'Heir-apparent is only the eldest son, who cannot be displaced by anycontingency. '

'And there's a horrid, little, artful school teacher, who drew him inyears ago--before I was married even, ' said Mrs. Morton. 'No doubt shewill try to keep him now. Most likely she always knew what was going tohappen. Cannot he be set free from the entanglement?'

'Oh!' gasped Constance. 

'That is serious, ' observed Mr. Rollstone gravely. 'It would be anunfortunate commencement to have an action for breach of promise ofmarriage. '

'She would never dare, ' said Mrs. Morton. 'She is as poor as a rat, andcould not do it!'

'Well, Mrs. Morton, ' said Mr. Rollstone, 'if I may be allowed to tendermy poor advice, it would be that you should be very cautious and carefulnot to give any offence to his lordship, or to utter what might bereported to him in a sinister manner. '

'Oh, I know every one has enemies!' said Mrs. Morton, tossing her head. 

After this disappointment there was rather less interest displayed whenMr. Rollstone proceeded to track out and explain the whole Northmoorpedigree, from the great lawyer, Sir Michael Morton, who had gained thepeerage, down to the failure of the direct line, tracing the son fromwhom Francis and Charles Morton were descended. Certainly Miss Marshallmust have been wonderfully foresighted if she had engaged herself with aview to the succession, for at the time it began, the last Lord Northmoorhad two sons and a brother living! There was also a daughter, theHonourable Bertha Augusta. 

'Is she married?' demanded Mrs. Morton. 

'It is not marked here, and if it had been mentioned in the papers, Ishould not have failed to record it. '

'And how old is she?'

'The author of this peerage would never be guilty of the solecism ofrecording a lady's age, ' said Mr. Rollstone gravely; 'but as theHonourable Arthur was born in 1848, and the Honourable Michael in 1850, we may infer that the young lady is no longer in her first youth. '

'And not married? Nearly Fr--Lord Northmoor's age. She must be an oldcat who will set her mind on marrying him, ' sighed Mrs. Morton, 'and willmake him cut all his own relations. '

'Then Mary Marshall might be the better lookout, ' said Ida. 

'She could never be unkind, ' breathed little Constance. 

'There is no knowing, ' said Mr. Rollstone oracularly; 'but the result ofmy observations has been that the true high-bred aristocracy are usuallyfar more affable and condescending than those elevated from a lowerrank. '

'Oh, I do hope for Miss Marshall, ' said Constance in a whisper to Rose. 

'Nasty old thing--a horrid old governess, ' returned Ida; and theytittered, scarcely pausing to hear Mr. Rollstone's announcement of thediscovery that he had entered the marriage in 1879 of the HonourableArthur Michael to Lady Adela Emily, only daughter of the Earl ofArlington, and the death of the said Honourable Arthur by a carriageaccident four years later. 

Then Herbert tumbled in, bringing a scent of tea and tar, and was greetedwith an imploring injunction to brush his hair and wash his hands--bothwhich operations he declared that he had performed, spreading out hisbrown hands, which might be called clean, except for ingrained streaks oftar. Mr. Rollstone tried to console his mother by declaring that it wasaristocratic to know how to handle the ropes; and Herbert, sitting amongthe girls, began, while devouring sausages, to express his intention ofhaving a yacht, in which Rose should be taken on a voyage. No, not Ida;she would only make a fool of herself on board; and besides, she had suchhorrid sticking-out ears, with a pull at them, which made her scream, andher mother rebuke him; while Mr. Rollstone observed that the younggentleman had much to learn if he was to conform to aristocratic manners, and Herbert under his breath hung aristocratic manners, and added that hewas not to be bored, at any rate, till he was a lord; and then to salveany shock to his visitor, proceeded to say that his yacht should be the_Rose_, and invite her to a voyage. 

'Certainly not till you can behave yourself, ' replied Rose; and there wasa general titter among the young people. 

CHAPTER IIIWHAT IS HONOUR?

'Here is a bit of news for you, ' said Sir Edward Kenton, as, after amorning of work with his agent, both came in to the family luncheon. 'Mr. Burford tells me that the Northmoor title has descended on hisagent, Morton. '

'That stick!' exclaimed George, the son and heir. 

'Not altogether a stick, Mr. Kenton, ' said the bald-headed gentlemanlyagent. 'He is very worthy and industrious!'

Frederica Kenton and her brother looked at each other as if thischaracter were not inconsistent with that of a stick. 

'Poor man!' said their mother. 'Is it not a great misfortune to him?'

'I should think him sensible and methodical, ' said Sir Edward. 'By theway, did you not tell me that it was his diligence that discovered theclause to which our success was owing in the Stockpen suit?'

'Yes, Sir Edward, through his indefatigable diligence in reading overevery document connected with the matter. I take shame to myself, ' headded, smiling, 'for it was in a letter that I had read and put aside, missing that passage. '

'Then I am under great obligations to him?' said Sir Edward. 

'I could also tell of what only came to my knowledge many years later, and not through himself, of attempts made to tamper with his integrity, and gain private information from him which he had steadily baffled. '

'There must be much in him, ' said Lady Kenton, 'if only he is notspoilt!'

'I am afraid he is heavily weighted, ' said Mr. Burford. 'His brother'swidow and children are almost entirely dependent on him, more so, in myopinion, than he should have allowed. '

'Exactly what I should expect from such a sheep, ' said George Kenton. 

'There is this advantage, ' said the lawyer, 'it has prevented hismarrying. '

'At least that fatal step has been averted, ' said the lady, smiling. 

'But unluckily there is an entanglement, an endless engagement to agoverness at Miss Lang's. '

'Oh, ' cried Freda, who once, during a long absence of the family abroad, had been disposed of at Miss Lang's, 'there was always a kind of whisperamong us that Miss Marshall was engaged, though it was high treason to besupposed to know. '

'Was that the one you called Creepmouse?' asked her brother. 

'George, you should not bring up old misdeeds! She was a harmless oldthing. I believe the tinies were very fond of her, but we elders had notmuch to do with her, only we used to think her horridly particular. '

'Does that mean conscientious?' asked her father. 

'Perhaps it does; and though I was rather a goose then, I really believeshe was very kind, and did not want to be tiresome. '

'A lady?' asked her mother. 

'I suppose so, but she was so awfully quiet there was no knowing. '

'Poor thing!' observed Lady Kenton, in a tone of commiseration. 

'I think Morton told me that she was a clergy-orphan, ' said Mr. Burford, 'and considered her as rather above him, for his father was a ruinedfarmer and horse-breeder, and I only took him into my office out ofrespect for his mother, though I never had a better bargain in my life. Of course, however, this unlucky engagement cannot stand. '

'Indeed!' said the Baronet drily. 'Would you have him begin his careerwith an act of baseness?'

'No--no, Sir Edward, I did not mean--' said Mr. Burford, rather abashed;'but the lady might be worked on to resign her pretensions, sincepersistence might not be for the happiness of either party; and he reallyought to marry a lady of fortune, say his cousin, Miss Morton, for Iunderstand that the Northmoor property was never considerable. The lateMr. Morton was very extravagant, and there are heavy burthens on theestate, by the settlement on his widow, Lady Adela, and on the lateLord's daughter. Miss Lang tells me likewise that Miss Marshall is fullof doubts and scruples, and is almost persuaded that it is incumbent onher to drop the engagement at any cost to herself. She is veryconscientious!'

'Poor thing!' sighed more than one voice. 

'It is a serious question, ' continued the solicitor, 'and I own that Ithink it would be better for both if she were induced to release him. '

'Has she no relations of her own?'

'None that I ever heard of. She has always spent her holidays at MissLang's. '

'Well, Mr. Burford, ' exclaimed Freda, 'I think you are frightfully cruelto my poor little Creep-mouse. '

'Nay, Freda, ' said her mother; 'all that Mr. Burford is considering iswhether it would be for the happiness or welfare of either to be raisedto a position for which she is not prepared. '

'I thought you were on her side, mother. '

'There are no sides, Freda, ' said her father reprovingly. 'The wholemust rest with the persons chiefly concerned, and no one ought tointerfere or influence them in either direction. ' Having thus rebukedMr. Burford quite as much as his daughter, he added, 'Where is LordNorthmoor now?'

'He wrote to me from Northmoor after the funeral, Sir Edward, saying thathe would return on Saturday. Of course, though three months' noticewould be due, I should not expect it, as I told him at first; but heassures me that he will not leave me till my arrangements for supplyinghis place are complete, and he will assist me as usual. '

'It is very proper of him, ' said Sir Edward. 

'It will be awkward in some ways, ' said Mr. Burford. 'Yet I do not knowwhat I could otherwise have done, he had become so necessary to me. '

'Stick or no stick, ' was the family comment of the Kentons, 'there mustbe something in the man, if only his head is not turned. '

'Which, ' observed Sir Edward, 'is not possible to a stick with a realhead, but only too easy to a sham one. '

CHAPTER IVHONOURS WANING

'And who is the man?' So asked a lady in deep mourning of another stillmore becraped, as they sat together in the darkened room of a Northmoorhouse on the day before the funeral. 

The speaker had her bonnet by her side, and showed a kindly, clever, middle-aged face. She was Mrs. Bury, a widow, niece of the late Lord;the other was his daughter, Bertha Morton, a few years younger. She wasnot tearful, but had dark rings round her eyes, and looked haggard andworn. 

'The man? I never heard of him till this terrible loss of poor littleMikey. '

'Then did he put in a claim?'

'Oh no, but Hailes knew about him, and so, indeed, did my father. Itseems that three generations ago there was a son who followed theinstincts of our race further than usual, and married a jockey'sdaughter, or something of that sort. He was set up in a horse-breedingfarm and cut the connection; but it seems that there was always a sort ofcommunication of family events, so that Hailes knew exactly where to lookfor an heir. '

'Not a jockey!'

'Oh no, nothing so diverting. That would be fun!' Bertha said, with alaugh that had no merriment in it. 'He is a clerk--an attorney's clerk!What do you think of that, Lettice?'

'Better than the jockey. '

'Oh, very respectable, they say'--with a sound of disgust. 

'Is he young?'

'No; caught early, something might be done with him, but there's not thathope. He is not much less than forty. Fancy a creature that haspettifogged, as an underling too, all his life. '

'Married?'

'Thank goodness, no, and all the mammas in London and in the country willbe running after him. Not that he will be any great catch, for of coursehe has nothing--and the poor place will be brought to a low ebb. '

'And what do you mean to do, Birdie?'

'Get out of sight of it all as fast as possible! Forget that horses everexisted except as means of locomotion, ' and Bertha got up and walkedtowards the window as if restless with pain, then came back. 

'I shall get rid of all I can--and come to live as near as I can toWhitechapel, and slum! I'm free now. ' Then looking at her cousin'ssorrowful, wistful face, 'Work, work, work, that's all that's good forme. Soberly, Lettice, this is my plan, ' she added, sitting down again. 'I know how it all is left. This new man is to have enough to go onupon, so as not to be too beggarly and bring the title into contempt. Heis only coming for to-morrow, having to wind up his business; but I shallstay on till he comes back, and settle what to do with the things here. Adela and I have our choice of them, and don't want to leave the placetoo bare. Then I shall sell the London house, and all the rest of theencumbrances, and set up for myself. '

'Not with Adela?'

'Oh no; Adela means to stick by the old place, and I couldn't do that fora constancy--oh no, ' with a shudder. 

'Does she?' in some wonder. 

'Her own people don't want her. The Arlingtons are with her now, but Ifancy she would rather be sitting with us--or alone best of all, poordear. You see, she is a mixture of the angel that is too much for somepeople. How she got it I don't know, not among us, I should think, though she came to us straight out of the schoolroom, or I fancy shewould never have come at all. But oh, Lettice, if you could have seenher how patient she has been throughout with my father, reading him allabout every race, just because she thought it was less gall and wormwoodto her than to me, and going out to the stables to satisfy him about hisdear Night Hawk, and all the rest of it. When she was away for thatfortnight over poor little Michael, I found to the full what she hadbeen, and then after that, back she comes again, as white as a sheet, butall she ever was to my father, and more wonderful than all, settingherself to reconcile him to the notion of this new heir of his--and I dobelieve, if my father had not so suddenly grown worse, she would havemade us have him up to be introduced--all out of rectitude and duty, youknow, for Adela is the shyest of mortals, and recoils by nature from theunderbred far more than we do. In fact, I rather like it. It gives me asensation. I had ten times rather this man were a common sailor, or atinker, than just a stupid stick of a clerk!'

'Then Adela means to stay at the Dower House?'

'Yes, she has rooted herself there by all her love to her poor people, and I fancy, too, that she does not want to bring Amice up among all theArlington children, who are not after her pattern, so she intends to bearthe brunt of it, and not leave Northmoor, unless the new-comers turn outunbearable. '

'She goes away with her brother now. '

'Oh yes, she must, and Lord Arlington is fond of her in a way! Can't youstay on with me, Lettice?'

'I wish I could, my dear Birdie, but I am anxious about Mary; I don'tthink I must stay later than Sunday. '

'Yes; you are too devoted a mother for me to absorb. Never mind, youwill be in London, and I shall soon be within reach of you. You are acomfortable person, Lettice. '

CHAPTER VTHE PEER

Poor Miss Lang! After all her care that her young pupils' heads shouldnot be turned by folly about marriage and noblemen, the very event shehad always viewed as most absurdly improbable had really occurred, and itwas impossible to keep it a secret; though Miss Marshall did her verybest to appear as usual, heard lessons with her accustomed diligence, conducted the daily exercises, watched over the instructions by masters, and presided over the needlework. But she grew whiter, more pinched, andher little face more mouse-like every day, and the elder girls whisperedfancies about her. 'She had no doubt heard that Lord Northmoor hadbroken it off!'--'A little poky attorney's clerk, of course hewould. '--'Poor dear thing, she will go into a consumption! Didn't youhear her cough last night?'--'And then we'll all throw wreaths into hergrave!'--'Oh, that was only Elsie Harris!'--'Nonsense, Mabel, I'm sure itwas her, poor thing. Prenez garde, la vieille Dragonne vient. '

That Lord Northmoor was to come back by the mail train was known, andMiss Lang had sent a polite note to invite him to afternoon tea on theSunday. The church to which he had been for many years devoted was adistrict one, and Miss Lang's establishment had their places in the oldparish church, so there was not much chance of meeting in the morning, though one pupil observed to another that 'she should think him a beastif they did not meet him on the way to church. '

It is to be feared that she had to form this opinion, but on the otherhand, by the early dinner-time, tidings pervaded the school that LordNorthmoor had been at St. Basil's, and sung in his surplice just as ifnothing had happened! The more sensational party of girls furtheraverred that he had been base enough to walk thither with Miss Burford, and that Miss Marshall had been crying all church time. Whether this wastrue or not, it was certain that she ate scarcely any dinner, and thatMiss Lang insisted on administering a glass of wine. 

Moreover, when dinner was finally over, she quietly crept up to her ownroom, and resumed her church-going bonnet--a little black net, with along-enduring bunch of violets. Then she knelt down and entreated, 'Oh, show me Thy will, and give me strength and judgment to do that which maybe best for him, and may neither of us be beguiled by the world or byambition. '

Then she peeped out to make sure that the coast was clear--not that shewas not quite free to go where she pleased, but she dreaded eyes andtitters--out at the door, to the corner of the lane where for many aSunday afternoon there had been a quiet tryste and walk. Her heart beatso as almost to choke her, and she hardly durst raise her eyes to see ifthe accustomed figure awaited her. Was it the accustomed figure? Hereyes dazzled so under her little holland parasol that she could hardlysee, and though there was a movement towards her, she felt unable to lookup till she heard the words, 'Mary, at last!' and felt the clasp of thehand. 

'Oh, Frank--I mean--'

'You mean Frank, your own Frank; nothing else to you. '

'Ought you?' And as she murmured she looked up. It was the same, butstill a certain change was there, almost indescribable, but still to befelt, as if a line of toil and weariness had passed from the cheek. Thequiet gray eyes were brighter and more eager, the bearing as if ten yearshad been taken from the forty, and though Mary did not perceive thedetails, the dress showing that his mourning had not come from thecountry town tailor and outfitter, even the soft hat a very differentarticle from that which was wont to replace the well-cherished tall oneof Sunday mornings. 

'I had not much time, ' he said, 'but I thought this would be of the mostuse, ' and he began clasping on her arm a gold bracelet with a tiny watchon it. 'I thought you would like best to keep our old ring. '

'If--if I ought to keep it at all, ' she faltered. 

'Now, Mary, I will not have an afternoon spoilt by any folly of thatsort, ' he said. 

'Is it folly? Nay, listen. Should you not get on far far better withoutsuch a poor little stupid thing as I am?'

'I always thought I was the stupid one. '

'You--but you are a man. '

'So much the worse!'

'Yes; but, Frank, don't you see what I mean? This thing has come to you, and you can't help it, and you are descended from these people really;but it would be choice for me, and I could not bear to feel that you wereashamed of me. '

'Never!' he exclaimed. 'Look here, Mary. What should I do without youto come back to and be at rest with? All the time I was talking to thoseladies and going through those fine rooms, I was thinking of the onecomfort I should have when I have you all to myself. See, ' he added, going over the arguments that he had no doubt prepared, 'it is not as ifyou were like poor Emma. You are a lady all over, and have always livedwith ladies; and yet you are not too grand for me. Think what you wouldleave me to--to be wretched by myself, or else-- I could never be athome with those high-bred folk. I felt it every moment, though MissMorton was very kind, and even wanted me to call her Birdie. I _did_feel thankful I could tell her I was engaged. '

'You did!'

'Yes; and she was very kind, and said she was glad of it, and hoped soonto know you. '

'Oh, Frank dear, I am sure no one ever was more really noble-hearted thanyou, ' she almost sobbed; 'you know how I shall always feel it; but yet, but yet I can't help thinking you ought to leave it a little moreunsettled till you have looked about a little and seen whether I shouldbe a very great disadvantage to you. '

'Seen whether I could find such a dear, unselfish little woman, eh? No, no, Mary, put all that out of your head. We have not loved one anotherfor twenty years for a trumpery title to come between us now! And youneed not fear being too well off for the position. The agent, Hailes, has been continually apologising to me for the smallness of the means. He says either we must have no house in London, or else let Northmoor. He cannot tell me yet exactly what income we shall have, but the farmsdon't let well, and there is not much ready money. '

'Every one says you ought to marry a lady of fortune. '

'My dear Mary, to what would you condemn me? What sort of lady offortune do you think would take an old stick like me for the sake ofbeing my Lady? I really shall begin to believe you are tired of it. '

'Stick! oh no, no. Staff, if'--and the manner in which she began tocling was answer full and complete; indeed, as she saw that herresistance had begun to hurt him as much as herself, she felt herselffree to throw herself into the interests, and ask, 'Is Northmoor a verynice place?'

'Not so pretty as Cotes Kenton outside. A great white house, with aportico for carriages to drive under, and not kept up very well, patchesof plaster coming off; but there is a beautiful view over the woods, witha purple moor beyond. '

'And inside?'

'Well, rather dreary, waiting for you to make it homelike. They have notlived there much for some time past. Lady Adela has lived in the DowerHouse, and will continue there. '

'Did you see much of them?'

'Not Lady Adela. Poor lady, she had her own relations with her. She hadnot by any means recovered the loss of her little boy, and I can quiteunderstand that it must have been too trying for her to see me in hisplace. I understand from Hailes--'

'Your Mr. Burford, ' said Mary, smiling. 

'That she is a very refined, rather exclusive and domestic lady, devotedto her little girl, and extremely kind to the poor. Indeed, so is MissMorton, but she prefers the London poor, and is altogether ratherflighty, and what Hailes calls an unconventional young lady. There was avery nice lady with her, Mrs. Bury, the daughter of a brother of the lateLord, a widow, and very kind and friendly. Both were very good-natured, Miss Morton always acted hostess, and talked continually. '

'About her father?'

'Oh no, I do not think he had been a very affectionate father, and theirhabits and tastes had been very different. Lady Adela seems to havelatterly been more to him. Miss Morton was chiefly concerned to adviseme about politics and social questions, and how to deal with the estateand the tenants. '

He seemed somewhat to shudder at the recollection, and Mary certainlyconceived a dread of the ladies of Northmoor. It was further elicitedthat he meant to help Mr. Burford through all the work and arrangementsconsequent on his own succession, indeed, to remain at his post eithertill a successor was found, or the junior sufficiently indoctrinated totake the place. Of course, as he said, six months' notice was due, butMr. Burford has waived this. During this time he meant to go to see'poor Emma' at Westhaven, but it was not an expedition he seemed much torelish, and he wished to defer it till he could definitely tell what itwould be in his power to do for her and her children, for whose educationhe was really anxious, rejoicing that they were still young enough to bemoulded. 

Then came the tea at Miss Lang's--a stately meal, when the two ladieswere grand; Lord Northmoor became shy and frozen, monosyllabic, and onlyspasmodically able to utter; and Mary felt it in all her nerves andsubsided into her smallest self, under the sense that nobody ever woulddo him justice. 

CHAPTER VITHE WEIGHT OF HONOURS

The next was a fortnight of strange and new experiences. Lord Northmoorspent most of his days over the papers in the office, so much his usualself, that Mr. Burford generally forgot, and called to him as 'Morton' sonaturally that after the first the other clerks left off sniggering. 

There Sir Edward called on him, and in an interview in his sitting-roomat the office asked him to a quiet dinner, together with the solicitor;but this was hardly a success, for Mr. Burford, being at home with thefamily, did all the talking, and Frank could not but feel in the presenceof his master, and had not a word to say for himself, especially asGeorge and Freda looked critical, and as if 'That stick' was in theirminds, if not on their lips. The only time when he approached a thaw waswhen in the hot summer evening Lady Kenton made him her companion in atwilight stroll on the terraces, when he looked at the roses withdelight, and volunteered a question about the best sorts, saying that thegarden at Northmoor had been much neglected, and he wanted to have it ingood order, 'that is'--blushing and correcting himself--'if we can livethere. '

Lady Kenton noted the 'we' and was sorry to be here interrupted. 'Weshall do nothing with him till we get him alone, ' she said. 'We musthave him apart from Mr. Burford. '

Before this, however, they had to meet him at a very splendid party, given with all the resources of the Burford family at their villa, whenthe county folks, who had no small curiosity to see the new peer, wereinvited in full force, and the poor peer felt capable of fewer words thanever to throw at them. 

Lady Kenton ventured on asking Mrs. Burford to introduce her to MissMarshall, taking such presence for granted. 

'Oh, Lady Kenton, really now I did not think that foolish affair shouldbe encouraged. It is such an unfortunate thing for him; and as Miss Langand I agreed, it would be so much better for both of them if it weregiven up. '

'Is there anything against her?'

'Oh no, not at all; only that, poor thing, she is quite unfitted for theposition, and between ourselves, in the condition of the property, it isreally incumbent on his Lordship to marry a lady of fortune. At his agehe cannot afford romance, ' she added with a laugh, being in fact ratherinferior to her husband in tone, or perhaps in manners. Indeed, she wasof all others the person who most shrivelled up the man whom she hadalways treated like a poor dependent, till her politeness became stillmore embarrassing. Among all the party, Sir Edward and Lady Kenton werethose with whom he was most nearly at ease, for they had nothing torevoke in their manners towards him, and could, without any change, treathim as an equal whom they respected; nor did they try to force himforward into general conversation--as did his host--with the bestintentions. 

Lady Kenton, under cover of Miss Burford's piano, asked him whether shemight call on Miss Marshall, and saw him flush with gratitude andpleasure, as he answered, 'It will be very kind in you. '

Lady Kenton knew enough of the ways of the school to understand when tomake her visit, so as to have a previous conversation with Miss Lang, whom of course she already knew. That lady received her in one of thedrawing-rooms, the folding doors into the other were shut. 

'I have told Miss Marshall, ' said Miss Lang, 'that the room is always ather service to receive Lord Northmoor, though, in fact, he never comestill after business hours. '

'He is behaving very well. '

'Very honourably indeed; but poor Miss Marshall is in a very distressingposition. '

'Indeed! Is she not very happy in his constancy?'

'She is in great doubt and difficulty, ' said Miss Lang, 'and we reallyhardly know how to advise her. She seems sure of his affection, but sheshrinks from entering on a position for which she is so unfit. '

'Is she really unfit?'

Miss Lang hesitated. 'She is a complete lady, and as good andconscientious a creature as ever existed; but you see, Lady Kenton, herwhole life has been spent here, ever since she was sixteen, she has knownnothing beyond the schoolroom, and how she is ever to fulfil the dutiesof a peeress, and the head of a large establishment, I really cannot see. It might be just misery to her, and to him, too. '

'Has she good sense?'

'Yes, very fair sense. We can trust to her judgment implicitly indealing with the girls, and she teaches well, but she is not at allclever, and could never shine. '

'Perhaps a person who wanted to shine might be embarrassing, ' said LadyKenton, rather amused. 

'Well, it might be so. The poor man is certainly no star himself, butsurely he needs some one who would draw him out, and push him forward, make a way in society, in fact. '

'That might not be for his domestic happiness. '

'Perhaps not, but your Ladyship has not seen what a poor littleinsignificant creature she is--though, indeed, we are both very fond ofher, and should be very much relieved not to think we ought to strengthenher scruples. For, indeed, ' and tears actually came into the good lady'seyes, 'I am sure that though she would release him for his good, that itwould break her heart. Shall I call her? Ah!' as a voice began tobecome very audible on the other side of the doors, 'she has a visitor. '

'Not Lord Northmoor. It is a woman's voice, and a loud one. '

Presently, indeed, there was a tone that made Lady Kenton say, 'People doscent things very fast. It must be some one wanting to apply forpatronage. '

'I am a little afraid it is that sister-in-law of his, ' said Miss Lang, lowering her voice. 'I saw her once at the choral festival--and--and Iwasn't delighted. '

'Perhaps I had better come another day, ' said Lady Kenton. 'We seem tobe almost listening. '

Even as the lady was taking her leave, the words were plainly heard--

'Artful, mean-spirited, time-serving viper as you are, bent on dragginghim down to destruction!'

CHAPTER VIIMORTONS AND MANNERS

'Shillyshally, ' quoth Mrs. Charles Morton over her brother-in-law'sletter. 'Does he think a mother is to be put off like that?'

So she arrayed herself in panoply of glittering jet and nodding plumes, and set forth by train to Hurminster to assert her rights, and those ofher children, armed with a black sunshade, and threepocket-handkerchiefs. She did not usually wear mourning, but this was anassertion of her nobility. 

In his sitting-room, wearing his old office coat, pale, wearied, andworried, the Frank Morton, 'who could be turned round the finger of anyone who knew how, ' appeared at her summons. 

She met him with an effusive kiss of congratulation. 'Dearest Frank!No, I must not say Frank! I could hardly believe my eyes when I read thenews. '

'Nor I, ' said he. 

'Nor the dear children. Oh, if your dear brother were only here! We arelonging to hear all about it, ' she said, as she settled herself in thearm-chair, a relic of his mother. 

He repeated what he had told Mary about the family, the Park, and theLondon house. 

'I suppose there is a fine establishment of servants and carriages?'

'The servants are to be paid off. As to the carriages and the rest ofthe personal property, they go to Miss Morton; but the executors arearranging about my paying for such furniture as I shall want. '

'And jewels?'

'There are some heirlooms, but I have not seen them. How are thechildren?'

'Very well; very much delighted. Dear Herbert is the noblest boy. Hewas ready to begin on his navigation studies this next term, but ofcourse there is no occasion for that now. '

'It is a pity, with his taste for the sea, that he is too old to be anaval cadet. '

'The army is a gentleman's profession, if he must have one. '

'I must consider what is best for him. '

'Yes, my Lord, ' impressively. 'I am hoping to know what you mean to dofor your dear brother's dear orphans, ' and her handkerchief went up toher eyes. 

'I hope at any rate to give Herbert the education of a gentleman, and tosend his sisters to good schools. How are they getting on?'

'Dear Ida, she is that clever and superior that a master in music andFrench is all she would want. Besides, you know, she is that delicate. Connie is the bookish one; she is so eager about the examination that shewill go on at her school; though I would have taken her away from such alow place at once. '

'It is a good school, and will have given her a good foundation. I mustsee what may be best for them. '

'And, of course, you will put us in a situation becoming the family ofyour dear brother, ' she added, with another application of thehandkerchief. 

'I mean to do what I can, you may be sure, but at present it isimpossible to name any amount. I neither know what income is coming tome, nor what will be my expenses. I meant to come and see you as soon asthere was anything explicit to tell you; but of course this first yearthere will be much less in hand than later. '

'Well, ' she said, pouting, 'I can put up with something less in themeantime, for of course your poor dear brother's widow and children areyour first consideration, and even a nobleman as a bachelor cannot haveso many expenses. '

'I shall not long continue a bachelor, ' was the answer, given with a sortof shy resolution. 

'Now, Lord Northmoor! You don't mean to say that you intend to go onwith that ridiculous affair; when, if you marry at all, it ought to beone who will bring something handsome into the family. '

'Once for all, Emma, I will hear no more on that subject. A twentyyears' engagement is not lightly to be broken. '

'A wretched little teacher, ' she began, but she was cut short. 

'Remember, I will hear no more of this, and' (nothing but despair ofother means could have inspired him) 'it is for your own interest toabstain from insulting my future wife and myself by such remonstrances. '

Even then she muttered, 'Very hard! Not even good-looking. '

'That is as one may think, ' said he, mentally contrasting the flaunting, hardened complexion before him with the sweet countenance he had neverperceived to be pinched or faded; and as he heard something between ascornful sniff and a sob, he added, 'I am wanted in the office, so, ifyou have no more to say of any consequence, I must leave you, and Hannahshall give you some tea. '

'Oh, oh, that you should leave your poor brother's widow in this way!'and she melted into tears and sobs. 

'I can't help it, Emma, ' he said, distressed and perplexed. 'They wantme about some business of Mr. Claughton's, and I can't keep them waiting. These are office hours, you know. Have some tea, and I will come to youagain. '

But Mrs. Emma swallowed her sobs as soon as he was gone, and instead ofwaiting for the tea, set forth for Miss Lang's. On asking for MissMarshall she was shown into the drawing-room, where, after she had waiteda few minutes, nursing her wrath to keep it warm, the small figureappeared, whom she had no hesitation in accosting thus--

'Now, Miss Marshall, do I understand that you are resolved to attemptthrusting yourself on his Lordship, Lord Northmoor's family?'

Mary, entirely taken by surprise, could only falter, 'I can only dowhatever he wishes. '

'That is just a mere pretence. I wonder you are not ashamed to play onhis honourable feelings, when you know everything is changed, and that itis absolutely ridiculous and derogatory for a peer of the realm to stoopto a mere drudge of a teacher. '

'It is, ' owned Mary; but she went back to her formulary, 'it must be ashe wishes. '

'If he is infatuated enough to pretend to wish it, I tell you it is yoursimple duty to refuse him. '

Whatever might be Mary's own views of her duty, to have it inculcated insuch a manner stirred her whole soul into opposition, which was shown, not in words, but in a tiny curve of the lips, such as infuriated hervisitor, so that vulgarity and violence were under no restraint, andwhether all self-command was lost in passion, or whether there was anidea that bullying might gain the day, Mrs. Morton's voice rose into ashrill scream as she denounced the nasty, mean-spirited viper, wormingherself--

The folding doors suddenly opened and in a dignified tone Miss Langannounced, 'Lady Kenton wishes to be introduced to you, Miss Marshall. '

Mary made her little formal bend as well as her trembling limbs wouldallow her. Her cheeks were hot, her eyes swam, her hand shook as LadyKenton took it kindly, while Mrs. Morton, too strong in her ownconvictions to perceive how the land lay, exclaimed, 'Your Ladyship iscome for the same purpose as me, to let Miss Marshall know howdetrimental and improper it is in her to persist in holding my brother, Lord Northmoor, to the unfortunate engagement she inveigled him into. '

To utter this with moderate coolness cost such an effort that she thoughtMr. Rollstone could not have done it better, and was astonished when LadyKenton replied, 'Indeed, I came to have the pleasure of congratulatingMiss Marshall on, if it be not impertinent to say so, a beautiful andrare perseverance and constancy being rewarded. '

'As if she had not known what she was about, ' muttered Mrs. Morton, noteven yet quite confounded, but as she saw the lady lay another hand overthat of still trembling Mary, she added, 'Well, if that is the case, mylady, and she is to be encouraged in her obstinacy, I have no more tosay, except that it is a cruel shame on his poor dear brother's children, that--that he has made so much of, and have the best right--' and shebegan to sob again. 

'Come, ' said Miss Lang, as if talking to a naughty girl, 'if you areovercome like that, you had better come away. '

Wherewith authoritative habits made it possible to her to get Mrs. Mortonout of the room; while Mary, well used to self-restraint, was strugglingwith choking tears, but when warm-hearted Lady Kenton drew her close andkissed her, they began to flow uncontrollably, so that she could onlygasp, 'Oh, I beg your pardon, my lady!'

'Never mind, ' was the answer; 'I don't wonder! There's no word for thatlanguage but brutal. '

'Oh, don't, ' was Mary's cry. 'She is _his_, Lord Northmoor'ssister-in-law, and he has done everything for her ever since hisbrother's death. '

'That is no reason she should speak to you in that way. I must ask youto excuse me, but we could not help hearing, she was so loud, and then Ifelt impelled to break in. '

'It was very very kind! But oh, I wish I knew whether she is not in theright after all!'

'I am sure Lord Northmoor is deeply attached--quite in earnest, ' saidLady Kenton, feeling rather as if she was taking a liberty. 

'Yes, I know it would grieve him most dreadfully, if it came to an endnow, dear fellow. I know it would break my heart, too, but never mindthat, I would go away, out of his reach, and he might get over it. Wouldit not be better than his being always ashamed of an inferior, incompetent creature, always dragging after him?'

'I do not think you can be either, after what my daughter and Miss Langhave told me. '

'You see, it is not even as if I had been a governess in a privatefamily, I have always been here. I know nothing about servants, or greathouses, or society, not so much as our least little girl, who has ahome. '

'May I tell you what I think, my dear, ' said Lady Kenton, greatlytouched. 'You have nothing to unlearn, and there is nothing needful tothe position but what any person of moderate ability and good sense canacquire, and I am quite sure that Lord Northmoor would be far less happywithout you, even in the long-run, besides the distress you would causehim now. It is not a brilliant, showy person that he needs, but one tounderstand and make him a real home. '

'That is what he is always telling me, ' said Mary, somewhat cheered. 

'Yes, and he could not help showing where his heart is, ' said the lady. 'Now the holidays are near, are they not?'

'The 11th of July. '

'Then, if you have no other plans, will you come and stay with me? Weare very quiet people, but you would have an opportunity of understandingsomething of the kind of life. '

'Oh, how very kind of you! Nobody has been so good to me. '

'I think I can help you in some of the difficulties if you will let me, 'said Lady Kenton, quite convinced herself, and leaving a much happierwoman than she had found. 

CHAPTER VIIISECOND THOUGHTS

Though Miss Lang was shocked and indignant at Mrs. Morton's violence, shewas a wise woman, and felt that it would be better tact not to let such aperson depart without an attempt at pacification; so she did her best atdignified soothing, and listened to a good deal of grumbling andlamentation. 

She contrived, however, to give the impression that as things stood, Mrs. Morton would be far wiser to make no more resistance, but to consultfamily peace by accepting Miss Marshall, who, she assured the visitor, was a very kind and excellent person, not likely to influence LordNorthmoor against his own family, except on great provocation. 

Mrs. Morton actually yielded so far as to declare she had only spoken forher dear brother-in-law's own good, and that since he was so infatuated, she supposed, for her dear children's sake, she must endure it. Havingno desire to encounter him again, she went off by the next train, leavinga message that she had had tea at Miss Lang's. She related at home toher expectant daughter that Lord Northmoor had grown 'that high andstuck-up, there was no speaking to him, and that there Miss Marshall wasan artful puss, as knew how to play her cards and get _in_ with thequality. '

'I wish you had taken me, ma, ' said Ida, 'I should have known what to sayto them. '

'I can't tell, child, you might only have made it worse. I see how it isnow, and we must be mum, or it may be the worse for us. He says he willdo what he can for us, but I know what that means. She will hold thepurse-strings, and make him meaner than he is already. He will neverknow how to spend his fortune now he has got it! If your poor, dear pahad only been alive now, he would never have let you be wronged. '

'But you gave it to them?' cried Ida. 

'That I did! Only that lady, Lady Kenton, came in all stuck-up andhaughty, and cut me short, interfering as she had no business to, or Iwould have brought Miss Mary to her marrow-bones. She hadn't a word tosay for herself, but now she has got those fine folks on her side, thething will go on as sure as fate. However, I've done my dooty, that'sone comfort; and now, I suppose I shall have to patch it up as best Ican. '

'I wouldn't!' said Ida hotly. 

'Ah, Ida, my dear, you don't know what a mother won't do for herchildren. '

A sigh that was often reiterated as Mrs. Morton composed a letter to herbrother-in-law, with some hints from Ida on the spelling, and some fromMr. Rollstone on the address. The upshot was that her dear brother andhis _fiancee_ were to believe her actuated by the purest sense of theduty and anxiety she owed to them and her dear children, the orphans ofhis dear deceased brother. Now that she had once expressed herself, shetrusted to her dear Frank's affectionate nature to bury all in oblivion, and to believe that she should be ready to welcome her new sister-in-lawwith the warmest affection. Therewith followed a request for fivepounds, to pay for her mourning and darling Ida's, which they had feltdue to him!

Lord Northmoor did not quite see how it was due to him, nor did he intendto give whatever his dear sister-in-law might demand, but she had madehim so angry that he felt that he must prove his forgiveness to himself. Mary had not thought it needful to describe the force of the attack uponherself, or perhaps his pardon might not have gone so far. He sent thenote, and added that as he was wanted at Northmoor for a day or two, hewould take his nephew Herbert with him. 

This was something like, as Mrs. Morton said, a kind of tangibleacknowledgment of their relationship and of Herbert as his heir, and itwas a magnificent thing to tell all her acquaintances that her son wasgone to the family seat with his uncle, Lord Northmoor. She would fainhave obtained for him some instructions in the manners of the upper tenthousand from Mr. Rollstone, but Herbert entirely repudiated listening tothat old fogey, observing that after all it was only old Frank, and hewasn't going to bother himself for the like of him. 

The uncle was fond of his brother's boy, and had devised this plan partlyfor the sake of the pleasure it would give, and partly because it wasimpossible to form any judgment of his character while with the mother. He was a fine, well-grown, manly boy, and when seen among his companions, had an indefinable air of good blood about him. He had hitherto been ata good day-school which prepared boys for the merchant service, and histastes were so much in the direction of the sea, that it was much to beregretted that at fourteen and a half it was useless to think ofpreparation for a naval cadetship. He was sent up by train to join hisuncle at Hurminster, and the first question after the greeting was, 'Isay, uncle, shan't you have a yacht?'

'I could not afford it, if I wished it, ' was the answer, while _Punch_was handed over to him, and Lord Northmoor applied himself to a long blueletter. 

'Landlubber!' sighed Herbert to himself, with true marine contempt for aman who had sat on an office-stool all his life. 'He doesn't look a bitmore of a swell than he used to. It is well there's some one with somepluck in the family. '

CHAPTER IXTHE HEIR-PRESUMPTUOUS

Herbert began to be impressed when, on the train arriving at a littlecountry station, a servant in mourning, with finger to his hat, inquiredafter his Lordship's luggage, and another was seen presiding over acoroneted brougham. 

'I say, ' he breathed forth, when they were shut in, 'is this yours?'

'It is Miss Morton's, I believe, at present. I am to arrange whether tokeep it or not. '

They were driving over an open heath in its summer carpet-like state ofpurple heather, dwarf gorse, and bracken. Lord Northmoor looked out, with thoughtfulness in his face. By and by there was a gate, a lodge, acurtseying woman, and as they passed it, he said, 'Now, this isNorthmoor. '

'Yours, uncle?'

'Yes. '

'My--!' was all Herbert could utter. It semed to his town-bred eyes ahuge space before they reached, through some rather scanty plantations, another lodge, and a park, not very extensive, but with a few fine trees, and they thundered up beneath the pillars to what was, to his idea, apalace--with servants standing about in a great hall. 

His uncle would have turned one way, but a servant said, 'Miss Morton isin the morning-room, my Lord, ' and ushered them into a room where a ladyin black came forward. 

'You did not expect to find me here still, ' she said cordially; 'butAdela is gone to her brother's, and I thought I had better stay for thedivision of--of the things. '

'Oh, certainly--I am--glad, ' he stammered, with a blush as one not quitesure of the correctness of the proceeding. 'I wouldn't have intruded--'

'Bosh! I'm the intruder. Letitia Bury is gone--alas--but, ' said she, laughing, 'Hailes is here--staying, ' she added to relieve him and tolessen the confusion that amused her, 'and I see you have a companion. Your nephew--?'

'Yes, Herbert, my late brother's son. I would not have brought him if Ihad known. '

'A cousin, ' she said, smiling, and shaking hands with him. 'Boys are mydelight. This is quite a new experience. '

Herbert looked up surprised, not much liking to become an experience. Hehad had less intercourse with ladies than many boys of humblerpretensions, for his mother had always scouted the idea of sending herchildren to a Sunday-school, and she was neither like his mother'sfriends nor his preconceived notions. 'There! for want of anintroduction, I must introduce myself. Your cousin Bertha, or Birdie, whichever you like best. '

Frank was by no means prepared to say even Bertha, and was in agonieslest Herbert should presume on the liberty given him; but if the boy hadbeen in the palace of Truth, he would have said, 'You old girl, you areawfully old to call yourself Birdie!' For Birdie had been a pet name ofRose Rollstone; and Bertha Morton, though slim and curly-headed, had aworn look about her eyes, and a countenance such as to show herfive-and-thirty years, and to the eyes of fourteen was almostantediluvian; indeed, older observers might detect a worn, haggard, strained look. He was somewhat disgusted, too, at the thin rolls ofbread-and-butter on the low table, whence she proceeded to hand teacups, as he thought of the substantial meals at home. When they had beenconducted to their rooms, and his uncle followed to his, he broke outwith his perpetual, 'I say, uncle, is this all the grub great swellshave? I'm awfully peckish!'

'That's early tea, my boy, ' was the answer, with a smile. 'There'sdinner to come, and I hope you will behave yourself well, and not usesuch expressions. '

'Dinner! that's not such a bad hearing, but I suppose one must eat itlike a judge?'

'Certainly; I am afraid I am not a very good model, but don't you doanything you don't see me do. And, Herbert, don't take wine every timethe servants offer it. '

At which Herbert made a face. 

'Have you got any evening shoes? No! If I had only known that the ladywas here! It can't be helped to-day, only wash your face and hands well;there's some hot water. '

'Why, they ain't dirty, ' said the boy, surveying them as one to whom theremains of a journey were mere trifles, then, with a sigh, 'It's no endof a place, but you swells have a lot of bores, and no mistake!'

Upstairs Herbert roamed about studying with great curiosity theappliances of the first bedchamber he had ever beheld beyond the degreeof his mother's 'first floor, ' but downstairs, he was in the mood of thesavage, too proud to show wonder or admiration or the sense of awe withwhich he was inspired by being waited on by the very marrow of Mr. Rollstone, always such grand company at home. This daunted him far morethan the presence of the lady, and though his was a spirit not easilydaunted, he almost blushed when that personage peremptorily resisted hisendeavour to present the wrong glass for champagne, which fortunately hedisliked too much at the first taste to make another attempt. LordNorthmoor, for the first time at the foot of his own table, was on thornsall the time, lest he should see his nephew commit some indiscretion, andleft most of the conversation to Miss Morton and Mr. Hailes, thesolicitor, a fine-looking old gentleman, who was almost fatherly to her, very civil to him, but who cast somewhat critical eyes on the cub whomight have to be licked into a shape befitting the heir. 

They tried to keep their host in the conversation, but without muchsuccess, though he listened as it drifted into immediate interests andaffairs of the neighbourhood, and made response, as best he could, to theexplanations which, like well-bred people, they from time to timedirected to him. He thus learnt that Lady Adela with her little Amicehad been carried off 'by main force, ' Bertha said, 'by her brother. Butshe will come back again, ' she added. 'She is devoted to the place andher graves--and the poor people. '

'I do not know what they would do without her, ' said Mr. Hailes. 

'No. She is lady-of-all-work and Pro-parsoness--with all her might';then seeing, or thinking she saw, a puzzled look, she added, 'I don'tknow if you discovered, Northmoor, that our Vicar, Mr. Woodman, has nowife, and Adela has supplied the lack to the parish, having a soul forcountry poor, whereas they are too tame for me. I care about myneighbours, of course, after a sort, but the jolly city sparrows of theslums for me! I long to be away. '

What to say to this Lord Northmoor knew as little as did his nephew, andwith some difficulty he managed to utter, 'Are not they veryuncivilised?'

'That's the beauty of it, ' said Bertha; 'I've spotted my own specialpreserve of match-girls, newsboys, etc. , and Mr. Hailes is going to helpme to get a scrumptious little house, whence I can get to it byunderground rail. Oh, you may shake your head, Mr. Hailes, but if youwill not help me, I shall set my unassisted genius to work, and you'llonly suffer agonies in thinking of the muddle I may be making. '

'What does Lady Adela say?' asked Mr. Hailes. 

'She thinks me old enough to take care of myself, whatever you do, Mr. Hailes; besides, she knows I can come up to breathe! I long for it!'

The dinner ended by Bertha rising, and proposing to Herbert to come withher. It was not too dark, she said, to look out into the Park and seethe rabbits scudding about. 

'Ah!' said Mr. Hailes, shaking his head as they went, 'the rabbits oughtnot to be so near, but there has been sad neglect since poor Mr. Morton'sdeath. '

It was much easier to get on in a _tete-a-tete_, and before long Mr. Hailes had heard some of the perplexities about Herbert, the foremost ofwhich was how to make him presentable for ladies' society in the evening. If Miss Morton's presence had been anticipated, either his uncle wouldnot have brought him, or would have fitted him out beforehand, for thoughhe looked fit for the fields and woods in male company, evening costumehad not yet dawned on his imagination. Mr. Hailes recommended sendinghim in the morning to the town at Colbeam, under charge of the butler, Prowse--who would rather enjoy the commission, and was quite capable ofkeeping up any needed authority. For the future training, the moreimportant matter on which he was next consulted, Mr. Hailes mentioned thename of a private tutor, who was likely to be able to deal with the boybetter under present circumstances than a public school could do--sinceat Herbert's age, his ignorance of the classics on the one hand, and ofgentlemanly habits on the other, would tell too much against him. 

'But, ' said Mr. Hailes, 'Miss Morton will be a very good adviser to youon that head. '

'She is very good-natured to him, ' said Frank. 

'No one living has a better heart than Miss Morton, ' said Mr. Hailesheartily; 'a little eccentric, owing to--to circumstances. She has hadher troubles, poor dear; but she has as good a heart as ever was, as youwill find, my Lord, in all arrangements with her. '

Nevertheless, Lord Northmoor's feelings towards her might be startled thenext morning, when he descended to the dining-room. A screen cut off thedoor, and as he was coming round it, followed by his nephew, Bertha'sclear voice was heard saying, 'Yes, he is inoffensive, but he is a stick. There's no denying it, Mr. Hailes, he is a dreadful stick. '

Frank was too far advanced to retire, before the meaning dawned on him, partly through a little explosion of Herbert behind him, and partly fromthe guilty consternation and colour with which the other two turned roundfrom the erection of plants among which they were standing. 

Yet it was the shy man who spoke first in the predicament, like a timidcreature driven to bay. 

'Yes, Miss Morton, I know it is too true; no one is more sensible of itthan myself. I can only hope to do my best, such as it is. '

'Oh, Northmoor, it was very horrid and unguarded in me, and I can only besorry and beg your pardon, ' and while she laughed and held out her hand, there was a dew in her eyes. 

'Truths do not need pardon, ' he said, as he gave a cousinly grasp, 'and Ithink you will try kindly to excuse my deficiencies and disadvantages. '

There was a certain dignity in his tone, and Bertha said heartily--

'Thank you. It is all right in essentials, and chatter is of very littleconsequence. Now come and have some breakfast. '

They got on together far better after that, and began to feel likerelations, before Herbert was sent off with Mr. Prowse to Colbeam. Indeed, throughout the transactions that followed, Bertha showed herselffar less devoted to her own interests than to what might be called thehonour of the family. Her father's will had been made in haste, afterthe death of his little grandson, and was as concise as possible, herinfluence having told upon it. Knowing that the new heir would havenothing to begin with, and aware that if he inherited merely the title, house, and land, he would be in great straits, the old Lord hadbequeathed to him nearly what would have been left to the grandson, afair proportion of the money in the funds and bank, and all the furnitureand appurtenances of Northmoor House, excepting such articles as Berthaand Lady Adela might select, each up to a certain value. 

Lady Adela's had been few, and already chosen, and Bertha's weremanifestly only matters of personal belonging, and not up altogether tothe amount named; so as to avoid stripping the place, which, at the best, was only splendid in utterly unaccustomed eyes. Horses and carriages hadto be bought of her, and it was she who told him what was absolutelynecessary, and fixed the price as low as she could, so as not to makethem a gift. And he was not so ignorant in this matter as she hadexpected--for the old habits of his boyhood served him, he could ridewell, and his scruples at Miss Morton's estimate proved that he knew ahorse when he saw it--as she said. She would, perhaps, have liked himbetter if he had been a dissipated horsey man like his father. He wouldhave given her sensations--and on his side, considering the reputation ofthe family, he was surprised at her eager, almost passionate desire to berid of the valuable horses and equipages as soon as possible. 

When, in the afternoon, she went out of doors to refresh herself with asolitary ramble in the Park after her morning of business, she heard analtercation, and presently encountered a keeper, dragging after him atrespasser, in whom, to her amazement, she recognised Herbert Morton, atthe same moment as he exclaimed: 'Cousin Bertha! Miss-- Look at thisimpudent fellow, though I told him I was Lord Northmoor's own nephew. '

'And I told him, ma'am, ' said the keeper, touching his hat, 'that if hewas ten nephews I wouldn't have him throwing stones at my pheasants, norhis Lordship wouldn't neither, and then he sauced me, and I said I wouldsee what his Lordship said to that. '

'You must excuse him this time, Best, ' said Miss Morton; 'he is atown-bred boy, and knows no better, and you had better not worry hisLordship about it. '

'Very well, Miss Morton, if it is your pleasure, but them pheasants aremy province, and I must do my dooty. '

'Of course, quite right, Best, ' she answered; 'but my cousin here did notunderstand, and you must make allowance for him. '

Best touched his hat again, and went off with an undercurrent of growl. 

'Oh, Herbert, this is a pity!' Miss Morton exclaimed. 

'Cheeky chap!' said Herbert sulkily. 'What business had he to meddlewith me? A great big wild bird gets up with no end of a row, and I didnothing but shy a stone, and out comes this fellow at me in a regularwax, and didn't care half a farthing when I told him who I was. I fancyhe did not believe me. '

'I don't wonder, ' said Bertha; 'you have yet to learn that in the eyes ofany gentleman, nothing is much more sacred than a pheasant. '

'I never meant to hurt the thing, only one just chucks a stone, ' mutteredHerbert, abashed, but still defensive and offended. 'I thought my unclewould teach the rascal how to speak to me. '

'I'll tell you what, Herbert, if you take that line with good oldservants, who are only doing their duty, you won't have a happy time ofit here. I suppose you wish to take your place as a gentleman. Well, the greatest sign of a gentleman is to be courteous and well-behaved toall about him. '

'He wasn't courteous or well-behaved to me. '

'No, because you did not show yourself such a gentleman as he has beenused to. If you acted like a tramp or a poacher, no wonder he thoughtyou one'; then, after a pause, 'You will find that much of your pleasurein sport depends on the keepers, and that it would be a greatdisadvantage to be on bad terms with them, so I strongly advise you, onevery account, to treat them with civility, and put out of your head thatthere is any dignity in being rude. '

Herbert liked Miss Morton, and had been impressed as well as kindlytreated by her, and though he sulked now, there was an after-effect. 

CHAPTER XCOMING HONOURS

With great trepidation did Mary Marshall set forth on her visit to ColesKenton. She had made up her mind--and a determined mind it could be onoccasion--that on it should turn her final acceptance of her twentyyears' lover. 

Utterly inexperienced as she was, even in domestic, not to say high life, she had perhaps an exaggerated idea, alike of its requirements and of herown deficiencies; and she was resolved to use her own judgment, accordingto her personal experience, whether she should be hindrance or help tohim whom she loved too truly and unselfishly to allow herself to be madethe former. 

She was glad that for the first few days she should not see him, andshould thus be less distracted and biased, but it was with a sinkingheart that she heard that Lady Kenton had called to take her up in thecarriage. Grateful as she was for the kindness, which saved her thedreariness of a solitary arrival, she was a strange mixture of resolutionand self-distrust, of moral courage and timidity, as had been shown byher withstanding all Miss Lang's endeavours to make her improve her dressbeyond what was absolutely necessary for the visit, lest it should bepresuming on the future. 

Lady Kenton had a manner such as to smooth away shyness, and, with tactthat perceived with what kind of nature she had to deal, managed to makethe tea-table serve only as a renewal of acquaintance with Frederica, andan introduction to Sir Edward, after which Mary was taken to theschoolroom and made known to the governess, a kindly, sensible woman, who, according to previous arrangement, made the visitor free of herdomains as a refuge. 

The prettiness and luxury of the guest-chamber was quite a shock, andMary would rather have faced a dozen naughty girls than have taken SirEdward's arm to go in to dinner. However, her hostess had decided on aquiet course of treatment such as not to frighten this pupil, and it hadbeen agreed only to take enough notice of her to prevent her from feelingherself neglected, until she should begin to be more at ease. Nor was itlong before a certain sparkle in the brown eyes showed that she wasamused by, and appreciative of, the family talk. 

It was true, as Lady Kenton had told her, that she had nothing tounlearn, all she wanted was confidence, experience, and ease, and in sohumble, gentle, and refined a nature as hers, the acquisition of thesecould not lead to the disclosure of anything undesirable. So, after thefirst day of novelty, when she had learnt the hours, could distinguishbetween the young people, knew her way about the house so as to be secureof not opening the wrong doors, and when she had learnt where and whenshe would be welcome and even helpful, she began to enjoy herself and thelife, the beauty, and the leisure. 

She made friends heartily with the governess, fraternised with Freda, taught the younger girls new games, could hold a sort of conversationwith Sir Edward, became less afraid of George, and daily had more offilial devotion to Lady Kenton. The books on the tables were a realdelight and pleasure to her, when she found that it was not ill-manneredto sit down and read in the forenoon, and the discussion of them was agreat help in what Freda called teaching her to talk. Visitors were verygradually brought upon her, a gentleman or two at first, who knew nothingabout her, perhaps thought her the governess and merely bowed to her. There was only one real _contretemps_, when some guests, who lived ratherbeyond the neighbourhood, arrived for afternoon tea, and, moreover, fullof curiosity about Lord Northmoor. Was it true that he was an attorney'sclerk, and was not he going to marry a very inferior person?

'Certainly not, ' said Lady Kenton. 'He is engaged to my friend, MissMarshall. '

The said Miss Marshall was handing the sugar, while Freda was pouring outthe tea. She had been named on the ladies' entrance, and the colour roseto her eyes but she said nothing, while there was a confusion of, 'I begpardon. I understand. '

'Report makes a good many mistakes, ' said Lady Kenton coolly. 'Mary, mydear, you have given me no sugar. '

It was the first time of calling her by her Christian name, and done forthe sake of making the equal intimacy apparent. In fact, Mary wasbehaving herself better than the visitors, as Lady Kenton absolutely toldher when a sort of titter was heard in the hall, where they wereexpressing to Freda their horror at the scrape, and extorting that MissMarshall was really a governess. 

'But quite a lady, ' said Freda stoutly, 'and we are all as fond of her aspossible. '

It showed how much progress she had made that even this shock did not sether to express any more faint-hearted doubts, and, when Lord Northmoorarrived the next day, the involuntary radiance on both their faces wastoken enough that they were all the world to each other. Mary allowedherself to venture on getting Lady Kenton's counsel on the duties ofhousehold headship that would fall on her; and instead of being terrifiedat the great garden-party and dinner-party to be held at Coles Kenton, eagerly availed herself of instruction in the details of theirmanagement. She had accepted her fate, and when the two were seen movingabout among the people of the party they neither of them lookedincongruous with the county aristocracy. Quiet, retiring, andinsignificant they might be, but there was nothing to remark by the mostcurious eyes of those who knew they were to see the new peer and hisdestined bride; in fact, as George and Freda privately remarked, theywere just the people that nobody ever would see at all, unless they wereset up upon a pedestal. 

Mary still feebly suggested, when the marriage was spoken of, that itmight be wiser for Frank to wait a year, get over his first expenses andfeel his way; but he would not hear of her going back to her work, andpleaded his solitude so piteously that she could not but consent to letit take place as soon as possible. They would fain have kept it asprivate as possible, but their good friends were of opinion that it wasnecessary to give them a start with some _eclat_, and insisted that itshould take place with all due honours at Coles Kenton, where Mary wastreated like a favoured niece, and assisted with counsel on her_trousseau_. The savings she had made during the long years of herengagement were enough to fit her out sufficiently to feel that she wasbringing her own wardrobe, and Lady Kenton actually went to London withher to superintend the outlay. 

'Whom would they like to have asked to the wedding?' the lady inquired, herself naming the Langs and Burfords. 'Of course, ' she added, smiling, 'Freda and Alice will be only too happy to be bridesmaids. Have you anyone whom you would wish to ask? Your old scholars perhaps. '

'I think, ' said Mary, hesitating, 'that one reason why we think we oughtto decline your kindness was--about _his_ relations. '

Lady Kenton had given full license to the propriety of calling _him_Frank with intimate friends, but Mary always had a shyness about it. 

'Indeed, I should make no question about asking them, if I had notdoubted whether, after what passed--'

'That is all forgotten, ' said Mary gently. 'I have had quite a niceletter since, and--'

'Of course they must be asked, ' said Lady Kenton; 'I should have proposedit before, but for that scene. '

'That is nothing, ' said Mary; 'the doubt is whether, considering thestyle of people, it would not be better for us to manage it otherwise, and not let you be troubled. '

'Oh, that's nothing! On such an occasion there's no fear of their notbehaving like the rest of the world. There are girls, I think; theyshould be bridesmaids. '

This very real kindness overcame all scruples, and indeed a great dealmight be forgiven to Miss Marshall in consideration of the glory oftelling all Westhaven of the invitation to be present 'at my brother LordNorthmoor's wedding, at Sir Edward Kenton's, Baronet. ' He gave thedresses, not only the bridesmaids' white and cerise (Freda's choice), butthe chocolate moire which for a minute Mrs. Morton fancied 'the littlespiteful cat' had chosen on purpose to suppress her, till assured by allqualified beholders, especially Mrs. Rollstone and a dressmaker friend, that in nothing else would she have looked so entirely quite the lady. 

And Lady Kenton's augury was fulfilled. The whole family were subduedenough by their surroundings to comport themselves quite well enough topass muster. 

CHAPTER XIPOSSESSION

So Francis Morton, Baron Northmoor of Northmoor, and Mary Marshall, daughter of the late Reverend John Marshall, were man and wife at last. Their honeymoon was ideally happy. It fulfilled a dream of their life, when Frank used, in the holidays spent by Mary with his mother, to readaloud the Waverley novels, and they had calculated, almost as animpossible castle in the air, the possibility of visiting the localities. And now they went, as assuredly they had never thought of going, and notmuch impeded by the greatness that had been thrust on them. Thegood-natured Kentons had dispensed his Lordship from the encumbrance of avalet, and though my Lady could not well be allowed to go maidless, LadyKenton had found a sensible, friendly person for her, of whom she soonceased to be afraid, and thus felt the advantage of being able to attendto her husband instead of her luggage. 

Tourists might look and laugh at their simple delight as at that of apair of unsophisticated cockneys. This did not trouble them, as theytrod what was to them classic ground, tried in vain the impossible featof 'seeing Melrose aright, ' but revelled in what they did see, stood withbated breath at Dryburgh by the Minstrel's tomb, and tracked his magicspells from the Tweed even to Staffa, feeling the full delight for thefirst time of mountain, sea, and loch. Their enjoyment was perhaps evengreater than that of boy and girl, for it was the reaction of chastenedlives and hearts 'at leisure from themselves, ' nor were spirit and vigourtoo much spent for enterprise. 

They tasted to the full every innocent charm that came in their way, and, above all, the bliss of being together in the perfect sympathy that hadbeen the growth of so many years. Their maid, Harte, might well confideto her congeners that though my lord and my lady were the oldest coupleshe had known, they were the most attached, in a quiet way. 

They were loth to end this state of felicity before taking their newcares upon them, and were glad that the arrangements of the executorsmade it desirable that they should not take possession till October, whenthey left behind them the gorgeous autumn beauty of the western coast andjourneyed southwards. 

The bells were rung, the gates thrown wide open, and lights flashed inthe windows as Lord and Lady Northmoor drove up to their home, but it wasin the dark, and there was no demonstrative welcome, the indoor servantswere all new, the cook-housekeeper hired by Lady Kenton's assistance, andthe rest of the maids chosen by her, the butler and his subordinateacquired in like manner. 

It was a little dreary. The rooms looked large and empty. Miss Morton'sbelongings had been just what gave a homelike air to the place, and whenthese were gone, even the big fires could not greatly cheer the hugespaces. However, these two months had accustomed the new arrivals totheir titles, and likewise to being waited upon, and they were less at aloss than they would have been previously, though to Mary especially itwas hard to realise that it was her own house, and that she need ask noone's leave. Also that it was not a duty to sit with a fire. She couldnot well have done so, considering how many were doing their best toenliven the house, and finally she spent the evening in the library, nota very inviting room in itself, but which the late lord had inhabited, and where the present one had already held business interviews. It was, of course, lined with the standard books of the last generation, andMary, who had heard of many, but never had access to them, flitted overthem while her husband opened the letters he had found awaiting him. Toher, what some one has called the 'tea, tobacco, and snuff' of an oldlibrary where the books are chiefly viewed as appropriate furniture, wereall delightful discoveries. Even to 'Hume's _History of England_--ninevolumes! I did not know it was so long! Our first class had theStudent's _Hume_. Is there much difference?'

'Rather to the Student's advantage, I believe. Half these letters, atleast, are mere solicitations for custom! And advertisements!'

'How the books stick together! I wonder when they were opened last!'

'Never, I suspect, ' said he. 'I do not imagine the Mortons were muchdisposed to read. '

'Well, they have left us a delightful store! What's this? Smollett's_Don Quixote_. I always wanted to know about that. Is it not somethingabout giants and windmills? Have you read it?'

'I once read an odd volume. He was half mad, and too good for thisworld, and thought he was living in a romance. I will read you somebits. You would not like it all. '

'Oh, I do hope you will have time to read to me! Gibbon's _Decline andFall of the Roman Empire_. All these volumes! They are quite damp. Youhave read it?'

'Yes, and I wish I could remember all those Emperors. I must put asidethis letter for Hailes--it is a man applying for a house. '

'How strange it sounds! Look, here is such an immense _Shakespeare_!Oh! full of engravings, ' as she fell upon Boydell's_Shakespeare_--another name reverenced, though she only knew a fewselected plays, prepared for elocution exercises. 

Her husband, having had access to the Institute Library, and spent manyevenings over books, was better read than she, whose knowledge went nofarther than that of the highest class, but who knew all very accuratelythat she did know, and was intelligent enough to find in those shelves adelightful promise of pasture. He was by this time sighing over requestsfor subscriptions. 

'Such numbers! Such good purposes! But how can I give?'

'Cannot you give at least a guinea?' asked Mary, after hearing some. 

'I do not know whether in this position a small sum in the list is notmore disadvantageous than nothing at all. Besides, I know nothing of thereal merits. I must ask Hailes. Ah! and here is Emma, I thought thatshe would be a little impatient. She says she shall let her house forthe winter, and thinks of going to London or to Brighton, where she mayhave masters for the girls. '

'Oh, I thought you meant them to go to a good school?'

'So I do, if I can get Emma's consent; but I doubt her choosing to partwith Ida. She wants to come here. '

'I suppose we ought to have her?'

'Yes, but not immediately. I do not mean to neglect her--at least, I dohope to do all that is right; but I think you ought to have a fair starthere before she comes, so that we will invite her for Christmas, and thenwe can arrange about Ida and Constance. '

'Dear little Connie, I hope she is as nice a little girl as she used tobe!'

'With good training, I think, she will be; and the tutor gives me goodaccounts of Herbert in this letter. '

'Shall we have him here on Sunday week?'

'Yes, I am very anxious to see him. I hope his master gives him morereligious instruction than he has ever had, poor boy!'

Though not brilliant or playful, Lord and Lady Northmoor had, it may beperceived, no lack of good sense in their strange new surroundings. Itwas hard not to feel like guests on sufferance, and next morning, aSunday, was wet. However, under their waterproofs and umbrellas trudgingalong, they felt once more, as Mary said, like themselves, as if they hadescaped from their keepers. Nobody on the way had the least idea who thetwo cloaked figures were, and when they crept into the seat nearest thedoor they were summarily ejected by a fat, red-faced man, who growledaudibly, 'You've no business in my pew!'

However, with the words, 'Beg your pardon, ' they stepped out with alittle amusement in their eyes, when a spruce young woman sprang up fromthe opposite pew, with a scandalised whisper--

'Mr. Ruddiman, it's his Lordship! Allow me, my Lord--your own seat--'

And she marshalled them up to the choir followed closely by Mr. Ruddiman, ruddier than ever, and butcher all over, in a perfect agony of apology, which Lord Northmoor in vain endeavoured to suppress or silence, till, when the guide had pointed to a handsome heavy carved seat with elaboratecushions, he gave a final gasp of, 'You'll not remember it in the custom, my Lord, ' and departed, leaving his Lordship almost equally scarlet withannoyance at the place and time of the demonstration, though, happily, the clergyman had not yet appeared, in his long and much-tumbledsurplice. 

It was a case of a partial restoration of a church in the dawn of suchdoings, when the horsebox was removed, but the great family could not berouted out of the chancel, so there were the seats, where the choir oughtto have sat, beneath a very ugly east window, bedecked with the Mortonarms. In the other division of the seat was a pale lady in black, with alittle girl, Lady Adela Morton, no doubt, and opposite were the servants, and the school children sat crowded on the steps. It was not such aservice as had been the custom of the Hurminster churches; and thesinging, such as it was, depended on the thin shrill voices of thechildren, assisted by Lady Adela and the mistress; the sermon was dulland long, and altogether there was something disheartening about thewhole. 

Lady Adela had a gentle, sweet countenance and a simple devout manner;but it was disappointing that she did not attempt to address thenewcomers, though they passed her just outside the churchyard, talking toan old man. Lady Kenton would surely have welcomed them. 

CHAPTER XIITHE BURTHEN OF HONOURS

A fearful affair to the new possessors of Northmoor was the matter ofmorning calls. The first that befell them, as in duty bound, was thatfrom the Vicar. They were peaceably writing their letters in thelibrary, and hoping soon to go out to explore the Park, when Mr. Woodmanwas announced, and was found a lonely black speck in the big drearydrawing-room, a very state room, indeed, which nobody had ever willinglyinhabited. The Vicar was accustomed to be overridden; he was an elderlywidower, left solitary in his old age, and of depressed spirits andmanner. However, Frank had been used to intercourse with clergy, thoughhis relations with them seemed reversed, and instead of being patronised, he had to take the initiative; or rather, they touched each other's cold, shy, limp hands, and sat upright in their chairs, and observed upon theappropriate topic of early frosts, which really seemed to be affectingthemselves. 

There was a little thaw when Lord Northmoor asked about the population, larger, alas, than the congregation might have seemed to show, and Maryasked if there were much poverty, and was answered that there was muchsuffering in the winter, there was not much done for the poor except byLady Adela. 

'You must tell us how we can assist in any way. '

The poor man began to brighten. 'It will be a great comfort to have someinterest in the welfare of the parish taken here, my Lord. The influencehitherto has not been fortunate. Miss Morton, indeed--latterly--but, poor thing, if I may be allowed to say so, she is flighty--anduncertain--no wonder--'

At that moment Lady Adela was ushered in, and the Vicar looked as ifcaught in talking treason, while a fresh nip of frost descended on theparty. 

Not that the lady was by any means on stiff terms with the Vicar, whom, indeed, she daily consulted on parochial subjects, and she had thegracious, hereditary courtesy of high breeding; but she always averredthat this same drawing-room chilled her, and she was fully persuaded thatany advance towards familiarity would lead to something obnoxious on thepart of the newcomers, so that the proper relations between herself andthem could only be preserved by a judicious entrenchment of courtesy. Still, it was more the manner of the Vicar than of herself that gave theimpression of her being a formidable autocrat. After the frost had beenagain languidly discussed, Mr. Woodman faltered out, 'His Lordship wasasking--was so good as to ask--how to assist in the parish. '

Lady Adela knew how scarce money must be, so she hesitated to mentionsubscriptions, and only said, 'Thank you--very kind. '

'Is there any one I could read to?' ventured Mary. 

'Have you been used to the kind of thing?' asked Lady Adela, notunkindly, but in a doubting tone. 

'No, I never could before; but I do wish to try to do something. '

The earnest humility of the tone was touching, the Vicar and the autocratlooked at one another, and the former suggested, 'Old Swan!'

'Yes, ' said Lady Adela, 'old Swan lives out at Linghill, which is notabove half a mile from this house, but too far off for me to visitconstantly. I shall be very much obliged if you can undertake thecottages there. '

'Thank you, ' said Mary, as heartily as if she were receiving a commissionfrom the Bishop of the diocese. 

'Did not Miss Morton mention something about a boys' class?' said Frank. 'I have been accustomed to a Sunday school. '

Mr. Woodman betrayed as much surprise as if he had said he was accustomedto a coal mine; and Lady Adela observed graciously, 'Most of them havegone into service this Michaelmas; but no doubt it will be a relief toMr. Woodman if you find time to undertake them. '

This was the gist of the first two morning calls, and there were manymore such periods of penance, for the bride and bridegroom were notmodern enough in their notions to sit up to await their visitors, andthankful they were to those who would be at the expense of findingconversation, though this was not always the case; for much of theneighbourhood was of a description to be awed by the mere fact of a greathouse, and to take the shyness of titled people for pride. Those withwhom they prospered best were a good-natured, merry old dowager duchess, with whom they felt themselves in the altitude to which they wereaccustomed at Hurminster; a loud-voiced, eager old squire, who was benton being Lord Northmoor's guide and prompter in county business; also aneager, gushing lady, the echoes of whose communications made Frankremark, after her departure, 'We must beware of encouraging gossip aboutthe former family. '

'Oh, I wish I had the power of setting people down when they say what isundesirable, like Miss Lang, or Lady Adela!' sighed Mary. 

'Try to think of them like your school girls, ' he said. 

The returning of the calls was like continually pulling the string of ashower-bath, and glad were the sighs when people proved to be not athome; but on the whole, being entertained was not half so formidable asentertaining, and a bride was not expected to do more than sit in herwhite silk, beside the host. 

But the return parties were an incubus on their minds. Only they werenot to be till after Christmas. 

CHAPTER XIIITHE DOWER HOUSE

Over the hearth of the drawing-room of the Dower House, in the sociabletwilight that had descended on the afternoon tea-table, sat threeladies--for Lady Adela and Miss Morton had just welcomed Mrs. Bury, who, though she had her headquarters in London, generally spent her time invisits to her married daughters or expeditions abroad. 

Amice had just exhibited her doll, Elmira's last acquisition, a littlechest of drawers, made of matchboxes and buttons, that Constance Mortonhad taught her to make, and then she had gone off to put the said Elmiraand her companions to bed, after giving it as her grave opinion that LadyNorthmoor was a great acquisition. 

'Do you think so?' said Mrs. Bury, after the laugh at the sedateexpression. 

'She is very kind to Amice, and I do not think she will do her any harm, 'said Lady Adela. 

'Governessing was her _metier_, ' added Bertha, 'so it is not likely. '

'And how does it turn out?'

'Oh, it might be a good deal worse. I see no reason for not living onhere. '

'And you, Birdie?'

'No, I _couldn't_! I've been burning to get away these seven years, andas Northmoor actually seems capable of taking my boys, my last tie isgone. I'm only afraid he'll bore them with too much Sabbatarianism andtemperance. He is just the cut of the model Sabbath-school teacher, onlyhe vexes Addie's soul by dashes of the Ritualist. '

'Well, ' said Mrs. Bury, 'the excellent Mr. Woodman is capable ofimprovement. '

'But how?' said Lady Adela. 'Narrow ritualism without knowledge orprinciple is a thing to be deprecated. '

'Is it without knowledge or principle?'

'How should an attorney's clerk get either?'

'But I understand you that they are worthy people, and not obnoxious. '

'Worthy!' exclaimed Bertha. 'Yes, worthy to their stiff backbones, worthy to the point of utter dulness; they haven't got enough vulgarityeven to drop their h's or be any way entertaining. I should like themever so much better if they ate with their knives and drank out of theirsaucers, but she can't even mispronounce a French word worse than mostEnglish people. '

'No pretension even?'

'Oh no; if there were, one could get some fun out of it. I have heard ofbearing honours meekly, but they don't even do that, they just let themhang on them, like the stick and stock they are. If I were Addie, itwould be the deadly liveliness that would drive me away. '

'Nay, ' said Adela; 'one grows to be content with mere negations, if theyare nothing worse. I _could_ be driven away, or at least find it aneffort to remain, if Lady Northmoor were like her sister-in-law. '

'Ah, now, that's just what would make it tolerable to me. I could get arise or two out of that Mrs. Morton. I did get her to be confidentialand to tell me how much better the honours would have sat upon her dearhusband. I believe she thinks that if he were alive he would have sharedthem like the Spartan kings. She wishes that "her brother, LordNorthmoor" (you should hear the tone), "were more worldly, and she begsme to impress on him the duty of doing everything for her dear Herbert, who, in the nature of things, must be the heir to the peerage. "'

'I am sure I hope not, ' said Lady Adela. 'He is an insufferable boy. The people about the place can't endure him. He is quite insolent. '

'The animal, man, when in certain stages of development, has a peculiartendency to be unpleasant, ' observed Bertha philosophically. 'To mymind, Master Herbert is the most promising of the specimens. '

'Birdie! He is much worse than his uncle. '

'Promising, I said, not performing. Whatever promise there may have beenin Northmoor must have been nipped upon the top of a high stool, but ifhe has sense enough to put that boy into good hands he may come tosomething. I like him enough myself to feel half inclined to do what Ican towards licking him into shape, for the honour of the family! It isthat girl Ida that riles me most. '

'Yes, ' said Lady Adela, 'she behaved fairly well in company, but I sawher tittering and whispering with Emily Trotman in a tone that I thoughtvery bad for Emily. '

'She's spoilt; her mother worships her, ' said Bertha. 'I had a pleasingconfidence or two about how she is already admired, or, as Mrs. Mortoncalls it, how the gentlemen are after her; but now she shall not put upwith anything but a _real_ gentleman, and of course her uncle will dosomething handsome for her. '

'Poor man! I wish him joy. Has he more belongings?'

'Providentially, no. We have the honour of standing nearest to him, andshe seems to have none at all, unless they should be attracted by thescent. '

'That is not likely, ' said Lady Adela; 'she was a clergy orphan, andnever heard of any relations. '

'Then you really know no harm of them, in these four or five months?'said Mrs. Bury. 

'No; except having these relations, ' said Adela. 

'Except being just sensible enough not to afford even the pleasure oflaughing at them, ' said Bertha. 'Nay, just worthy enough'--she said itspitefully--'not even to give the relief of a good grumble. '

'Well, I think you may be thankful!'

'Exactly what one doesn't want to be!' said Bertha. 'I like sensations. Now Letitia is going to come down with a prediction that they are tobecome the blessings of our lives, so I am off!'

And as the door closed on her, Lady Adela sighed, and Mrs. Bury said--

'Poor Birdie; is she always in that tone?'

'Yes, ' said Lady Adela; 'there seems to be always a bitter spot in herheart. I am glad she should try to work it out. '

'I suppose living here with her father tended to brooding. Yet she hasalways done a good deal. '

'Not up to her powers. Lord Northmoor never ceased to think her a meregirl, and obstructed her a good deal; besides, all his interest being inhorses, she never could get rid of the subject, and wounds werecontinually coming back on us--on her. '

'On you as well, poor Addie. '

'He did not understand. Besides, to me these things were not the rawscene they were to her. It has been a very sad time for her. You see, there is not much natural softness in her, and she was driven intoroughness and impatience when he worried her over racing details andother things. And then she was hurt at his preferring to have me withhim. It has been very good and generous in her not to have been jealousof me. '

'I think she was glad he could find comfort in you. And you have neverheard of Captain Alder?'

'Never! In justice, and for the sake of dear Arthur's wishes, I shouldbe glad to explain; but I wonder whether, as she is now, it would be wellthat they should meet. '

'If it is so ordained, I suppose they will. What's that?'

It was Lord and Lady Northmoor, formally announced, and as formallyintroduced, to Mrs. Bury. 

They had come, the lady said, when they were seated, with a message from'Old Swan, ' to ask for a bit of my lady's plaster for his back to easehis rheumatism at night. His daughter was only just come in from work, so they had ventured to bring the message. 

'Is any one coming for it?'

'I said we would bring it back, ' replied Mary, 'if you would kindly letus have it. '

'Why, it is a mile out of your way!'

'It is moonlight, and we do so enjoy a walk together, ' she answered. 

'Well, Adela, ' said Mrs. Bury, when they were gone with the roll ofplaster, 'I agree that they might be worse--and by a great deal!'

'Did he speak all the time?'

'Yes, once. But there are worse faults than silence; and she seems abonny little woman. Honeymooning still--that moonlight walk too. '

'I can fancy that it is a treat to escape from Mrs. Morton. She isdepths below them in refinement!'

'On the whole, I think you may be thankful, Adela. '

'I hope I am. I believe you would soon be intimate with them; but thenyou always could get on with all sorts of people, and I have a shrinkingfrom getting under the surface--if I _could_. '

And indeed, further intercourse, though not without shocks andcasualties, made Mary Northmoor wish that Letitia Bury had been thepermanent inhabitant; above all, when she undertook to come and give hercounsel and support for that first tremendous undertaking--thedinner-party. Lady Kenton was equally helpful at their next; and SirEdward gave much good advice to his lordship as to not letting himself bemade the tool of the loud-voiced squire, who was anxious to be his guide, philosopher, and friend in county business--advice that made Frank'sheart sink, for thus far he felt only capable of sitting still andlistening. 

CHAPTER XIVWESTHAVEN VERSIONS OF HONOURS

'Thank you, a bit of partridge, Mr. Rollstone, if you please. '

'Excuse me, Mrs. Grover. This is a grouse from Lord Northmoor's ownmoors, I presume, ' replied Mr. Rollstone, to the tune of a peal oflaughter from Herbert and exclamation--'Not know a grouse!'--for whichIda frowned at him. 

'Yes, indeed, ' said his mother; 'we had so much game up at my brother's, Lord Northmoor's, that I shall quite miss it now I am come away. '

'Flimsy sort of grub!' growled an old skipper. 'Only fit for this sortof a tea--not to make a real meal on, fit for "a man"!'

The young folk laughed. Captain Purdy was only invited as a messmate ofMrs. Morton's father. 

'You'll excuse this being only a tea, ' went on Mrs. Morton. 'I hope tohave a dinner in something more of style if ever I return here, but Icould not attempt it with my present establishment after what we have gotaccustomed to. Why, we never sat down to dinner without twomenservants!'

'Only two?' said Mr. Rollstone. 'I have never been without three menunder me; and I always had two to wait, even when the lady dined alone. '

Mrs. Grover, who had been impressed for a moment, took courage to say--

'I don't think so much of your grouse, Mrs. Morton. It's tasty and'igh. '

'High game goes with high families, ' wickedly murmured Herbert, causingmuch tittering at his corner of the table; and this grew almostconvulsive, while another matron of the party observed--

'Mrs. Macdonald, Mr. Holt's sister in Scotland, once sent us some, andreally, Mrs. Morton, if you boil them down, they are almost as good as apat-ridge!'

'Oh, really now, Mrs. Holt! I hope you didn't tell Mrs. Macdonald so!'said Mrs. Morton. 'It is a real valuable article, such as my brother, Lord Northmoor, would only send to us, and one or two old friends that hewishes to compliment at Hurminster. But one must be used to high societyto know how such things should be relished!'

'Are Lord Northmoor's moors extensive?' asked Mr. Rollstone. 

'There's about four or five miles of them, ' responded Herbert; 'and thesegrouse are awfully shy. '

'Ah, the Earl of Blackwing owns full twenty miles of heather, ' said theex-butler. 

'Barren stuff!' growled the skipper; 'breeding nothing worth settingone's teeth into!'

'There are seven farms besides, ' put in Mrs. Morton. 'My brother isgoing to have an audit-day next week. '

'You should have seen the Earl's audits, ' said Mr. Rollstone. 'Five-and-twenty substantial tenant-farmers, besides artisans, and allthe family plate on the sideboard!'

'Ah, you should see the Northmoor plate!' said Mrs. Morton. 'There areracing cups, four of them--not that any one could drink out of them, forthey are just centre-pieces for the table. There's a man in armourgalloping off headlong with a girl behind him-- Who did your uncle sayit was, Conny?'

'The Templar and Rowena, mamma, ' said Constance. 

'Yes, that was the best--all frosted. I liked that better than the onewhere the girl with no clothes to speak of was running like mad after agolden ball. They said that was an heirloom, worth five hundred--'

'Lord Burnside's yachting cups are valued at five thousand, ' said Mr. Rollstone. 'I should know, for I had the care of them, and it was aresponsibility as weighed on my mind. '

So whatever Mrs. Morton described as to the dignities and splendours ofNorthmoor, Mr. Rollstone continued to cap with more magnificentexperiences, so that, though he never pretended to view himself in thelight of a participator in the grandeur he described, he continued, quiteunintentionally, so to depreciate the glories of Northmoor, that Mrs. Morton began to recollect how far above him her sphere had become, and todecide against his future admission to her parties. 

The young ladies, as soon as tea was over, retired into corners in pairs, having on their side much to communicate. Rose Rollstone was at home fora holiday, after having begun to work at an establishment for art andecclesiastical needlework, and it was no small treat to her and Constanceto meet and compare their new experiences. Rose, always well brought upby her father, was in a situation carefully trained by a lady head, andwatched over by those who deepened and cultivated her religious feeling;and Constance had to tell of the new facilities of education offered tothem. Ida was too delicate for school, their mother said, and was onlyto have music lessons at Brighton, or in London whenever the presenthouse could be parted with; but Herbert had already begun to work with atutor for the army, and Constance was to go to the High School at Colbeamand spend her Sundays at Northmoor, where a prettily-furnished room wasset apart for her. She described it with so much zest that Rose wasseized with a sort of alarm. 'You will live there like all the lords andladies that papa talks of, and grow worldly and fashionable. '

'Oh no, no, ' cried Constance, and there was a girlish kissing match, butRose seemed to think worldliness inevitable. 

'The Earl my papa lived with used to bet and gamble, and come homedreadfully late at night, and so did my lady and her daughters, and theirpoor maid had to sit up for them till four o'clock in the morning. Thentheir bills! They never told his lordship, but they sold their diamondsand wore paste. His lordship did not know, but their maid did, and toldpapa. '

Constance opened her eyes and declared that Uncle Frank and Aunt Marynever could do such things. Moreover, she averred that Lady Adela wasalways going about among the cottages, and that Miss Morton had not a bitof pride, and was going to live in London to teach the dust-pickers andmatch-box makers. 'Indeed, I don't think they are half as worldly inthemselves, ' she said, 'as Ida is growing with thinking about them. '

'Ah, don't you remember the sermon that said worldliness didn't depend onwhat one has, but what one is?'

'Talking of nothing better than sermons!' said Herbert, coming on them. 'Have you caught it of the governor, Con? I believe he thinks of nothingbut sermons. '

And Constance exclaimed, 'I am sure he doesn't preach!'

'Oh no, nothing comes out of his mouth that he can help; trust him forthat. '

'Then how do you know?'

'By the stodgy look of him. He would be the awfullest of prosers if hehad the gift of the gab. '

'You are an ungrateful boy, ' said Rose. 'I am sure he must be very kindto you. '

'Can't help it, ' said Herbert. 'The old fellow would be well enough ifhe had any go in him. '

'I am sure he took you out hunting, ' exclaimed Constance indignantly, 'the day they took us to the meet. And he leapt all the ditches whenyou--'

He broke in, 'Well, what was I to do when I've never had the chance tolearn to sit a horse? You'll see next winter. '

'Did you hurt yourself?' asked Rose, rather mischievously. 

To which Herbert turned a deaf ear and began to expatiate upon the gameof Northmoor, till other sounds led him away to fall upon the other_tete-a-tete_ between Ida and Sibyl Grover. In Ida's mind the honours ofNorthmoor were dearly purchased by the dulness and strictness of the lifethere. 

'My uncle was as cross as two sticks if ever Herbert or I were too latefor prayers, and he said it was nonsense of Herbert to say that kneelingat church spoilt his trousers--kneeling just like a school child! Itmade me so faint!'

'And it looks so!'

'I tried, because Lady Adela and Miss Bertha and all do, ' said Ida, 'andthey looked at me! But it made me faint, as I knew it would, ' and sheput her head on one side. 

'Poor dear! So they were so very religious! Did that spoil it all?'

'Well, we had pretty things off the Christmas-tree, and we lived quite asladies, and drove out in the carriage. '

'No parties nor dances? Or were they too religious?'

'Ma says it is their meanness; but my aunt, Lady Northmoor, did sayperhaps it would be livelier another year, and then we should have hadsome dancing and deportment lessons. I up and told her I could dancefast enough now, but she said it would not be becoming or right to LadyAdela's and Miss Morton's feelings. '

'Do they live there?'

'Not in the house. Lady Adela has a cottage of her own, and Miss Mortonstops with her. Lady Adela is as high and standoffish as the monument, 'said Ida, pausing for a comparison. 

'High and haughty, ' said Sibyl, impressed. 'And the other lady?'

'Oh, she is much more good-natured. We call her Bertha; at least, shetold us that we might call her anything but that horrid Cousin Bertha, asshe said. But she's old, thirty-six years old, and not a bit pretty, andshe says such odd things, one doesn't know what to do. She thought Imade myself useful and could wash and iron, ' said Ida, as if this werethe greatest possible insult, in which Sibyl acquiesced. 

'And she thought I should know the factory girls, just the hands, ' addedIda, greatly disgusted. 'As if I should! But ma says low tastes are inthe family, for she is going to live in London, and go and sit with theshop-girls in the evening. Still I like her better than Lady Adela, whokeeps herself to herself. Mamma says it is pride and spite that herplain little sickly girl hasn't come to be my Lady. '

'What, doesn't she speak to them?' said Sibyl, quite excited. 

'Oh yes, she calls, and shakes hands, and all that, but one never seemsto get on with her. And Emily Trotman, she's the doctor's daughter, sucha darling, told me _such_ a history--so interesting!'

'Tell me, Ida, there's a dear. '

'She says they were all frightfully dissipated' (Ida said it quite with arelish)--'the old Lord and Mr. Morton, Lady Adela's husband, you know, and Miss Bertha--always racing and hunting and gambling and in debt. Then there came a Captain Alder, who was ever so much in love with MissBertha, but most awfully in debt to her brother, and very passionatebesides. So he took him out in his dog-cart with a fiery horse that wassure to run away. '

'Who did?'

'Captain Alder took Mr. Morton, though they begged and prayed him not, and the horse ran away and Mr. Morton was thrown out and killed. '

'Oh!' with extreme zest. 'On purpose?'

'Miss Bertha was sure it was, so that she might have all the fortune, andso she told him, and flung the betrothal ring in his face, and he wentright off, and never has been heard of since. '

'Well, that _is_ interesting. Do you think he shot himself?'

'No, he was too mean. Most likely he married a hideous millionaire: butthe Mortons were always dreadful, and did all sorts of wicked things. '

'I declare it's as good as any tale--like the sweet one in the _YoungLadies' Friend_ now--"The Pride of Pedro. " Have you seen it?'

'No, indeed, uncle and aunt only have great old stupid books! Theywanted me to read those horrid tiresome things of Scott's, and Dickens'stoo, who is as old as the hills! Why, they could not think of anythingbetter to do on their wedding tour but to go to all the places in theWaverley novels. '

'Why, they are as bad as history! Jim brought one home once, and pawanted me to read it, but I could not get on with it--all about a stupidking of France. I'm sure if I married a lord I'd make him do somethingnicer. '

'I mean ma to do something more jolly, ' said Ida, 'when we get moremoney, and I am come out. I mean to go to balls and tennis parties, andI shall be sure to marry a lord at some of them. '

'And you will take me, ' cried Sibyl. 

'Only you must be very genteel, ' said Ida. 'Try to learn style, _do_, dear. It must be learnt young, you know! Why, there's Aunt Mary, whenshe has got ever so beautiful a satin dress on, she does not look half sostylish as Lady Adela walking up the road in an old felt hat and ashepherd's-plaid waterproof! But they all do dress so as I should beashamed. Only think what a scrape that got Herbert into. He was comingback one Saturday from his tutor's, and he saw walking up to the house anawfully seedy figure of fun, in an old old ulster, and such a hat as younever saw, with a knapsack on her back, and a portfolio under her arm. So of course he thought it was a tramp with something to sell, and heholloaed out, "You'd better come out of this! We want none of yoursort. " She just turned round and laughed, which put him in such a rage, that though she began to speak he didn't wait, but told her to have donewith her sauce, or he would call the keepers. He thinks she said, "You'dbetter, " and I believe he did move his stick a little. '

'Ida, have done with that!' cried Herbert's voice close to her. 'Holdyour tongue, or I'll--' and his hand was near her hair. 

'Oh, don't, don't, Herbert. Let me hear, ' cried Sibyl. 

'That's the way girls go on, ' said Herbert fiercely, 'with their nonsenseand stuff. '

'But who--?'

'If you go on, Ida--' he was clutching her braid. 

Sibyl sprang to the defence, and there was a general struggle and rompinterspersed with screams, which was summarily stopped by Mr. Rollstoneexplaining severely, 'If you think that is the deportment of thearistocracy, Miss Ida, you are much mistaken. '

'Bother the aristocracy!' broke out Herbert. 

Calm was restored by a summons to a round game, but Sibyl's curiosity wasof course insatiable, and as she sat next to Herbert, she employedvarious blandishments and sympathetic whispers, and after a great deal offuss, and 'What will you give me if I tell?' to extract the end of thestory, 'Did he call the keeper?'

'Oh yes, the old beast! His name's Best, but it ought to be Beast! Heguffawed ever so much worse than she did!'

'Well, but who was it?'

And after he had tried to make her guess, and teased his fill, he owned, 'Mrs. Bury--a sort of cousin, staying with Lady Adela. She isn't half abad old party, but she makes a guy of herself, and goes about sketchingand painting like a blessed old drawing-master. '

'A lady? and not a young lady. '

'Not as old as--as Methuselah, or old Rolypoly there, but I believe she'sa grandmother. If she'd been a boy, we should have been cut out of it. Oh yes, she's a lady--a born Morton; and when it was over she was veryjolly about it--no harm done--bears no malice, only Ida makes such anabsurd work about every little trifle. '

CHAPTER XVTHE PIED ROOK

Constance Morton was leaning on the rail that divided the gardens atNorthmoor from the park, which was still rough and heathery. Of all theMorton family, perhaps she was the one who had the most profited by thethree years that had passed since her uncle's accession to the title. She had been at a good boarding-house, attending the High School inColbeam, and spending Saturday and Sunday at Northmoor. It had been ahappy life, she liked her studies, made friends with her companions, andenjoyed to the very utmost all that Northmoor gave her, in country beautyand liberty, in the kindness of her uncle and aunt, and in the religioustraining that they were able to give her, satisfying longings of hersoul, so that she loved them with all her heart, and felt Northmoor hertrue home. The holiday time at Westhaven was always a trial. Mrs. Morton had tried Brighton and London, but neither place agreed with Ida:and she found herself a much greater personage in her own world thanelsewhere, and besides could not always find tenants for her house. Sothere she lived at her ease, called by many of her neighbours theHonourable Mrs. Morton, and finding listeners to her alternate accountsof the grandeur of Northmoor, and murmurs at the meanness of its masterin only allowing her 300 pounds a year, besides educating her children, and clothing two of them. 

Ida considered herself to be quite sufficiently educated, and so she wasfor the society in which she was, or thought herself, a star, chieflyconsisting of the families of the shipowners, coalowners, and the like. She was pretty, with a hectic prettiness of bright eyes and cheeks, andhad a following of the young men of the place; and though she alwaystried to enforce that to receive attentions from a smart young mate, aclerk in an office, a doctor's assistant, or the like, was a greatcondescension on her part, she enjoyed them all the more. Learning newsongs for their benefit, together with extensive novel reading, were herchief employments, and it was the greater pity because her health was notstrong. She dreamt much in a languid way, and had imagination enough towork these tales into her visions of life. Her temper suffered, andConstance found the atmosphere less and less congenial as she grew olderand more accustomed to a different life. 

She was a gentle, ladylike girl, with her brown hair still on hershoulders, as on that summer Saturday she stood looking along the path, but with her ears listening for sounds from the house, and an anxiousexpression on her young face. Presently she started at the sound of agun, which caused a mighty cawing among the rooks in the trees on theslopes, and a circling of the black creatures in the sky. A whistlingthen was heard, and her brother Herbert came in sight in a few minutesmore, a fine tall youth of sixteen, with quite the air and carriage of agentleman. He had a gun on his shoulder, and carried by the claws thebody of a rook with white wings. 

'Oh, Herbert, ' cried Constance in dismay, 'did you shoot that bymistake?'

'No; Stanhope would not believe there was such a crittur, and betted halfa sov that it was a cram. '

'But how could you? Our uncle and aunt thought so much of that poor dearWhitewing, and Best was told to take care of it. They will be so vexed. '

'Nonsense! He'll come to more honour stuffed than ever he would flyingand howling up there. When I've shown him to Stanhope, I shall make thatold fellow at Colbeam come down handsomely for him. What a row thosebirds kick up! I'll send my other barrel among them. '

'Oh no, don't, Bertie. Uncle Frank has one of his dreadful headachesto-day. '

'Seems to me he is made of headaches. '

'Yes, Aunt Mary is very anxious. Oh, I would have done anything that youhad not vexed them now and killed this poor dear pretty thing!' saidConstance, stroking down the glossy feathers of the still warm victim, and laying them against her cheek, almost tearfully. 

'Well, you are not going to tell them. Perhaps they won't miss it. Iwould not have done it if Stanhope had not been such a beast, ' saidHerbert. 

'I shall not tell them, of course, ' said Constance; 'but, if I were you, I should not be happy till they knew. '

'Oh, that's only girl's way! I can't have the old Stick upset now, forI'm in horrid want of tin. '

'Oh, Bertie, was it true then?'

'What, you don't mean that they have heard?'

'That you were out at those Colbeam races!'

'To be sure I was, with Stanhope and Hailes and a lot more. We all wentexcept the little kids and Sisson, who is in regular training for asgreat a muff as the governor there. Who told him?'

'Mr. Hailes, who is very much concerned about his grandson. '

'Old sneak; I wonder how he ferreted it out. Is there no end of a jawcoming, Con?'

'I don't know. Uncle Frank seemed quite knocked down and wretched overit. He said something about feeling hopeless, and the old blood comingout to be your ruin. '

'Of course it's the old blood! How did he miss it, and turn into theintolerable old dry fogey that he is, without a notion of anything fitfor a gentleman?'

'Now, Herbert--'

'Oh yes. You should just hear what the other fellows say about him. Their mothers and their sisters say there is not so stupid a place in thecounty, he hasn't a word to say for himself, and they would just as soongo to Portland at once as to a party here. '

'Then it is a great shame! I am sure Aunt Mary works hard to make itpleasant for them!'

'Oh yes, good soul, she does, she can't help it; but when people havestuck in the mud all their lives, they can't know any better, and it isabominably hard on a fellow who does, to be under a man who has been anoffice cad all his life, and doesn't know what is expected of agentleman! Screwing us all up like beggars--'

'Herbert, for shame! for shame! As if he was obliged to do anything atall for us!'

'Oh, isn't he? A pretty row my mother would kick up about his ears if hedid not, when I must come after him at this place, too!'

'I think you are very ungrateful, ' said Constance, with tears, 'when theyare so good to us. '

'Oh, they are as kind as they know how, but they don't know. That's thething, or old Frank would be ashamed to give me such a dirty littleallowance. He has only himself to thank if I have to come upon him formore. Found out about the Blackbird colt, has he? What a bore! And tinI must have out of him by hook or by crook if he cuts up ever so rough. I must send off this bird first by the post to confute Stanhope and makehim eat dirt, and then see what's to be done. '

'Indeed, Bertie, I don't think you will see him to-night. His head isdreadful, and Aunt Mary has sent for Mr. Trotman. '

'Whew! You have not got anything worth having, I suppose, Conny?'

'Only fifteen shillings. I meant it for-- But you shall have it, dearBertie, if it will only save worrying them. '

'Fifteen bob! Fifteen farthings you might as well offer. No, no, yousoft little monkey, I must see what is to be made of him or her ladyship, one or the other, to-day or to-morrow. If they know I have been at theplace it is half the battle. Consequence was! Provided they don't smellout this unlucky piebald! I wish Stanhope hadn't been such a beast!'

At that moment, too late to avoid her, Lady Northmoor, pale and anxious, came up the path and was upon them. 'Your uncle is asleep, ' she began, but then, starting, 'Oh, Conny. Poor Whitewing. Did you find him?'

Constance hung her head and did not speak. Then her aunt saw how it was. 

'Herbert! you must have shot him by mistake; your uncle will be sogrieved. '

Herbert was not base enough to let this pass. He muttered, 'A fellowwould not take my word for it, so I had to show him. '

She looked at him very sadly. 'Oh, Herbert, I did not think you wouldhave made that a reason for vexing your uncle!'

The boy was more than half sorry under those gentle eyes. He mutteredsomething about 'didn't think he would care. '

She shook her head, instead of saying that she knew this was not thetruth; and unable to bear the sting, he flung away from her, carrying therook with him, and kicking the pebbles, trying to be angry instead ofsorry. And just then came a summons to Lady Northmoor to see the doctor. 

Yet Herbert Morton was a better boy than he seemed at that moment; hiserrors were chiefly caused by understanding _noblesse oblige_ in adifferent way from his uncle. Moreover, it would have been better forhim if his tutor had lived beyond the neighbourhood of Northmoor, wherehe heard, losing nothing in the telling, the remarks of the other pupils'mothers upon his uncle and aunt; more especially as it was not generallythe highest order of boy that was to be found there. If he had heardwhat the fathers said, he would have learnt that, though shy and devoidof small talk, and of the art of putting guests together, Lord Northmoorwas trusted and esteemed. He might perhaps be too easily talked down; hecould not argue, and often gave way to the noisy Squire; but he wascertain in due time to see the rights of a question, and he attendedthoroughly to the numerous tasks of an active and useful county man, taking all the drudgery that others shirked. While, if by severe stresshe were driven to public speaking, he could acquit himself far betterthan any one had expected. The Bishop and the Chairman of the QuarterSessions alike set him down on their committees, not only for his rank, but for his industry and steadiness of work. Nor had any one breathedany imputation upon the possession of what used to be known as gentility, before that good word was degraded, to mean something more like what Mrs. Morton aspired to. Lord and Lady Northmoor might not be lively, nor agreat accession to society, but the anticipations of either amusement orannoyance from vulgarity or arrogance were entirely disappointed. No onecould call them underbred, or anything but an ingrain gentleman and lady, while there were a few who could uphold Lady Northmoor as thoroughlykind, sweet, sensible, and helpful to her utmost in all that was good. 

All this, however, was achieved not only unconsciously but with severelabour by a man whose powers could only act slowly, and who was not tothe manner born. Conscientiousness is a costly thing, and Strafford'swatchword is not to be adopted for nothing. The balance of duties, theperplexities of managing an impoverished and involved estate, thedisappointment of being unable to carry out the responsibilities of alandlord towards neglected cottagers, the incapacity of doing what wouldhave been desirable for the Church, and the worry and harass that hissister-in-law did not spare, all told as his office work had never done, and in spite of quiet, happy hours with his Mary, and her devoted andefficient aid whenever it was possible, a course of disabling neuralgicheadaches had set in, and a general derangement of health, which hadbecome alarming, and called for immediate remedy. 

CHAPTER XVIWHAT IS REST?

'Rest, there is nothing for it but immediate rest and warm baths, ' saidLady Northmoor to Constance, who was waiting anxiously for the doctor'sverdict some hours later. 'It is only being overdone--no, my dear, thereis nothing really to fear, if we can only keep business and letters outof his way for a few weeks, my dear child. '

For Constance, who had been dreadfully frightened by the sight of thephysician's carriage, which seemed to her inexperienced eyes the omen ofsomething terrible, fairly burst into tears of relief. 

'Oh, I am so glad!' she said, as caresses passed--which might have beenthose of mother and daughter for heartfelt sympathy and affection. 

'You will miss your Saturdays and Sundays, my dear, ' continued the aunt, 'for we shall have to go abroad, so as to be quite out of the way ofeverything. '

'Never mind that, dear aunt, if only Uncle Frank is better. Will it belong?'

'I cannot tell. He says six weeks, Dr. Smith says three months. It isto be bracing air--Switzerland, most likely. '

'Oh, how delightful! How you will enjoy it!'

'It has always been a dream, and it is strange now to feel so downheartedabout it, ' said her aunt, smiling. 

'Uncle Frank is sure to be better there, ' said Constance. 'Only think ofthe snowy mountains--

 Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. '

And the girl's eyes brightened with an enthusiasm that the elder womanfelt for a moment, nor did either of them feel the verse hackneyed. 

'Ah, I wish we could take you, my dear, ' said Lady Northmoor; then, 'Doyou know where Herbert is?'

'No, ' said Constance. 'Oh, aunt, I am so sorry! I don't think he wouldhave done it if the other boys had not teased him. '

'Perhaps not; but, indeed, I am grieved, not only on the poor rook'saccount, but that he should have the heart to vex your uncle just now. However, perhaps he did not understand how ill he has been all this week. And I am afraid that young Stanhope is not a good companion for him. '

'I do not think he is, ' said Constance; 'it seems to me that Stanhopeleads him into that betting, and makes him think it does not signifywhether he passes or not, and so he does not take pains. '

Herbert was not to be found either then or at dinner-time. It turned outthat he had taken from the stables the horse he was allowed to ride, andhad gone over to display his victim to Stanhope, and then on to thebird-stuffer; had got a meal, no one wished to know how, only returningin time to stump upstairs to bed. 

He thus avoided an interview with his uncle over the rook, unaware thathis aunt had left him the grace of confession, being in hopes that, unless he did speak of his own accord, the vexatious knowledge might bespared to one who did not need an additional annoyance just then. 

Lord Northmoor was not, however, to be spared. He was much better thenext day, Sunday, a good deal exhilarated by the doctor's opinion; and, though concerned at having to break off his work, ready to enjoy what hewas told was absolutely essential. 

The head-keeper had no notion of sparing him. Mr. Best regarded him witha kind of patronising toleration as an unfortunate gentleman who had theill-hap never to have acquired a taste for sport, and was unable to dojustice to his preserves; but towards 'Mr. Morton' there was a veryactive dislike. The awkward introduction might have rankled even hadHerbert been wise enough to follow Miss Morton's advice; but his naturewas overbearing, and his self-opinion was fostered by his mother and Ida, while he was edged on by his fellow-pupils to consider Best a mere oldwoman, who could only be tolerated by the ignorance of 'a regular Stick. '

With the under-keeper Herbert fraternised enough to make himinsubordinate; and the days when Lord Northmoor gave permission forshooting or for inviting his companions for a share in the sport, weredays of mutual offence, when the balance of provoking sneer and angryinsult would be difficult to cast, though the keeper was the mostforbearing, since he never complained of personal ill-behaviour tohimself, whereas Herbert's demonstrations to his uncle of 'that old fool'were the louder and more numerous because they never produced theslightest effect. 

However, Best felt aggrieved in the matter of the rook, which had beenput under his special protection, and being, moreover, something of anaturalist, he had cherished the hope of a special Northmoor breed ofpied rooks. 

So while, on the way from church, Lady Adela was detaining Lady Northmoorwith inquiries as to Dr. Smith, Best waylaid his master with, 'Yourlordship gave me orders about that there rook with white wings, as wasnot to be mislested. '

'Has anything happened to it?' said Frank wearily. 

'Well, my lord, I sees Mr. Morton going up to the rookery with his gun, and I says to him that it weren't time for shooting of the branchers, andthe white rook weren't to be touched by nobody, and he swears at me for ameddling old leggings, and uses other language as I'll not repeat to yourlordship, and by and by I hears his gun, and I sees him a-picking up ofthe rook that her ladyship set such store by, so it is due to myself, mylord, to let you know as I were not to blame. '

'Certainly not, Best, ' was the reply. 'I am exceedingly displeased thatmy nephew has behaved so ill to you, and I shall let him know it. '

'His lordship will give it to him hot and strong, the young upstart, 'muttered Best to himself with great satisfaction, as he watched thelanguid pace quicken to overtake the boy, who had gone on with hissister. 

Perhaps the irritability of illness had some effect upon the ordinarygentleness of Lord Northmoor's temper, and besides, he was exceedinglyannoyed at such ungrateful slaughter of what was known to be a favouriteof his wife; so when he came upon Herbert, sauntering down to thestables, he accosted him sharply with, 'What is this I hear, Herbert? Icould not have believed that you would have deliberately killed thecreature that you knew to be a special delight to your aunt. '

Herbert had reached the state of mind when a third, if not a fourth, reproach on the same subject on which his conscience was already uneasy, was simply exasperating, and without the poor excuse he had offered hisaunt and sister, he burst out that it was very hard that such a beastlyrow should be made about a fellow knocking down mere trumpery vermin. 

'Speak properly, Herbert, or hold your tongue, ' said his uncle. 'I amextremely displeased at finding that you do not know how to conductyourself to my servants, and have presumed to act in this lawless, heartless manner, in defiance of what you knew to be your aunt's wishesand my orders, and that you replied to Best's remonstrance withinsolence. '

'That's a good one! Insolent to an old fool of a keeper, ' mutteredHerbert sullenly. 

'Insolence is shameful towards any man, ' returned his uncle. 'And from afoolish headstrong boy to a faithful old servant it is particularlyunbecoming. However, bad as this is, it is not all that I have to speakof. '

Then Herbert recollected with dismay how much his misdemeanour would tellagainst his pardon for the more important act of disobedience, and hetook refuge in a sullen endeavour at indifference, while his uncle, thoroughly roused, spoke of the sins of disobedience and the dangers ofbetting. Perhaps the only part of the lecture that he really heard was, 'Remember, it was these habits in those who came before us that have beenso great a hindrance in life to both you and me, and made you, my poorboy, so utterly mistaken as to what becomes your position. How much haveyou thrown away?'

Herbert looked up and muttered the amount--twelve pounds and someshillings. 

'Very well, I will not have it owed. I shall pay it, deducting twopounds from your allowance each term till it is made up. Give me theaddress or addresses. '

At this Herbert writhed and remonstrated, but his uncle was inexorable. 

'The fellows will be at me, ' he said, as he gave Stanhope's name. 

'You will see no more of Stanhope after this week. I have arranged tosend you to a tutor in Hertfordshire, who I hope will make you work, andwhere, I trust, you will find companions who will give you a better ideaof what becomes a gentleman. '

In point of fact, this had been arranged for some time past, though bythe desire of Herbert's present tutor it had not been made known to theyoung people, so that, coming thus, there was a sound of punishment in itto Herbert. 

The interview ended there. The annoyance, enhanced in his mind by havingcome on a Sunday, brought on another attack of headache; but late in theevening he sent for Herbert, who always had to go very early on theMonday. It was to ask him whether he would not prefer the payment beingmade to Stanhope and the other pupil after he had left them. Herbert'sscowl passed off. It was a great relief. He said they were prepared towait till he had his allowance, and the act of consideration softenedhim, as did also the manifest look of suffering and illness, as his unclelay on the couch, hardly able to speak, and yet exerting himself thus tospare the lad. 

'Thank you, sir, ' actually Herbert said, and then, with a gulp, 'I amsorry about that bird--I wish I'd never told them, but it was Stanhopewho drove me to it, not believing. '

'I thought it was not your better mind, ' said his uncle, holding out hishand. 'I should like you to make me a promise, Herbert, not to make abet while I am away. I should go with an easier mind. '

'I will, uncle, ' said Herbert, heartily reflecting, perhaps, it must beowned, on the fewer opportunities in that line at Westhaven, except atthe regatta, but really resolving, as the only salve to his conscience. And there was that in his face and the clasp of his hand that gave hisuncle a sense of comfort and hope. 

CHAPTER XVIION THE SURFACE

Lady Adela, though small and pale, was one of the healthy women who seemunable to believe in any ailments short of a raging fever; and when sheheard of neuralgia, decided that it was all a matter of imagination, anda sort of excuse for breaking off the numerous occupations in which shefelt his value, but only as she would have acknowledged that of a goodschoolmaster. Their friendly intercourse had never ripened intointimacy, and was still punctiliously courteous; each tacitly dreaded theinfluence of the other on the Vicar-in-Church matters, and every visit ofthe Westhaven family confirmed Lady Adela's belief that it wasundesirable to go below the surface. 

Bertha, who came down for a day or two to assist at the breaking-updemonstration of the High School at Colbeam, was as ever much morecordial. The chief drawbacks with her were that cynical tone, which madeit always doubtful whether she were making game of her hearers, and thephilanthropy, not greatly tinged with religion, so as to confuseold-fashioned minds. She used to bring down strange accounts of herstartling adventures in the slums, and relate them in a rattling style, interluded with slang, being evidently delighted to shock and puzzle herhearers; but still she was always good-natured in deed if not in word, and Lord Northmoor was very grateful for her offer of hospitality toHerbert, who was coming to London for his preliminary examination. 

She had come up to call, determined to be of use to them, and she hadexperience enough of travelling to be very helpful. Finding that theyshuddered at the notion of fashionable German '_baden_, ' she exclaimed--

'I'll hit you off! There's that place in the Austrian Tyrol that LetticeBury frequents--a regular primitive place with a name--Oh, what is it, Addie, like rats and mice?'

'Ratzes, ' said Adela. 

'Yes. The tourists have not molested it yet, and only natives bathethere, so she goes every year to renovate herself and sketch, and comesback furbished up like an old snake, with lots of drawings of impossiblepeaks, like Titian's backgrounds. We'll write and tell her to make readyfor the head of her house!'

'Oh, but--' began Frank, looking to his wife. 

'Would it not be intruding?' said Mary. 

'She will be enchanted! She always likes to have anything to do foranybody, and she says the scenery is just a marvel. You care for that!You are so deliciously fresh, beauties aren't a bore to you. '

'We are glad of the excuse, ' said Frank gravely. 

'You look ill enough to be an excuse for anything, and Mary too! Howabout a maid? Is Harte going?'

'No, ' said Mary; 'she says that foreign food made her so ill once beforethat she cannot attempt going again. I meant to do without. '

'That would never do!' cried Bertha. 'You have quite enough on yourhands with Northmoor, and the luggage and the languages. '

'Is not an English maid apt to be another trouble?' said Mary. 'I do notsuppose my French is good, but I have had to talk it constantly; and Iknow some German, if that will serve in the Tyrol. '

'I'll reconcile it to your consciences, ' said Bertha triumphantly. 'Itwill be a real charity. There's a bonny little Swiss girl whom somereckless people brought home and then turned adrift. It will be a realkindness to help her home, and you shall pick her up when you come up tome on your way, and see my child! Oh, didn't I tell you? We had ahousemaid once who was demented enough to marry a scamp of a stoker onone of the Thames steamers. He deserted her, and I found her living, orrather dying, in an awful place at Rotherhithe, surrounded by tipsywomen, raging in opposite corners. I got her into a decent room, but toolate to save her life--and a good thing too; so I solaced her lastmoments with a promise to look after her child, such a jolly littlemortal, in spite of her name--Boadicea Ethelind Davidina Jones. She istwo years old, and quite delicious--the darling of all the house!'

'I hope you will have no trouble with the father, ' said Frank. 

'I trust he has gone to his own locker, or, if not, he is only too gladto be rid of her. I can tackle him, ' said Bertha confidently. 'Thechild is really a little duck!'

She spoke as if the little one filled an empty space in her heart; and, even though there might be trouble in store, it was impossible not to beglad of her present gladness, and her invitation was willingly accepted. Moreover, her recommendations were generally trustworthy, and Mary onlyhesitated because, she said--

'I thought, if I could do without a maid, we might take Constance. Sheis doing so very well, and likely to pass so well in her examinations, that it would be very nice to give her this pleasure. '

'Good little girl! So it would. I should like nothing better; but I amafraid that if you took her without a maid, Emma would misunderstand it, and say you wanted to save the expense. '

'Would it make much difference?'

'Not more than we could bear now that we are in for it, but I fear itwould excite jealousies. '

'Is that worse than leaving the poor child to Westhaven society all theholidays?'

'Perhaps not; and Conny is old enough now to be more injured by it thanwhen she was younger. '

'You know I have always hoped to make her like a child of our own whenher school education is finished. '

Frank smiled, for he was likewise very fond of little Constance. 

There was a public distribution of prizes, at which all the grandees ofthe neighbourhood were expected to assist, and it was some consolation tothe Northmoors, for the dowager duchess being absent, that the pleasureof taking the prize from her uncle would be all the greater--if--

The whole party went--Lady Adela, Miss Morton, and all--and wereinstalled in chairs of state on the platform, with the bright array ofbooks before them--the head-mistress telling Lady Northmoor beforehandthat her niece would have her full share of honours. No one could be abetter or more diligent girl. 

It quite nerved Lord Northmoor when he looked forth upon the sea ofwaving tresses of all shades of brown, while his wife watched innervousness, both as to how he would acquit himself and how the exertionwould affect him; and Bertha, as usual, was anxious for the credit of thename. 

He did what was needed. Nobody wanted anything but the sensiblecommonplace, kindly spoken, about the advantages of good opportunities, the conscientiousness of doing one's best. And after all, theinferiority of mere attainments in themselves to the discipline anddutifulness of responding to training, --it was slowly but notstammeringly spoken, and Bertha did not feel critical or ashamed, butsqueezed Mary's hand, and said, 'Just the right thing. '

One by one the girls were summoned for their prizes, the little onesfirst. Lord Northmoor had not the gift of inventing a pretty speech foreach, he could do no more than smile as he presented the book, and readits name; but the smile was a very decided one when, in the class next tothe highest, three out of the seven prizes were awarded to ConstanceElizabeth Morton, and it might be a question which had the redder cheeks, the uncle or the niece, as he handed them to her. It was one of the fewhappinesses that he had derived from his brother's family!

After such achievements on Constance's part, it was impossible towithhold--as they drove back to Northmoor--the proposal to take her withthem, and the effect was magical. Constance opened her eyes, bounded up, as if she were going to fly out of the carriage, and then launchedherself, first on her uncle, then on her aunt, for an ecstatic kiss. 

'Take care, take care, we shall have the servants thinking you a littlelunatic!'

'I am almost! Oh, I am so glad! To be with you and Aunt Mary all theholidays! That would be enough! But to go and see all the places, ' sheadded, somehow perceiving that the desire to escape from home was, atleast ought not to be approved of, and yet there was some exultation, when she hazarded a supposition that there was no time to go home. 

CHAPTER XVIIIDESDICHADO

Home--that is to say, Westhaven--was in some commotion when Herbert cameback and grimly growled out his intelligence as to his own personalaffairs. Mrs. Morton had been already apprized, in one of LordNorthmoor's well-considered letters, of his intentions of removing hisnephew to a tutor more calculated to prepare for the army, and she hadaccepted this as promotion such as was his due. However, when the prideof her heart, the tall gentlemanly son, made his appearance in a savagemood, her feelings were all on the other side, and those of Idaexaggerated hers. 

'So I'm to go to some disgusting hole where they grind the fellows noend, ' was Herbert's account of the matter. 

'But surely with your connection there's no need for grinding?' said hismother. 

Herbert laughed, 'Much you know about it! Nobody cares a rap forconnections nowadays, even if old Frank were a connection to do a man anygood. '

'But you'll not go and study hard and hurt yourself, my dear, ' said hismother, though Herbert's looks by no means suggested any such danger, while Ida added, 'It is not as if he had nothing else to look to, youknow. He can't keep you out of the peerage. '

'Can't he then? Why, he can and will too, for thirty or forty years moreat least. '

'I thought his health was failing, ' said Ida, putting into words a hopeher mother had a little too much sense of propriety to utter. 

'Bosh, it's only neuralgia, just because he is such a stick he can't takethings easy, and lark about and do every one's work--he hasn't the leastnotion what a gentleman ought to do. '

'It is bred in the bone, ' said his mother; 'he always was a shabby poorcreature! I always said he would not know how to spend his money. '

'He is a regular screw!' responded Herbert. 'What do you think now! Hewas in no end of a rage with me just because I went with some of theother fellows to the Colbeam races; and one can't help a bet or two, youknow. So I lost twelve pound or so, and what must he do but stop it outof my allowance two pound at a time!'

There was a regular outcry at this, and Mrs. Morton declared her poordear boy should not suffer, but she would make it up to him, and Herbertadded that 'it had been unlucky, half of it was that they were riled withhim, first because he had shot a ridiculous rook with white wings that mylady made no end of a fuss about. '

'Ah, then it is her spite, ' said Ida. 'She's a sly cat, with all hermeek ways. '

Herbert was not displeased with this evening's sympathy, as he layoutspread on the sofa, with the admiring and pitying eyes of his motherand sister upon him; but he soon began to feel--when he had had hisgrumble out, and could take his swing at home--that there could be toomuch of it. 

It was all very well to ease his own mind by complaining, but when heheard of Ida announcing that he had been shamefully treated, all out ofspite for killing a white rook, his sense of justice made him declarethat the notion was nothing but girl's folly, such as no person with agrain of sense could believe. 

The more his mother and her friends persisted in treating him as anill-used individual, the victim of his uncle's avarice and his aunt'sspite, the more his better nature revolted and acknowledged inwardly andsometimes outwardly the kindness and justice he had met with. It wasreally provoking that any attempt to defend them, or explain the facts, were only treated as proofs of his own generous feeling. Ida'spartisanship really did him more good than half a dozen lectures wouldhave done, and he steadily adhered to his promise not to bet, though onthe regatta day Ida and her friend Sibyl derided him for not choosing torisk even a pair of gloves; and while one pitied him, the other declaredthat he was growing a skinflint like his uncle. 

He talked and laughed noisily enough to Ida's friends, but he had seenenough at Northmoor to feel the difference, and he told his sister thatthere was not a lady amongst the whole kit of them, except RoseRollstone, who was coming down for her holiday. 

'Rose!' cried Ida, tossing her head. 'A servant's daughter and a hand ata shop! What will you say next, I wonder?'

'Lady is as lady acts, ' said Herbert, making a new proverb, whereat hismother and sister in chorus rebuked him, and demanded to know whether Idawere not a perfect lady. 

At which he laughed with a sound of scoffing, and being tired of thediscussion sauntered out of the house to that inexhaustible occupation ofwatching the boats come in, and smoking with old acquaintances, who werestill congenial to him, and declared that he had not become stuck-up, though he was turned into an awful swell! Perhaps they were less bad forhim than Stanhope, for they inspired no spirit of imitation. 

When he came back a later post had arrived, bringing the news ofConstance's successes and of the invitation to her to share theexpedition of her uncle and aunt. There was no question about lettingher go, but the feeling was scarcely of congratulation. 

'Well, little Conny knows how to play her cards!'

'Stuff--child wouldn't know what it meant, ' said Herbert glumly. 

'Well, ' said his sister, 'she always was the favourite, and I call it ashame. '

'What, because you've been such a good girl, and got such honours andprizes?' demanded Herbert. 

'Nonsense, Herbert, ' said his mother. 'Ida's education was finished, youknow. '

'Oh, she wasn't a bit older than Conny is now. '

'And I don't hold with all that study, science and logic, and what d'yecall it; that's no use to any one, ' continued his mother. 'It's not asif your sisters had to be governesses. Give me a girl who can play atune on the piano and make herself agreeable. Your uncle may do as hepleases, but he'll have Constance on his hands. The men don't fancy agirl that is always after books and lectures. '

'Not of your sort, perhaps, ' said Herbert, 'but I don't care what I betthat Conny gets a better husband than Ida. '

'It stands to reason, ' Ida said, almost crying, 'when uncle takes herabout to all these fine places and sets her up to be the favourite--justthe youngest. It's not fair. '

'As if she wasn't by a long chalk the better of the two, ' said Herbert. 

'Now, Bertie, ' interposed his mother, 'I'll not have you teasing andrunning down your sister, though I do say it is a shame and a slight topick out the youngest, when poor Ida is so delicate, and both of you twohave ever so much better a right to favours. '

'That's a good one!' muttered Herbert, while Ida exclaimed--

'Of course, you know, aunt has always been nasty to me, ever since I saidma said I was not strong enough to be bothered with that horrid school;and as to poor Herbert, they have spited him because he shot that--'

'Shut up, Ida, ' shouted Herbert. 'I wouldn't go with them if they wentdown on their knees to me! What should I do, loafing about among a lotof disputing frog-eaters, without a word of a Christian language, and oldFrank with his nose in a guide-book wanting me to look at beastlypictures and rum old cathedrals. You would be a fish out of water, too, Ida. Now Conny will take to it like a house afire, and what's more, shedeserves it!'

'Well, ma, ' put in the provoked Ida, 'I wonder you let Conny go, when itwould do me so much good, and it is so unfair. '

'My dear, you don't understand a mother's feelings. I feel the slightfor you, but your uncle must be allowed to have his way. He is at allthe expense, and to refuse for Conny would do you no good. '

'Except that she will be more set up than ever, ' murmured Ida. 

'Oh, come now! I wonder which looks more like the set-up one, ' saidHerbert, whose wider range had resulted in making him much alive to Ida'sshortcomings, and who looked on at her noisy style of flirtation with theeye of a grave censor. Whatever he might be himself, he knew what ayoung lady ought to be. 

He triumphed a little when, during the few days spent in London, Constance wrote of a delightful evening when, while her uncle and auntand Miss Morton had gone to an entertainment for Bertha's match-boxmakers, she had been permitted to have Rose Rollstone to spend the timewith her, the carriage, by their kind contrivance, fetching the girl bothin going and coming. 

The two young things had been thoroughly happy together. Rose had goneon improving herself; her companions in the art embroidery line weregirls of a good class, with a few ladies among them, and their tone wasgood and refined. It was the fashion among them to attend the classes, Bible and secular, put in their way, and their employers conscientiouslyattended to their welfare, so that Rose was by no means an unfittingcompanion for the High School maiden, and they most happily comparednotes over their very different lives, when they were not engaged inplaying with little Cea, as the unwieldy name of Miss Morton's _protegee_had been softened. She was a very pretty little creature, with big blueeyes and hair that could be called golden, and very full of life anddrollery, so that she was a treat to both; and when the housemaid, whosecharge she was, insisted on her coming to bed, they begged to superintendher evening toilet, and would have played antics with her in her cribhalf the night if they had not been inexorably chased away. 

Then they sat down on low stools in the balcony, among the flowers, inconvenient proximity for the caresses they had not yet outgrown, and hadwhat they called 'a sweet talk. '

Constance had been much impressed with the beauty of the embroidery, andthought it must be delightful to do such things. 

'Yes, for the forewoman, ' said Rose, 'but there's plenty of dull work;the same over and over again, and one little stitch ever so small goneamiss throws all wrong. Miss Grey told us to recollect it was just likeour lives!'

'That's nice!' said Constance. 'And it is for the Church and AlmightyGod's service?'

'Some of it, ' said Rose, 'but there's a good deal only for dresses, andfurniture, and screens. '

'Don't you feel like Sunday when you are doing altar-cloths and stools?'asked Constance reverently. 

'I wish I did, ' said Rose; 'but I don't do much of that kind yet, and onecan't keep up the being serious over it always, you know. Indeed, MissGrey does not wish us to be dull; she reads to us when there is time, andexplains the symbols that have to be done; but part of the time it is anamusing book, and she says she does not mind cheerful talk, only shetrusts us not to have gossip she would not like to hear. '

'I wonder, ' said Constance, 'whether I should have come with you if allthis had not happened? It must be very nice. '

'But your school is nice?'

'Oh yes. I do love study, and those Saturdays and Sundays at Northmoor, they are delicious! Uncle Frank reads with me about religion, you know. '

'Like our dear Bible class?'

'Yes; I never understood or felt anything before; he puts it so as itcomes home, ' said Constance, striving to express herself. 'Then I have adear little class at the Sunday school. '

'I am to have one, by and by. '

'Mine are sweet little things, and I work for them on Saturdays, whileAunt Mary reads to me. I do like teaching--and, do you know, Rose, Ithink I shall be a High School teacher!'

'Oh, Conny, I thought you were all so rich and grand!'

'No, we are not, ' said Constance lazily; 'we have nothing but what UncleFrank gives us, and I can't bear the way mamma and Ida are always tryingto get more out of him, when I know he can't always do what he likes, andnasty people think him shabby. I am sure I ought to work for myself. '

'But if Herbert is a lord?'

'I hope he won't be for a long long time, ' cried Constance. 'Besides, Iam sure he would want all his money for himself! And as to being ateacher, Aunt Mary was, and Miss Arden, who is so wise and good, is one. If I was like them I think it would be doing real work for God andgood--wouldn't it, Rose? Oh dear, oh dear, there's the carriage stoppingfor you!'

CHAPTER XIXTHE DOLOMITES

The summer was a very hot one, and the travellers, in spite of the charmof new scenes, and the wonders of everything to their unsophisticatedeyes, found it trying. Constance indeed was in a state of constantfelicity and admiration, undimmed except by the flagging of her twofellow-travellers in the heated and close German railway cars. Heruncle's head suffered much, and Lady Northmoor secretly thought hermaid's refusal to accompany them showed her to be a prudent woman. However, the first breath of mountain air was a grand revival to LordNorthmoor, and at Innsbruck he was quite alive, and walked about infervent delight, not desisting till he and Constance had made out everystatue on Maximilian's monument. His wife was so much tired andworn-out, that she heartily rejoiced in having provided him with such agood little companion, though she was disappointed at being obliged tofail him, and get what rest she could at the hotel. But then, as shetold him, if he learnt his way about it now, he would be able to show itall to her when they had both gained strength at Ratzes. 

Bertha had obtained full instructions and a welcome for them from Mrs. Bury, a kindly person, who, having married off her children while stillin full health and vigour, remained at the service of any relation whoneeded her, and in the meantime resorted to out-of-the-way places abroad. 

The railway took them to Botzen, which was hotter still, and thence on toCastelruth, whence there was no means of reaching Ratzes but by mule or_chaise a porteux_. Both alike were terrible to poor Mary; however, shemade up her mind to the latter, and all the long way was to her a dreamof terror and discomfort, and of trying to admire--what she knew sheought to admire--the wonderful pinnacle-like aiguilles of the Scherncleaving the air. For some time the way lay over the great plateau ofthe Scisser Alp--a sea of rich grass, full of cattle, where her husbandand niece kept on trying to bring their mules alongside of her to makeher participate in their ecstasy, and partake of their spoils--mountainpink, celestially blue gentian, brilliant poppy, or the like. Here theprincipal annoyance was that their mules were so obstinately bent on notapproaching her that she was in constant alarm for them, while Constancewas absolutely wild with delight, and even grave Frank was exhilarated bythe mountain air into boyish spirits, such as impressed her, though sheresolutely prevented herself from lowering them by manifesting want ofsympathy, though the aiguilles that they admired seemed to her savage, and the descent, along a perilous winding road, cut out among precipices, horrified her--on, on, through endless pine forests, where the mulesinsisted on keeping her in solitude, and where nothing could be seenbeyond the rough jolting path. At last, when a whole day had gone by, and even Constance sat her mule in silence and looked very tired, the firtrees grew more scanty. The aiguilles seemed in all their wildness to benodding overhead; there was a small bowling-green, a sort of chalet intwo divisions, united by a gallery: but Mary saw no more, for at thatmoment a loose slippery stone gave way, and the bearers stumbled andfell, dragging the chair so that it tipped over. 

Constance, who had ridden on in front with her uncle, first heard a cryof dismay, and as both leaped off and rushed back, they saw her aunt hadfallen, and partly entangled in the chair. 

'Do not touch her!' cried Frank, forgetting that he could not beunderstood, and raising her in his arms, as the chair was withdrawn; butshe did not speak or move, and there was a distressing throng andconfusion of strange voices, seeming to hem them in as Constance lookedround, unable to call up a single word of German, or to understand theexclamations. Then, as she always said, it was like an angel's voicethat said, 'What is it?' as through the crowd came a tall lady in a whitehat and black gown, and knelt down by the prostrate figure, saying, 'Ihope she is only stunned; let us carry her in. It will be better to lether come round there. '

The lady gave vigorous aid, and, giving a few orders in German, helpedLord Northmoor to carry the inanimate form into the hotel, a low buildingof stone, with a high-pitched shingle roof. Constance followed in abewilderment of fright, together with Lenchen, the Swiss maid, who, aswell as could be made out, was declaring that a Swiss bearer never made afalse step. 

Lady Northmoor was carried into a bedroom, and Constance was shut outinto a room that photographed itself on her memory, even in thatmoment--a room like a box, with a rough table, a few folding-chairs, aneasel, water-coloured drawings hung about in all directions, a bigtravelling-case, a few books, a writing-case, Mrs. Bury's sitting-room infact, which, as a regular sojourner, she had been able to secure andfurnish after her need. From the window, tall, narrow, latticed, with aheavy outside shutter, she saw a village green, a little church with asharp steeple, and pointed-roof houses covered with shingle, groups ofpeople, a few in picturesque Tyrolese costume, but others in the ordinarybadly cut edition of cosmopolitan human nature. There was a priest in abig hat and white bordered bands discussing a newspaper with a man with abig red umbrella; a party drinking coffee under a pine tree, and beyond, those strange wild pointed aiguilles pointing up purple and red againstthe sky. 

 [Picture: There was a priest in a big hat . . . ]

How delightful it would all have been if this quarter of an hour could beannihilated! She could find out nothing. Lenchen and thegood-natured-looking landlady came in and out and fetched things, butthey never stayed long enough to give her any real information, thelandlady shouting for 'Hemzel, ' etc. , and Lenchen calling loudly inGerman for the boxes, which had been slung on mules. She heard nothingdefinite till her uncle came out, looking pale and anxious. 

'She is better now, ' he said, with a gasp of relief, throwing himselfinto a chair, and holding out his hand to Constance, who could hardlyframe her question. 'Yes, quite sensible--came round quickly. The blowon the head seems to be of no consequence; but there may be a strain, orit may be only the being worn out and overdone. They are going toundress her and put her to bed now. Mrs. Bury is kindness itself. I didnot look after her enough on that dreadful road. '

'Isn't there a doctor?' Constance ventured to ask. 

'No such thing within I know not how many miles of these paths! But Mrs. Bury seems to think it not likely to be needed. Over-fatigue and theshake! What was I about? This air and all the rest were like anintoxication, making me forget my poor Mary!'

He passed his hand over his face with a gesture as if he were very muchshocked and grieved at himself, and Constance suggested that it was allthe mule's fault, and Aunt Mary never complained. 

'The more reason she should not have been neglected, ' he said; and it waswell for the excluded pair that just then the boxes were reported asarrived, and he was called on for the keys, so that wild searching forthings demanded occupied them. 

After a considerable time, Mrs. Bury came and told Lord Northmoor that hemight go and look at his wife for a few moments, but that she must bekept perfectly quiet and not talked to or agitated. Constance was not togo in at all, but was conducted off by the good lady to her own tinyroom, to get herself ready for the much-needed meal that was imminent. 

They met again in the outer room. There was a great Speise saal, aseparate building, where the bathers dived _en masse_; but since Mrs. Bury had made the place her haunt, she had led to the erection of anadditional building where there was a little accommodation for thetravellers of the better class who had of late discovered the glories ofthe Dolomites, though the baths were scarcely ever used except byartizans and farmers. She had this sitting-room chiefly made at her ownexpense with these few comforts, in the way of easy folding-chairs, avase of exquisite flowers on the table, a few delicate carvings, aneasel, and drawings of the mountain peaks and ravines suspendedeverywhere. 

Besides this there were only the bedrooms, as small as they well couldbe. 

They were summoned down to the evening meal, and the maid Lenchen wasleft with Lady Northmoor. There was only one other guest, a spectacledand rather silent German, and Constance presently gathered that Mrs. Burywas trying to encourage and inspirit Lord Northmoor, but seemed to thinkthere might be some delay before a move would be possible. 

They sent her to bed, for she was really very tired after the long walkand ride, and she could not help sleeping soundly; but the first thingshe heard in the morning was that the guide had been desired to send adoctor from Botzen, and the poor child spent a dreary morning of anxietywith nothing to do but to watch the odd figures disporting themselves orresting in the shade after their baths, to try a little sketching and alittle letter-writing, but she was too restless and anxious to get onwith either. 

All the comfort she got was now and then Mrs. Bury telling her that sheneed not be frightened, and giving her a book to read; and after themidday meal her uncle was desired by Mrs. Bury, who had evidently assumedthe management of him, to take the child out walking, for the doctorcould not come for hours, and Lady Northmoor had better be left to sleep. 

So they wandered out into the pinewoods, preoccupied and silent, gazingalong the path, as if that would hasten the doctor. Constance hadperceived that questions were discouraged, and did her best to keep frombeing troublesome by trying to busy herself with a bouquet of mountainflowers. 

The little German doctor came so late that he had to remain all night, but his coming, as well as that of a brisk American brother and sister, seemed to have cheered things up a good deal. Mrs. Bury talked to theGerman, and the Americans asked so many questions that answering themmade things quite lively. Indeed, Constance was allowed to wish her auntgood-night, and seeing her look just like herself on her pillows, muchrelieved her mind. 

CHAPTER XXRATZES

Things began to fall into their regular course at Ratzes, Lady Northmoorwas in a day or two able to come into Mrs. Bury's sitting-room for a fewhours every day; but there she lay on a folding chaise-longue that hadbeen arranged for her, languid but bright, reading, working, looking atMrs. Bury's drawings, and keeping the diary of the adventures of theothers. 

Her husband would fain never have left her, but he had to take his baths. These were in the lower story of the larger chalet. They were taken inrows of pinewood boxes in the vault. He muttered that it felt very likegoing alive into his coffin, when, like others, he laid himself down inthe rust-coloured liquid, 'each in his narrow cell' in iron 'laid, ' withhis head on a shelf, and a lid closing up to his chin, and he wasuncheered by conversation, as all the other patients were Austrians ofthe lower middle class, and their Tyrolean dialect would have been hardto understand even by German scholars. However, the treatment certainlydid him good, and entirely drove away his neuralgia, he walked, rode, andclimbed a good deal with Constance and a lad attached to theestablishment, whose German Constance could just understand. And whilehe stayed with his wife, Mrs. Bury took Constance out, showed her manydelights, helped her crude notions of drawing, and being a good botanistherself, taught the whole party fresh pleasures in the wonderful flora ofthe Dolomites. 

Now and then an English traveller appeared, and Lord Northmoor waspersuaded to join in expeditions for his niece's sake, that took themaway for a night or two. Thus they saw Caprile Cadore, St. Ulrich, thattown of toys, full of dolls of every tone, spotted wooden horses, carts, and the like. They beheld the tall points of Monte Serrata, and thewonderful 'Horse Teeth, ' with many more such marvels; and many were thecuriosities they brought back, and the stories they had to tell, withregrets that Aunt Mary had not been there to enjoy and add to theirenjoyment. 

So the days went on, and the end of Constance's holidays was in view, thelimit that had been intended for the Kur at Ratzes; but Aunt Mary had notbeen out of doors since their arrival, and seemed fit for nothing savelying by the window. 

Constance had begun to wonder what would be done, when she was told thata good-natured pair of English travellers, like herself bound to schoolterms, would escort her safely to London and see her into the train forColbeam, just in time for the High School term. 

'This will be the best way, ' said her aunt, kissing her. 'You have beena dear good girl, Conny, and a great pleasure and comfort to us both. '

'Oh, auntie, I have not done anything, Mrs. Bury has done it all. '

'Mrs. Bury is most kind, unspeakably kind, but, my dear dear girl, yourcompanionship has been so much to your dear uncle that I have been mostthankful to you. Always recollect, dearest Conny, you can be morecomfort to your uncle than anybody else, whatever may come. You _will_always be a good girl and keep up your tone, and make him your greatconsideration--after higher things; promise me. '

'Oh yes, indeed, auntie dear, ' said the girl, somewhat frightened andbewildered as the last kisses and good-byes were exchanged. Since thetravellers were to start very early the next morning on their mules forBotzen, whither Mrs. Bury meant to accompany them in order to make somepurchases, Lord Northmoor went with the party to the limits of hiswalking powers, and on the slope of the Alp, amid the fir-woods, took hisleave, Mrs. Bury telling him cheerfully that she should return the nextday, while he said that he could not thank her enough. He bade farewellto his niece, telling her that he hoped she would by and by be spendingher holidays at Northmoor if all went well. 

Constance had begun to grow alarmed, and watched for an opportunity ofimploring Mrs. Bury to tell her whether Aunt Mary were really very ill. 

Mrs. Bury laughed, and confided to her a secret, which made her at onceglad, alarmed, and important. 

'Oh, and is no one to know?' said little Constance, with rosy cheeks. 

'Not till leave is given, ' said Mrs. Bury. 'You see there is still somuch risk of things going wrong, that they both wish nothing to be saidat present. I thought they had spoken to you. '

'Oh no. But--but--' and Constance could not go on, as her eyes filledwith tears. 

'Is there special cause for anxiety, you mean, my dear? Hardly for_her_, though it was unlucky that she was as unknowing as you, and Idon't see how she is to be taken over these roads into a more civilisedplace. But I shall stay on and see them through with it, and I daresaywe shall do very well. I am used enough to looking after my owndaughters, and nobody particularly wants me at home. '

'That's what Aunt Mary meant by saying you were _so_ very good!'

'Well, it would be sheer inhumanity to leave them to themselves, and themercies of Ratzes, and there seems to be no one else that could come. '

'I'm glad I know!' said Constance, with a long breath. 'Only what shallI do if any one asks me about her?'

'Say she had a nasty fall, which makes it undesirable to move her justyet. It is the simple truth, and what you would have naturally said butfor this little communication of mine. '

'I suppose, ' said Constance, in a tone Mrs. Bury did not understand, 'itwill be all known before my Christmas holidays?'

'Oh yes, my dear, long before that. I'll write to you when I haveanything to tell. '

For which Constance thanked her heartily, and thenceforth felt a greatdeal older for the confidence, which delighted as well as made heranxious, for she was too fond of her uncle and aunt, as well as too youngand simple, for it to have occurred to her how the matter might affecther brother. 

After seeing much more on her road than she had done before, and wongolden opinions from her escort for intelligence and obligingness, shewas safely deposited in the train for Colbeam, without having gone home. 

She had made up her mind to pass Sunday at her boarding-house, and wasgreatly surprised when Lady Adela called on Saturday to take her toNorthmoor for the Sunday. 

'Now tell me about your uncle and aunt, ' the good lady began, whenConstance was seated beside her. 'Yes, I have heard from Mrs. Bury, butI want to know whether the place is tolerably comfortable. '

'Mrs. Bury has made it much better, ' said Constance. 'And it is sobeautiful, no one would care for comfort who was quite well. '

'And is your uncle well? Has he got over his headaches?' she askedsolicitously. 

In fact, the absence of Lord and Lady Northmoor had done more than theirpresence to make Lady Adela feel their value. She was astonished to findhow much she missed the power of referring to him and leaning on hissupport in all questions, small or great, that cropped up; and she hadbegun to feel that the stick might be a staff; besides which, havingimbibed more than an inkling of the cause of detention, she was anxiousto gather what she could of the circumstances. 

She was agreeably surprised in Constance, to whom the journey had been atime of development from the mere school girl, and who could talkpleasantly, showing plenty of intelligence and observation in a modestladylike way. Moreover, she had a game in the garden which little Amiceenjoyed extremely, and she and her little Sunday class were delighted tosee one another again. It resulted in her Sundays being spent atNorthmoor as regularly as before, and in Amice, a companionless child, thinking Saturday brought the white afternoon of the week. 

CHAPTER XXITHE HEIR-APPARENT

 'MY DEAR ADDIE, 'You have no doubt ceased from your exertions in the way of finding nurses, since the telegram has told you that the son and heir has considerately saved trouble and expense by making his appearance on Michaelmas morning. It was before there was time to fetch anybody but the ancient village Bettina. Everything is most prosperous, and I am almost as proud as the parents--and to see them gloat over the morsel is a caution. They look at him as if such a being had never been known on the earth before; and he really is a very fine healthy creature, most ridiculously like the portrait of the original old Michael Morton Northmoor in the full-bottomed wig. He seems to be almost equally marvellous to the Ratzes population, being the first infant seen there unswaddled--or washed. Bettina's horror at the idea of washing him is worth seeing. Her brown old face was almost convulsed, and she and our Frau-wirthin concurred in assuring me that it would be fatal to _der kleine baron_ if he were washed, except with white wine and milk at a fortnight old; nor would they accept my assurance that my three daughters and seven grandchildren had survived the process. I have to do it myself, and dress him as I can, for his wardrobe as made here is not complete, and whatever you can send us will be highly acceptable. It is lucky that Northmoor is a born nurse, for the women's fear of breaking the child is really justifiable, as they never handled anything not made up into a mummy; moreover, they wish to let all the world up into Mary's room to behold the curiosity, I met the priest upon his way and turned him back! So we have pretty well all the nursing on our hands, and happily it is of the most satisfactory kind, with the one drawback that we have to call in the services of a 'valia'; but on the other hand we have all been so much interested in a poor little widow, Hedwig Grantzen, whose husband was lost last spring in a snow-storm, that it is pleasant to have some employment for her. Such a creature as came over on chance and speculation--a great coarse handsome girl, in exaggerated costume, all new, with lacy ribbons down her back; but I rode over to Botzen, and interviewed her parish priest about her, and that was enough to settle her. Every one is asleep except myself, and Mary's face is one smile as she sleeps. 

 'This is going to be posted by the last of the tourists, luckily a clergyman, whom we begged to baptize the boy, as there is a possibility that snows may close us in before we can get away. 

 'So he is named Michael Kenton, partly after my own dear brother as well as the old founder, partly in honour of the day and of Sir Edward Kenton, who, they say, has been their very kind friend. It really is a feast to see people so wonderingly happy and thankful. The little creature has all the zest of novelty to them, and they coo and marvel over it in perfect felicity. When you will be introduced to the hero, I cannot guess, for though he has been an earlier arrival than his mother's inexperience expected, I much doubt her being able to get out of this place while the way to Botzen is passable according to the prognostics of the sages. What splendid studies of ice peaks I shall have! Your affectionate cousin, 'L. BURY. '

A telegram had preceded the letter. One soon followed by Mrs. Bury'spromised note had filled Constance's honest little heart with rapture, another had set all the bells in Northmoor Church ringing and Bestrejoicing that 'that there Harbut's nose was put out of joint, ' a feelingwherein Lady Adela could not but participate, though, of course, sheshowed no sign of it to Constance. A sharply-worded letter to the girlsoon came from her mother, demanding what she had known beforehand. Mrs. Morton had plainly been quite unprepared for what was a severe blow toher, and it was quite possible to understand how, in his shyness, LordNorthmoor had put off writing of the hope and expectation from day to daytill all had been fulfilled sooner than had been expected. 

It was the first thing that brought home to Constance that the event wasscarcely as delightful to her family as to herself. She wrote what sheknew and heard no more, for none of her home family were apt to favourher with much correspondence. Miss Morton, however, had written to hersister-in-law. 

'Poor Herbert! I am sorry for him, though you won't be. He takes itvery well, he really is a very good sort at bottom, and it really is thevery best thing for him, as I have been trying to persuade him. '

Bulletins came with tolerable frequency from Ratzes, with all goodaccounts of mother and child, and a particular description of littleMichael's beauties; but it was only too soon announced that snow wasfalling, and this was soon followed by another letter saying thatconsultation with the best authorities within reach had decided thatunless the weather were extraordinarily mild, the journey, after Novemberset in, was not to be ventured by Lady Northmoor or so young a child. There would be perils for any one, even the postmen and the guides, andif it were mild in one valley it might only render it more dangerous overthe next Alp. Still Mrs. Bury, a practised and enterprising mountaineer, might have attempted it; but though Mary was rapidly recovering and thelanguage was no longer utterly impracticable, the good lady could notbear to desert her charges, or to think what might happen to them, ifleft alone, in case of illness or accident, so she devoted herself tothem and to her studies of ice and snow, and wrote word to her familythat they were to think of her as hibernating till Easter, if notWhitsuntide. 

CHAPTER XXIIOUT OF JOINT

Constance had, of course, to spend her Christmas holidays at home, whereshe had not been for nine months. 

Her brother met her at the London terminus to go down with her, andthere, to her great joy, she also saw Rose Rollstone on the platform. Herbert, whose dignity had first prompted him to seek a smoking carriageapart from his sister, thereupon decided to lay it aside and enter withthem, looking rather scornful at the girls' mutual endearments. 

'Come, Conny, Miss Rollstone has had enough of that, ' he said, 'and hereare a lot going to get in. Oh my, the cads! I shall have to get intothe smoking carriage after all. '

'No, don't. Sit opposite and we shall do very well. '

Then came the exchange of news, and--'You've heard, of course, Rosie?'

'I should think I had, ' then an anxious glance at Herbert, who answered--

'Oh yes, mother and Ida have been tearing their hair ever since, but itis all rot! The governor's very welcome to the poor little beggar!'

'Oh, that's right! That's very noble of you, Herbert, ' said both thegirls in a breath. 

'Well, you see, old Frank is good to live these thirty or forty yearsyet, and what was the good of having to wait? Better have done with itat once, I say, and he has written me a stunning jolly letter. '

'Oh, I was sure he would!' cried Constance. 

'I'm to go on just the same, and he won't cut off my allowance, ' pursuedHerbert. 

'It is just as my papa says, ' put in Rose, 'he is always the gentleman. And you'll be in the army still?'

'When I've got through my exams; but they are no joke, Miss Rose, I cantell you. It is Conny there that likes to sap. What have you been doingthis time, little one?'

'I don't know yet, but Miss Astley thinks I have done well and shall getinto the upper form, ' said Constance shyly. 'I got on with my Germanwhile I was abroad, trying to teach Uncle Frank. '

At which Herbert laughed heartily, and demanded what sort of scholar hemade. 

'Not very good, ' owned Constance; 'he did forget so from day to day, andhe asked so many questions, and was always wanting to have thingsexplained. But it made me know them better, and Mrs. Bury had such nicebooks, and she helped me. If you want to take up French and German, Bertie--

He shrugged his shoulders. 

'Don't spoil the passing hour, child. I should think you would be gladenough to get away from it all. '

'I do want to get on, ' said Constance. 'I must, you know, more than evernow. '

'Oh, you mean that mad fancy of going and being a teacher?'

'It is not a bit mad, Herbert. Rose does not think it is, and I want youto stand by me if mamma and Ida make objections. '

'Girls are always in such a hurry, ' grumbled Herbert. 'You need not makea stir about it yet. You won't be able to begin for ever so long. '

Rose agreed with him that it would be much wiser not to broach thesubject till Constance was old enough to begin the preparation, though, with the impatience of youth to express its designs and give them form, she did not like the delay. 

'I tell you what, Con, ' finally said Herbert, 'if you set mother and Idaworrying before their time, I shall vote it all rot, and not say a wordto help you. '

Which disposed of the subject for the time, and left them to discusshappily Constance's travels and Herbert's new tutor and companions tilltheir arrival at Westhaven, where Constance's welcome was quite asecondary thing to Herbert's, as she well knew it would be, nor felt itas a grievance, though she was somewhat amazed at seeing him ferventlyembraced, and absolutely cried over, with 'Oh, my poor injured boy!'

Herbert did not like it at all, and disengaging himself rapidly, growledout his favourite expletive of 'Rot! Have done with that!'

He was greatly admired for his utter impatience of commiseration, butthere was no doubt that the disappointment was far greater to his motherand Ida than to himself. He cared little for what did not make anyactual difference to his present life, whereas to them the glory andhonour of his heirship and the future hopes were everything--andConstance's manifest delight in the joy of her uncle and aunt, and hergirlish interest in the baby, were to their eyes unfeeling folly, if notabsolute unkindness to her brother. 

'Dear little baby, indeed!' said Ida scornfully. 'Nasty little wretch, Isay. One good thing is, up in that cold place all this time he's surenot to live. '

Herbert whistled. 'That's coming it rather strong. ' And Constance, withtears starting to her eyes, said, 'For shame, Ida, how can you be sowicked! Think of Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary!'

'I believe you care for them more than for your own flesh and blood!'exclaimed her mother. 

'Well, and haven't they done a sight deal more for her?' said Herbert. 

'You turning on me too, you ungrateful boy!' cried Mrs. Morton. 

Herbert laughed. 

'If it comes to gratitude, ' he said, and looked significantly at thedecorations. 

'And what is it but the due to his brother's widow?' said Mrs. Morton. 'Just a pittance, and you may depend that will be cut down on somepretext now!'

'I should think so, if they heard Ida's tongue!' said Herbert. 

'And Constance there is spitefulness enough to go and tellthem--favourite as she is!' said Ida. 

'I should think not!' said Constance indignantly. 'As if I would do sucha mean thing!'

'Come, come, Ida, ' said her mother, 'your sister knows better than that. It's not the way when she is only just come home, so grown too andimproved, "quite the lady. "'

Mrs. Morton had a mother's heart for Constance, though only in the thirddegree, and was really gratified to see her progress. She had turned upher pretty brown hair, and the last year had made her much less of achild in appearance; her features were of delicate mould, she had darkeyes, and a sweet mouth, with a rose-blush complexion, and was pleasingto look on, though, in her mother's eyes, no rival to the thin, rathersharply-defined features, bright eyes, and pink-and-white complexion thatmade Ida the belle of a certain set at Westhaven. The party were moreamicable over the dinner-table--for dinner it was called, as an assertionof gentility. 

'Are you allowed to dine late, ' asked Ida patronisingly of her sister, 'when you are not at school?

'Lady Adela dines early, ' said Constance. 

'Oh, for your sake, I suppose?'

'Always, I believe, ' said Constance. 

'Yes, always, ' said Herbert. 'Fine people needn't ask what's genteel, you see, Ida. '

That was almost the only breeze, and after dinner Herbert rushed out fora smell of sea, interspersed with pipe, and to 'look up the inevitableold Jack. '

Constance was then subjected to a cross-examination on all thecircumstances of the detention at Ratzes, and all she had heard or oughtto have heard about the arrival of the unwelcome little Michael, whileher mother and sister drew their own inferences. 

'Really, ' said Ida at last, 'it is just like a thing in a book. '

Constance was surprised. 

'Because it was such a happy surprise for them, ' she added hastily. 

'No, nonsense, child, but it is just what they always do when they want asupposititious heir. '

'Ida, how can you say such things?'

'But it is, Conny! There was the wicked Sir Ronald Macronald. He tookhis wife away to Belgrade, right in the Ukraine mountains, and it--'

'Belgrade is in Hungary, and the Cossacks live in the Ukraine in Russia, 'suggested Constance. 

'Oh, never mind your school-girl geography, it was Bel something, anout-of-the-way place in the mountains anyway, and there he pretended shehad a child, just out of malice to the right heiress, that lovely Lilian, and he got killed by a stag, and then she confessed on her death-bed. Ideclare it is just like--'

'My dear, don't talk in that way, your sister is quite shocked. Youruncle never would--'

'Bless me, ma, I was only in fun. I could tell you ever so many storieslike that. There's Broughton's, on the table there. I knew from thefirst it was an impostor, and the old nurse dressed like a nun was hismother. '

'I believe you always know the end before you are half through the firstvolume, ' said her mother admiringly; 'but of course it is all right, onlyit is a terrible disappointment and misfortune for us, and not to belooked for after all these years. '

The last three Christmastides had been spent at Northmoor, where it hadbeen needful to conform to the habits of the household, which impressedIda and her mother as grand and conferring distinction, but decidedlydull and religious. 

So as they were at Westhaven, perforce, they would make up for it, Christmas Eve was spent in a tumult of preparation for the diversions ofthe next day. Mrs. Morton had two maids now, but to her they were still'gals, ' not to be trusted with the more delicate cookeries, and Ida wasfully engaged in the adornment of the room and herself, while Constanceran about and helped both, and got more thanks from her mother than hersister. 

Ida was to end the day with a dance at a friend's house, but she was notdesirous of taking Constance with her, having been accustomed to treather as a mere child, and Constance, though not devoid of a wish foramusement, knew that her uncle and aunt would have taken her to church, where she would have enjoyed the festal service. 

Her mother would not let her go out in the dark alone, and was too tiredto go with her, so she had to stay at home, while Herbert disportedhimself elsewhere, and Constance underwent another cross-examination overthe photographs she had brought home, but Mrs. Morton was never unkindwhen alone with her, and she had all the natural delight of youth inrelating her adventures. Mrs. Morton, however, showed offence at nothaving been sent for instead of Mrs. Bury. --'So much less of a relation, 'and Constance found herself dwelling on the ruggedness of the pass, andthe difficulties of making oneself understood, but Mrs. Morton stillpersisted that she 'could not understand why they should have got intosuch a place at all, when there were plenty of fashionable places in thenewspaper where they could have had society and attendance andeverything. '

'Ah, but that was just what Uncle Frank didn't want. '

'Well, if they choose to be so eccentric, and close and shy, they can'twonder that people talk. '

'Mamma, you can't mean that horrid nonsense that Ida talked about! Itwas only a joke!'

'Oh, my dear, I don't say that I suspect anything--oh no, --only, if theyhad not been so close and queer, one would have been able to contradictit. I like people to be straightforward, that's all I have to say. Andit is terribly hard on your poor brother to be so disappointed, afterhaving his expectations so raised!' and Mrs. Morton melted into tears, leaving Constance with nothing to say, for in the first place, she didnot think Herbert, as yet at least, was very sensible of his loss, and inthe next, she did not quite venture to ask her mother whether she thoughtlittle Michael should have been sacrificed to Herbert's expectations. Soshe took the wiser course of producing a photograph of Vienna. 

CHAPTER XXIIIVELVET

Constance created quite a sensation when she came down dressed for churchon Christmas Day in a dark blue velvet jacket, deeply trimmed with silverfox, and a hat and muff _en suite_, matching with her serge dress, andthough unpretending, yet very handsome. 

Up jumped Ida, from lacing her boots by the fire. 'Well, I never! Theyare spoiling you! Real velvet, I declare, and real silk-wadded lining. Look, ma. What made them dress you like that?'

'It wasn't them, ' said Constance, 'it was Lady Adela. One Sunday inOctober it turned suddenly cold, and I had only my cloth jacket, and shesent up for something warm for me. This was just new before she wentinto black, when husband died, and she had put it away for Amice, but itfitted me so well, and looked so nice, that she was so kind as to wish meto keep it always. '

'Cast-off clothes! That's the insolence of these swells, ' said Ida. 'Iwonder you had not the spirit to refuse. '

'Sour grapes, ' muttered Herbert; while her mother sighed--'Ah, that'swhat we come to!'

'Must not I wear it, mamma?' said Constance, who had a certain attachmentto the beautiful and comfortable garment. 'She told me she had only wornit once in London, and she was so very kind. '

'Oh, if you call it kindness, ' said Ida, 'I call it impertinence. '

'If you had only heard--' faltered Constance. 

'No, no, ' said their mother, 'you could not refuse, of course, my dear, and no one here will know. It becomes her very well too. Doesn't it, Ida?'

Ida made a snort. 'If people choose to make a little chit of aschoolgirl ridiculous by dressing her out like that!' she said. 

'There isn't time now before church, ' said Constance almost tearfully, 'or I would take it off. '

'No such thing, ' said Herbert. 'Come on, Conny. You shall walk with me. You look stunning, and I want Westhaven folk to see for once what a ladyis like. '

Constance was very glad to be led away from Ida's comments, and resolvedthat her blue velvet should not see the light again at Westhaven; but shedid not find this easy to carry out; for, perhaps for the sake of teasingIda, Herbert used to inquire after it, and insist on her wearing it, andher mother liked to see her, and to show her, in it. It was only Ida whoseemed unable to help saying something disagreeable, till, almost indespair, Constance offered to lend the bone of contention; but Lady Adelawas a small woman, and Constance would never be on so large a scale asher sister, so that the jacket refused to be transferred except at therisk of being spoilt by alteration; and here Mrs. Morton interfered, 'Itwould never do to have them say at Northmoor that "Lady Morton's" gifthad been spoilt by their meddling with it. ' Constance was glad, thoughshe suspected that Lady Adela would never have found it out. 

Then Ida consulted Sibyl Grover, who was working with a dressmaker, andwith whom she kept up a sort of patronisingly familiar acquaintance, asto making something to rival it, and Sibyl was fertile in devices as todoing so cheaply, but when she consulted her superior, she was told thatwithout the same expensive materials it would evidently be only animitation, and moreover, that the fashion was long gone out of date. Which enabled Ida to bear the infliction with some degree of philosophy. 

This jacket was not, however, Constance's only trouble. Her consciencewas already uneasy at the impossibility of getting to evensong onChristmas Day. She had been to an early Celebration without asking anyquestions, and had got back before Herbert had come down to breakfast, and very glad she was that she had done so, for she found that her motherregarded it as profane 'to take the Sacrament' when she was going to havea party in the evening, and when Constance was in the midst of the partyshe felt that--if it were to be--her mother might be right. 

It was a dinner first--at which Constance did not appear--chiefly ofolder people, who talked of shipping and of coals. Afterwards, if theynoticed the young people, joked them about their imaginary lovers--beaux, as the older ladies called them; young men, as the younger ones said. One, the most plain spoken of all, asked Herbert how he felt, at whichthe boy wriggled and laughed sheepishly, and his mother had a greatconfabulation with various of the ladies, who were probably condolingwith her. 

Later, there were cards for the elders, and sundry more young people camein for a dance. The Rollstones were considered as beneath the dignity ofthe Mortons, but Herbert had loudly insisted on inviting Rose for theevening and had had his way, but after all she would not come. Herbertfelt himself aggrieved, and said she was as horrid a little prig asConstance, who on her side felt a pang of envy as she thought of Rosegoing to church and singing hymns and carols to her father and mother, while she, after a struggle under the mistletoe, which made her hot andmiserable, had to sit playing waltzes. One good-natured lady offered torelieve her, but she was too much afraid of the hero of the mistletoe tostir from her post, and the daughter of her kindly friend had no scruplein exclaiming--

'Oh no, ma, don't! You always put us out, you know, and Constance Mortonis as true as old Time. '

'I am sure Constance is only too happy to oblige her friends, ' said Mrs. Morton. 'And she is not out yet, ' she added, as a tribute to high life. 

If Constance at times felt unkindly neglected, at others she heard surgesof giggling, and suppressed shrieking and protests that made her feel thepiano an ark of refuge. 

The parting speech from a good-natured old merchant captain was, 'Why, you demure little pussy cat, you are the prettiest of them all! Whathave yon lads been thinking about to let those little fingers be goinginstead of her feet? Or is it all Miss Ida's jealousy, eh?'

All this, in a speaking-trumpet voice, put the poor child into an agonyof blushes, which only incited him to pat her on the cheek, and the restto laugh hilariously, under the influence of negus and cheap champagne. 

Constance could have cried for very shame, but when she was waiting onher mother, who, tired as she was, would not go to bed without locking upthe spoons and the remains of the wine, Mrs. Morton said kindly, 'You aretired, my dear, and no wonder. They were a little noisy to-night. Thoseare not goings-on that I always approve, you know, but young folk alwayslike a little pleasure extra at Christmas. Don't you go and get toogenteel for us, Conny. Come, come, don't cry. Drink this, my love, you're tired. '

'Oh, mamma, it is not the being genteel--oh no, but Christmas Day andall!'

'Come, come, my dear, I can't have you get mopy and dull; religion is avery good thing, but it isn't meant to hinder all one's pleasure, andwhen you've been to church on a Christmas Day, what more can be expectedof young people but to enjoy themselves? Come, go to bed and think nomore about it. '

To express or even to understand what she felt would have been impossibleto Constance, so she had to content herself with feeling warm at herheart, at her mother's kind kiss. 

All the other parties she saw were much more decorous, even toaffectation, except that at the old skipper's, and he was viewed by thefamily as a subject for toleration, because he had been a friend andmessmate of Mrs. Morton's father. All the good side of that lady and Idacame out towards him and his belongings. He had an invalidgranddaughter, with a spine complaint and feeble eyesight, and Ida spentmuch time in amusing her, teaching her fancy works and reading to her. Unluckily it was only trashy novels from the circulating library thatthey read; Ida had no taste for anything else, and protested that Louiewould be bored to death if she tried to read her the African adventureswhich were just then the subject of enthusiasm even with Herbert! Idawas not a dull girl. Unlike some who do not seem to connect their bookswith life, she made them her realities and lived in them, and as shehardly ever read anything more substantial her ideas of life and societywere founded on them, though in her own house she was shrewd in practicalmatters, and though not strong was a useful active assistant to hermother whenever there was no danger of her being detected in doinganything derogatory to one so nearly connected with the peerage. 

Indeed, she seemed to regard her sister's dutiful studies as proofs ofdulness and want of spirit. She was quite angry when Constance objectedto _The Unconscious Impostor_, --very yellow, with a truculent flamingdesign outside--that 'she did not think she ought to read that kind ofbook--Aunt Mary would not like it. '

'Well, if I would be in bondage to an old governess! You are not such achild now. '

'Don't, Ida. Uncle Frank would not like it either. '

'Perhaps not, ' said Ida, with an ugly, meaning laugh as she glanced againat the title. 

Constance might really have liked to read more tales than she allowedherself. _The House on the Marsh_ tempted her, but she was true to theadvice she had received, and Rose Rollstone upheld her in her resolution. 

Ida thought it rather 'low' in Herbert and Constance to care for the oldbutler's daughter, but their mother had a warm spot in the bottom of herheart, and liked a gossip with Mrs. Rollstone too much to forbid thehouse to her daughter, besides that she shrank from inflicting on her somuch distress. 

So during the fortnight that Rose spent at home the girls were togethermost of the morning. After Constance, well wrapped up, had practised inthe cold drawing-room, where economy forbade fires till the afternoon, she sped across to Rose in the little stuffy parlour where Mr. Rollstoneliked to doze over his newspaper to the lullaby of their low-voicedchatter. Often they walked together, and were sometimes joined byHerbert, who on these occasions always showed that he knew how to behavelike a gentleman. 

Herbert was faithfully keeping his promise not to bet, though, as heobserved, he had not expected to be in for it so long. But it wassatisfactory to hear that his present fellow-pupils did not go in forthat sort of thing, and Constance felt sure that her uncle and aunt wouldbe pleased with him and think him much improved. 

CHAPTER XXIVTHE REVENGE OF SORDID SPIRITS

'I am quite convinced, ' said Ida Morton, 'it is quite plain why we arenot invited. '

'My dear, you see what your aunt says; that Mrs. Bury's daughter'shusband is ordered to India, and that having the whole family to stay atNorthmoor gives them the only chance of being all together for a littlewhile, and after their obligations to Mrs. Bury--'

'Ma, how can you be so green? Obligations, indeed! It is all a mereexcuse to say there is not room for us in that great house. I seethrough it all. It is just to prevent us from being able to askinconvenient questions of the German nurse and Mrs. Bury and all!'

'Now, Ida, I wish you would put away that fancy. Your uncle and auntwere always such good people! And there was Mrs. Bury--'

'Mother, you will never understand the revenge of sordid souls, ' said Idatragically, quoting from _The Unconscious Impostor_. 

'Revenge! What can you mean?'

'Of course, you know, Mrs. Bury never forgave Herbert's taking her for atramp, and you know how nasty uncle was about that white rook and thebets. Oh, it is quite plain. He was to be deprived of his rights, andso this journey was contrived, and they got into this out-of-the-way, inaccessible place, and sent poor Conny away, and then had no doctor ornurse--exactly as people always do. '

'Oh, Ida, only in stories! Your novels are turning your head. '

'Novels are transcripts of life, ' again said Ida, solemnly quoting. 

'I don't believe it if they put such things into your head, ' said hermother. 'Asking Herbert to be godfather too! Such a compliment!'

'An empty compliment, to hoodwink us and the poor boy, ' said Ida. 'No, no, ma, the keeping you away settles it in my mind, and it shall be thebusiness of my life to unmask that!'

So spoke Ida, conscious of being a future heroine. 

It was quite true that Herbert had been asked to stand godfather to hislittle cousin's admission into the Church, after, of course, a very goodreport had been received from his tutor. 'You are the little fellow'snearest kinsman, ' wrote Lord Northmoor, 'and I trust to you to influencehim for good. ' Herbert wriggled, blushed, thought he hated it, was gladit had been written instead of spoken, but was really touched. 

His uncle had justly thought responsibility would be wholesome, andbesides, Herbert represented to him his brother, for whom he had a verytender feeling. 

It was quite true that Northmoor was as full as it would hold. Mrs. Bury's eldest daughter was going out to India, and another had a husbandin the Civil Service; the third lived in Ireland, and the only way ofhaving the whole family together for their last fortnight was to gatherthem at Northmoor, as soon as its lord and lady returned, nor had theybeen able to escape from their Dolomite ravine till the beginning of May, for the roads were always dangerous, often impassable, so that there hadbeen weeks when they were secluded from even the post, and had haddifficulties as to food and fire. 

However, it had done them no harm, and was often looked back upon as, metaphorically as well as literally, the brightest and whitest time intheir lives. Frank had walked and climbed both with Mrs. Bury and on hisown account, and had drunk in the wild glories of the mountain winter, and the fantastic splendours of snow and ice on those wondrous peaks. And, with that new joy and delight to be found in the queer woodencradle, his heart was free to bound as perhaps it had never done before, in exulting thankfulness, as he looked up to those foretastes of theGreat White Throne. 

Never had he had such a rest before from toil, care, and anxiety as inthose months in the dry, bracing air, and it was the universal remarkthat Lord Northmoor came back years younger and twice the man he had beenbefore, with a spirit of cheerfulness and enterprise such as had alwaysbeen wanting; while as to his wife, she was less strong than before, butthere was a certain peaceful, yet exulting happiness about her, and herface had gained wonderfully in sweetness and expression. 

The child was a fine plump little fellow, old enough to laugh and respondto loving faces and gestures. Mary had feared the sight might be painfulto Lady Adela, and was gratified to find her too true a baby-lover andtoo generous a spirit not to worship him almost as devotedly as didConstance. 

Perhaps the heads of the family had never seen or participated inanything like the domestic mirth and enjoyment of that fortnight's visit;Bertha was with Lady Adela, and the intimacy and confidence in whichFrank and Mary had lived with Mrs. Bury had demolished many barriers ofshyness, and made them hosts who could be as one with theirguests--guests with whom the shadow of parting made the last sunshineseem the more bright. 

'I did not know what I was letting you in for, ' said Bertha, in apologyto Mrs. Bury. 

'My dear, I would not have been without the experience on any account. Inever saw such a refreshing pair of people. '

'Surely it must have been awfully slow--regular penal servitude!'

'You confuse absence of small talk with absence of soul, Birdie. When wehad once grown intimate enough to hold our tongues if we had nothing tosay, we got on perfectly. '

'And what you had to say was about Master Michael?'

'Not entirely; though I must say the mingled reverence and curiosity withwhich they regard the little monster, and their own fear of not bringingup their treasure properly, were a very interesting study. '

'More so than your snowy peaks! Ah, if the proper study of mankind isman, the proper study of womankind is babe. '

'Well, it was not at all an unsatisfactory study, in this case. And letme tell you, Miss Birdie, it is no bad thing to be shut in for a fewmonths with a few good books and a couple of thoroughly simple-heartedpeople, who have thought a good deal in their quiet humdrum way. '

'Why, Lettice, you must have been quite an education to them!'

'I hope they were an education to me. '

'I hope your conscience is not going to be such a rampant and obstructivething as that which they possess in common, ' said Bertha. 

'I wish it had been, ' said Mrs. Bury gravely. 

'At any rate, the deadly lively time has brisked you all up, ' saidBertha, laughing. 

Constance, on her Saturdays and Sundays, looked on with a kind of wonder. She was not exactly of either set. The children were all so young as tolook on her as a grown-up person, though willing to let her play withthem; and she was outside the group of young married people, and couldnot enter into their family fun; but this kind of playfulness andmerriment was quite a revelation to her. She had never before seenmirth, except, of course, childish and schoolgirl play, that had not init something that hurt her taste and jarred on her feeling as much as didIda's screeching laughter in comparison with the soft ripplings of theseyoung matrons. 

Still, little Michael was her chief delight, and she could hardly bedetached from him. She refreshed her colloquial German (or ratherAustrian) with his nurse, who had much to say of the goodness of _dieGnadigen Frauen_. Poor thing, she was the youthful widow of a guide, andthe efforts of the two Frauen had been in vain to keep alive her onlychild, after whose death she had found some consolation in taking chargeof Lady Northmoor's baby on the way home. Constance hoped Ida mightnever hear this fact. 

Some degree of prosperity was greeting the little heir. A bit ofmoorland, hitherto regarded as worthless, had first been crossed by abranch line, and the primary growth of a station had been followed by thediscovery of good building stone, and the erection of a crop of houses ofall degrees, which promised to set the Northmoor finances on a betterfooting than had been theirs for years, and set their conscientiouslandlord to work at once on providing church room and schools. 

All this, and that most precious possession at home, combined to giveLord Northmoor an amount of spirit and life that enabled him to take hisplace in the county, emancipate himself from the squire, show an opinionof his own, and open his mouth occasionally. As Bertha observed, no onewould ever have called him a stick if he had begun like this. To peoplelike these, humbled and depressed in early life, a little happiness was agreat stimulus. 

CHAPTER XXVTHE LOVE

It was not till Christmas that Ida had the opportunity of making herobservations. By that time 'Mite, ' as he was supposed to have namedhimself, had found the use of his feet, and was acquiring that of histongue. In fact, he was a very fine forward child, who might easily havebeen supposed to be eighteen months old instead of fifteen, as Ida didnot fail to remark. 

He was a handsome little creature, round and fair, with splendid sturdylegs and mottled arms, hair that stood up in a pale golden crest, roundblue eyes and a bright colour, without much likeness as yet to eitherparent, though Lord Northmoor declared that there was an exactresemblance to his own brother, Charles, Herbert's father, as he firstremembered him. Ida longed to purse up her lips but did not dare, andwas provoked to see her mother taken completely captive by his charms, and petting him to the utmost extent. 

Indeed, Lady Northmoor, who was very much afraid of spoiling him, wasoften distressed when such scenes as this took place. 'Mite! Mite, dear, no!' when his fat little hands had grasped an ivory paper-cutter, and itsblade was on the way to the button mouth. 'No!' as he paused and lookedat her. 'Here's Mite's ball! poor little dear, do let him have it'--andMite, reading sympathy in his aunt's face, laughed in a fascinatingtriumphant manner, and took a bite with his small teeth. 

'Mite! mother said no!' and it was gently taken from his hand, but beforethe fingers had embraced the substituted ball, a depreciating look andword of remonstrance gave a sense of ill-usage and there was a roar. 

'Oh, poor little dear! Here--auntie's goody goody--'

'No, no, please, Emma, he has had quite as many as he ought! No, no, Mite--' and he was borne off sobbing in her arms, while Ida observed, 'There! is that the way people treat their own children?'

'Some people never get rid of the governess, ' observed Mrs. Morton, quiteunconscious that but for her interference there would have been nocontest and no tears. 

But she herself had no doubts, and was mollified by Mary's plea on herreturn. 'He is quite good now, but you see, there is so much danger ofour spoiling him, we feel that we cannot begin too soon to make himobedient. '

'I could not bear to keep a poor child under in that way. '

'I believe it saves them a great deal if obedience is an instinct, ' saidMary. 

It had not been Mrs. Morton's method, and she was perfectly satisfiedwith the result, so she only made some inarticulate sound; but shethought Frank quite as unnatural, when he kept Michael on his knee atbreakfast, but with only an empty spoon to play with! All the tossingand playing, the radiant smiles between the two did not in her eyes atonefor these small beginnings of discipline, even though herbrother-in-law's first proceeding, whenever he came home, was to look forhis son, and if the child were not in the drawing-room, to hurry up tothe nursery and bring him down, laughing and shouting. 

The Tyrolean nurse had been sacrificed to those notions of training whichthe Westhaven party regarded as so harsh. Her home sickness and piningfor her mountains had indeed fully justified the 'rampant consciences, 'as to the humanity as well as the expedience of sending her home beforeher indulgence of the Kleiner Freiherr had had time to counteract hisparents' ideas, and her place had been supplied by the nurse whom Amicewas outgrowing, so that Ida was disappointed of her intentions ofexamining her, and laid up the circumstances as suspicious, though, onthe other hand, her mother was gratified at exercising a bit of patronageby recommending a nursery girl from Westhaven. The next winter, however, was not marked by a visit to Northmoor. Ida had been having her fullshare of the summer and early autumnal gaieties of Westhaven, and amongthe yachts who were given to putting in there was a certain _Morna_, belonging to Sir Thomas Brady, who had become a baronet by force ofsuccess in speculation. His son, who chiefly used it, showed evidentadmiration of Miss Morton's bright cheeks and eyes, and so often resortedto Westhaven, and dropped in at what she had named Northmoor cottage, that there was fair reason for supposing that this might result in morethan an ordinary flirtation. 

However, at the regatta, when she had looked for distinguished attentionon his part, she felt herself absolutely neglected, and the very next daythe _Morna_ sailed away, without a farewell. 

Ida at first could hardly believe it. When she did, the conviction cameupon her that his son's attachment had been reported to Sir Thomas, andthat the young man had been summoned away against his will. It wouldhave been different, no doubt, had Herbert still been heir-presumptive. 

'That horrid little Mite!' said she. 

Whether her heart or her ambition had been most affected might bedoubtful. At any rate, the disappointment added to the oppression of aheavy cold on the chest, which she had caught at the regatta, and whichbecame severe enough to call for the doctor. 

Thus the mother and daughter did not go to Northmoor. At a ball given onboard a steam yacht just before Christmas Ida caught a violent cold onthe chest, the word congestion was uttered, and an opinion was pronouncedthat as she had always weak lungs, a spring abroad would be advisable. 

Mrs. Morton wrote a letter with traces of tears upon it, appealing to herbrother-in-law to assist her as the only hope of saving her dearestchild, and the quarries had done so well during the last year that he wasable to respond with a largesse sufficient for her needs, though not forher expectations. 

Mrs. Morton would have liked to have taken Constance as interpreter, andgeneral aid and assistant; but Constance was hard at work, aspiring to ascholarship, at a ladies' college, and it was plain that her sister wasnot so desirous of her company as to make her mother overrule her wishesas a duty. 

In fact, Ida had found a fellow-traveller who would suit her much betterthan Constance. Living for the last year in lodgings near at hand was aMiss Gattoni, daughter of an Italian courier and French lady's maid. Ashalf boarder at a third-rate English school, she had acquired educationenough to be first a nursery-governess, and later a companion; and in herlast situation, when she had gone abroad several times with a rheumaticold lady, she had recommended herself enough to receive a legacy whichrendered her tolerably independent. She was very good-natured, and hadgraduated in the art of making herself acceptable, and, as she reallywished to go abroad again, she easily induced Mrs. Morton and Ida tothink it a great boon that she should join forces with them, and as shewas an experienced traveller with a convenient smattering of varioustongues, she really smoothed their way considerably and lived much moreat her ease than she could have done upon her own resources, alwaysfrequenting English hotels and boarding-houses. 

Mrs. Morton and Ida were of that order of tourists who do not so muchcare for sights as for being on a level with those who have seen them;and besides, Ida was scarcely well or in spirits enough for much exertiontill after her first month at Nice, which restored her altogether to herusual self, and made her impatient of staying in one place. 

It is not, however, worth while to record the wanderings of the trio, until in the next summer they reached Venice, where Ida declared herintention of penetrating into the Dolomites. There was an outcry. Whatcould she wish for in that wild and savage country, where there was nocomfortable hotel, no society, no roads--nothing in short to make lifetolerable, whereas an hotel full of Americans of extreme politeness toladies, and expeditions in gondolas, when one could talk and have plentyof attention, were only too delightful?

That peaks should be more attractive than flirtations was inexplicable, but at last in secret confabulation Ida disclosed her motive, and inanother private consultation Mrs. Morton begged Miss Gattoni to agree toit, as the only means of satisfying the young lady, or putting her mindat rest about a fancy her mother could not believe in; though even as shesaid, 'it would be so very shocking, it is perfectly ridiculous to thinkmy brother Lord Northmoor would be capable, ' the shrewd confidantedetected a lingering wish that it might be so!

Maps and routes were consulted, and it was decided that whereas to gofrom Venice through Cadore would involve much mule-riding and roughroads, the best way would be to resort to the railway to Verona, andthence to Botzen as the nearest point whence Ratzes could be reached. 

CHAPTER XXVIIDA'S WARNING

Botzen proved to be very hot and full of smells, nor did Mrs. Morton carefor its quaint old medieval houses, but Ida's heart had begun to fail herwhen she came so near the crisis, and on looking over the visitors' bookshe gave a cry. 'Ah, if we had only known! It is all of no use. '

'How?' she was asked. 

'That horrid Mrs. Bury!'

'There?'

'Of course she is. Only a week ago she was here. If she is at Ratzes, of course we can do nothing. '

'And the road is _affreux_, perfectly frightful, ' said Mademoiselle. 'Ihave been inquiring about it. No access except upon mules. A wholeday's journey--and the hotel! Bah, it is _vilain_!'

'If Ida is bent on going she must go without me, ' said Mrs. Morton. 'I--I have had enough of those horrid beasts. Ida's nonsense will be thedeath of me. '

'I don't see much good in going on with that woman there, ' said Idagloomily. 'She would be sure to stifle all inquiry. '

'A good thing too, ' muttered poor, weary Mrs. Morton. 

Ida turned the leaves of the visitors' book till she found the names ofLord and Lady Northmoor, and then, growing more eager as obstructionscame in her way, and not liking to turn back as if on a fool's errand, she suggested to Miss Gattoni that questions might be asked about theirvisit. The Tyrolean patois was far beyond her, and not toocomprehensible to her friend, but there was a waiter who could speakFrench, and the landlady's German was tolerable. 

The milord and miladi were perfectly remembered, as well as their longdetention, but the return had been by way of Italy, so they had notrevisited Botzen with their child the next spring. 

'But, ' said the hostess, 'there is a young woman in the next street whocan tell you more than I. She offered herself as a nurse. '

This person was at once sent for. She was the same who had beenmentioned by Mrs. Bury, but she had exchanged the peasant costume, whichhad, perhaps, only been assumed to please the English ladies, for thetownswoman's universal endeavour at French fashion, which by no meansenhanced her rather coarse beauty, which was more Italian than Austrian. 

Italian was the tongue which chiefly served as a medium between her andMiss Gattoni, though hers was not pure enough to be easily understood. Mrs. Morton and Ida put questions which Miss Gattoni translated as bestshe could, and made out as much as possible of the answers. It waselicited that she had not been allowed to see the English miladi. Allhad been settled by the signora who came yearly, and they had rejectedher after all her trouble; the doctor had recommended her, and though her_creatura_ would have been just the right age, and that little_ipocrila's_ child was older, ever so much older--she spread out herhands to indicate infinity. 

'Ah!' said Ida, 'I always thought so. '

'Ask her how much older, ' demanded Mrs. Morton. 

The replies varied from nearly _un sanestre_ to _tre settimane_--and nomore could be made of that question. 

'Where was the foster-child?'

Again the woman threw up her hands to indicate that she had nonotion--what was it to her? She could not tell if it were alive or dead;but (upon a leading question) it had not been seen since Hedwige'sdeparture nor after return. Was it boy or girl? and, after somehesitation, it was declared to have been _un maschio_. 

There was more, which nobody quite understood, but which sounded abusive, and they were glad to get rid of her with a couple of _thalers_. 

'Well?' said Ida triumphantly. 

'Well?' echoed her mother in a different tone. 'I don't know what youwere all saying, but I'm sure of this, that that woman was only lookingto see what you wanted her to say. I watched the cunning look of hereyes, and I would not give that for her word, ' with a gesture of herfingers. 

'But, ma, you didn't understand! Nothing could be plainer. The doctorrecommended her, and sent her over in proper time, but she never saw anyone but Mrs. Bury, who, no doubt, had made her arrangements. Then thisother woman's child was older--nobody knows how much--but we alwaysagreed that nobody could believe Mite, as they call him, was as young asthey said. And then that other child was a boy, and it has vanished. '

'I don't believe she knew. '

'No, I do not think she did, ' chimed in Miss Gattoni. 'This _canaille_will say anything!'

'I believe the woman, ' said Ida obstinately. 'Her evidence chimes inwith all my former conclusions. '

The older ladies both had a strong misgiving that the conclusions hadformed the evidence, and Mrs. Morton, though she had listened all alongto Ida's grumbling, was perfectly appalled at the notion of bringing sucha ridiculous accusation against the brother-in-law, against whom shemight indeed murmur, but whom she knew to be truthful and self-denying. She ventured to represent that it was impossible to go upon thisstatement without ascertaining whether the Grantzen child was alive, orreally dead and buried at Ratzes, and that the hostess of the inn wouldhave been better evidence, but--

 He that of purpose looks beside the mark, Might as well hoodwinked shoot as in the dark, and Ida was certain that all the people at Ratzes had been bribed, andthat no one would dare to speak out while Mrs. Bury kept guard there. Indeed, for that lady to guess at such suspicions and inquiries wouldhave been so dreadful that Ratzes was out of the question, much to therelief of the elders, dragged along by the masterful maiden against theirbetter judgment, though indeed Miss Gattoni gave as much sympathy in her_tete-a-tetes_ with Ida as she did to her mother in their consultations. 

They were made to interview the doctor, but he knew as little about thematter as the disappointed _balia_, and professed to know much less. Inpoint of fact, though he had been called in after the accident, Mrs. Buryhad not thought much of his skill, and had not promoted after-visits. There had not been time to summon him when the birth took place, and Mrs. Bury thought her experience more useful afterwards than his treatment waslikely to be. So he was a slighted and offended man, whose testimony, given in good German, only declared the secretiveness, self-sufficiency, and hard-neckedness of Englander!

And Ida's state of mind much resembled that of the public when resolvedto believe in the warming-pan. 

CHAPTER XXVIITHE YOUNG PRETENDER

The denunciation of the Young Pretender was not an easy matter even inIda's eyes. It was one thing to have a pet grievance and see herself asa heroine, righting her dear injured brother's wrongs, and another toreproach two of the quietest most matter-of-fact people in the world withthe atrocious frauds of which only a wicked baronet was capable. 

She was not sorry that the return to England was deferred by the tenantsof the house at Westhaven wanting to stay on; and when at length aChristmas visit was paid at Northmoor, Mite was an animated littlepersonage of three and a quarter, and, except that he could notaccomplish a _k_, perfect in speaking plainly and indeed with that prettyprecision of utterance that children sometimes acquire when baby languagehas not been foolishly fastened. Indeed, his pet name of Mite was onlyfor strictly private use. Except to his nearest relatives, he was alwaysMichael. 

Mrs. Morton was delighted with him, and would have liked to make up forher knowledge of Ida's suspicions by extra petting, and by discoveringresemblances to all the family portraits as well as to his parents, noneof which any one else could see. She lived upon thorns lest Ida shouldburst out with some accusation, but Ida had not the requisite impudence, and indeed, in sight of the boy with his parents, her 'evidence' fadedinto such stuff as dreams are made of. 

There was some vexation, indeed, that Louisa the nursery-maid, whom Mrs. Morton had recommended, had had to be dismissed. 

'I am sorry, ' said Mrs. Morton, 'for, as I told you, her father was themate aboard the _Emma Jane_, my poor father's ship, you know, and wentdown with poor pa and my poor dear Charlie. And her mother used to charfor us, which was but her due. '

'Yes, I know, ' said Mary; 'Frank and I were both very sorry, and we wouldhave found her another place, but she would go home. You see, we couldnot keep her in the nursery, for we must have a thoroughly trustworthyperson to go out with Michael. '

'What! Can't your fine nurse?'

'Eden? It is her one imperfection. It is some weakness of the spine, and neither she nor I can be about with Michael as long as it is good forhim. I thought he must be safe in the garden, but it turned out thatLouisa had been taking him down to the village, and there meeting asailor, who I believe came up in a collier to Colbeam. '

'Oh, an old friend from Westhaven?'

'Sam Rattler, ' suggested Ida. 'Don't you remember, mamma, Mrs. Hall saidthey were sweethearting, and she wanted to get her out of the way ofhim. '

'Perhaps, ' said Lady Northmoor, 'but I should have forgiven it if she hadtold me the truth and not tempted Mite. She used to make excuses to Edenfor going down to the village, and at last she took Mite there, and theygave him sweets at the shop not to tell!'

'Did he?' said Ida, rather hoping the model boy would have failed. 

'Oh yes. The dear little fellow did not understand keeping things back, and when his papa was giving him his nightly sugar-plum, he said, "Blueman gave me a great striped sweet, and it stuck in my little teeth"; andthen, when we asked when and where, he said, "Down by Betty's, when I wasout with Cea and Louie"; and so it came out that she had taken him intothe village, met this man, brought him into the grounds by the littlegate, and tried to bribe Mite to say nothing about it. Cea told us allabout it, --the little girl who lives with Miss Morton. Of course wecould never let him go out with her again, and you would hardly believewhat an amount of falsehoods she managed to tell Eden and me about it. '

'Ah, if you had lived at Westhaven you would have found out that to be soparticular is the way to make those girls fib, ' said Mrs. Morton. 

'I hope not. I think we have a very good girl now, trained up in anorphanage. '

'Oh, those orphanage girls are the worst of all. I've had enough ofthem. They break everything to pieces, and they run after the lads worstof all, because they have never seen one before!'

To which Mary answered by a quiet 'I hope it may not turn out so. '

There were more agitating questions to be brought forward. Herbert hadbehaved very fairly well ever since the escapade of the pied rook; thelad kept his promise as to betting faithfully in his uncle's absence, andthough it had not been renewed, he had learnt enough good sense to keepout of mischief. 

Unfortunately, however, he had not the faculty of passing examinations. He was not exactly stupid or idle, but any kind of study was a bore tohim, and the knowledge he was forced to 'get up' was not an acquisitionthat gave him the slightest satisfaction for its own sake, or that hedesired to increase beyond what would carry him through. Naturally, hehad more cleverness than his uncle, and learning was less difficult tohim, but he only used his ability to be sooner done with a distastefultask, which never occupied his mind for a moment after it was thrownaside. Thus time after time he had failed in passing for the army, andnow only one chance remained before being reduced to attempting to enterthe militia. And suppose that there he failed?

He remained in an amiable, passive, good-humoured state, rather amusedthan otherwise at his mother's impression that it was somehow all hisuncle's fault, and ready to be disposed of exactly as they pleasedprovided that he had not the trouble of thinking about it or of workingextra hard. 

Mrs. Morton was sure that something could be done. Could not his unclesend him to Oxford? Then he could be a clergyman, or a lawyer oranything. Oh dear, were there those horrid examinations there too? Andthen those gentlemen that belonged to the ambassadors and envoys--she wassure Mr. Rollstone had told her any one who had connection could get thatsort of appointment to what they called the Civil Service. What, examinations again? connection no good? Well, it was shame! What wouldthings come to? As Mr Rollstone said, it was mere ruin!

Merchant's office? Bah! such a gentleman as her Herbert was, soconnected! What was his uncle thinking of, taking him up to put him downin that way? It was hard. 

And Lord Northmoor was thankful to the tears that as usual choked her, while he begged her at present to trust to that last chance. It would betime to think what was to come next if that failed. 

Wherewith the victim passed the window whistling merrily, apparentlyperfectly regardless of his doom, be it what it might, and with Miteclinging to his hand in ecstatic admiration. 

Constance too was in question. Here she was at eighteen, a ladylike, pleasant, good girl, very nice-looking, sweet-faced, and thoughtful, having finished her course at the High School with great credit, butalas! it was not in the family to win scholarships. She did things well, but not so brilliantly as cleverer girls, having something of her uncle'stardiness of power. 

Her determination to be a governess was as decided as ever, and it wasfirst brought before her mother by an offer on Lady Adela's part to beginwith her at once for Amice, who was now eleven years old. 

'Really, now!' said Mrs. Morton, stopping short to express her offence. 

'That is--' added Ida, equally at a loss. 

'But what do you mean, mamma?' said Constance. 'I always intended to bea teacher; I think it noble, useful work. '

'Oh, my poor child! what have they brought you to? Pretending suchaffection, too!'

'Indeed, mamma, I have meant this always. I could not be dependent allmy life, you know. Do listen, mamma; don't Ida--'

'That my Lady Adela should insult us that way, when you are as good asshe!'

'Nonsense, Ida! That has nothing to do with it. It is the greatestpossible compliment, and I am very much pleased. '

'Just to live there, at her beck and call, drudging at that child'slessons!' sneered Ida. 

'Yes, and when I made sure, at least after all the fuss they have madewith you, that your aunt would present you at Court, and make you theyoung lady of the house, and marry you well, but there's no trust to beplaced in them--none!'

'Oh, mamma, don't cry. I should not feel it right, unless Aunt Maryreally needed me, and, though she is so kind and dear, she does notreally. My only doubt is--'

'You have a doubt, then?'

'Yes. I should be so much fitter if I could go to one of the ladies'colleges, and then come back to dear little Amice, but now I have failed, I don't like to let Uncle Frank spend all that money on me, when I mightbe earning eighty pounds for myself. '

'Well, you are a strange girl, with no proper pride for your family, 'said her mother. 

And Ida chimed in: 'Yes. Do you think any one will be likely to marryyou? or if you don't care about yourself, you might at least think ofme!'

Mrs. Morton shed her ready tears when talking it over with LadyNorthmoor. 

'You see, ' said Mary gently, 'I should like nothing better than to havedear little Conny to live with me like a daughter, but, for one thing, itwould not be fair towards Ida, and besides, it would not be good for herin case she did not marry to have wasted these years. '

Mrs. Morton by no means appreciated the argument. However, LordNorthmoor put off the matter by deciding to send Constance to St. Hugh'sHall, thinking she really deserved such a reward to her diligence. 

CHAPTER XXVIIITWO BUNDLES OF HAY

Ida was, as all agreed, much improved in looks, style, and manners by hertravels. Her illness had begun the work of fining her down from thebouncing heartiness of her girlhood, and she really was a handsomecreature, with dark glowing colouring; her figure had improved, whetherbecause or in spite of her efforts in that way might be doubtful; and shehad learnt how to dress herself in fairly good taste. 

Though neither Mademoiselle Gattoni nor the boarding-house society shehad frequented was even second-rate in style, still there was an advanceover her former Westhaven circle, with a good deal more restraint, sothat she had almost insensibly acquired a much more ladylike air anddeportment. 

Moreover, the two years' absence had made some changes. The young menwho had been in the habit of exchanging noisy jests with Ida had mostlydrifted away in different directions or sobered down; girl companions hadmarried off; and a new terrace had been completed with inhabitants andsojourners of a somewhat higher grade, who accepted Mrs. And Miss Mortonas well connected. 

Mr. Rollstone's lodgings were let to Mr. Deyncourt, a young clergyman whohad come full of zeal to work up the growing district. He had been for ashort time in the Northmoor neighbourhood, and had taken the duty therefor a few weeks, so that he heard the name of Morton as prominent in goodworks, and had often seen Lady Adela and Constance with theSunday-school. As Mr. Rollstone was not slow to mention the connection, he was not slow to call on Mrs. Morton and Miss Morton, in hopes of theirco-operation, and as Mr. Rollstone had informed them that he was of 'highfamily' and of good private means, Mrs. Morton had a much better welcomefor him than for his poor little predecessor, who lived over ashoemaker's shop, and, as she averred, never came except to asksubscriptions for some nonsense or other. 

Mr. Deyncourt was a tall fine-looking man, and did not begin by askingsubscriptions, but talked about Northmoor, Constance, and Lady Adela, sothat Ida found herself affecting much closer knowledge of both than shereally had. 

'I found, ' he said, 'that your sister is most valuable in theSunday-school. I wonder if you would kindly assist us. '

Mrs. Morton began, 'My daughter is not strong, Mr. Deyncourt. '

And Ida simpered and said, hesitating, 'I--I don't know. '

If poor Mr. Brown had ever been demented enough even to make the samerequest, he would have met with a very different answer. 

'I do not think it will be very fatiguing, ' said Mr. Deyncourt. 'Do youknow Mrs. Brandon? No! I will ask her to call and explain our plans. She is kind enough to let me meet the other teachers in her dining-roomonce a week to arrange the lessons for the Sunday. There are MissSelwood and Mrs. And Miss Hume. '

These were all in the social position in which Ida was trying toestablish her footing, and though she only agreed to 'think about it, 'her mind was pretty well made up that it would be a very different thingfrom the old parish school where Rose Rollstone used to work among a setof small tradesmen's daughters. 

When she found herself quite the youngest and best-looking of the party, she was entirely won over. There was no necessity for speaking so as tobetray one's ignorance during Mr. Deyncourt's instructions, and she was aperson of sufficient force and spirit to impose good order on her class;and thus she actually obtained the gratitude of the young clergyman as anefficient assistant. 

Their domiciles being so near together, there were many encounters ingoing in and out, nor were these avoided on either side. Ida had awonderful amount of questions to ask, and used to lie in wait to get themsolved. It was very interesting to lay them before a handsome youngclergyman with a gentle voice, sweet smile, and ready attention, andreligion seemed to have laid aside that element of dulness and mopingwhich had previously repelled her. 

She was embroidering a stole for Easter, and wanted a great deal ofcounsel for it; and she undertook to get a basket of flowers for Easterdecorations from Northmoor, where her request caused some surprise andmuch satisfaction in the simple pair, who never thought of connecting thehandsome young mission priest with this sudden interest in the Church. 

And Mr. Deyncourt had no objection to drop in for afternoon tea when hewas met on the sands and had to be consulted about the stole, or to beasked who was worthy of broth, or as time went on to choose soup andpractise a duet for the mission concert that was to keep people out ofmischief on the Bank-holiday. 

Ida had a voice, and music was the one talent she had cared to cultivate;she had had good lessons during her second winter abroad, and was anacquisition to the amateur company. Besides, what she cared for more, itwas a real pleasure and rest to the curate to come in and listen to heror sing with her. She had learnt what kind of things offended goodtaste, and she set herself to avoid them and to school her mother intodoing the same. 

What Mr. Deyncourt thought or felt was not known, though thus much wascertain, that he showed himself attentive enough to this promising youngconvert, and made Mrs. Brandon and other prudent, high-bred matronssomewhat uneasy. 

And in the midst the _Morna_ put in at Westhaven, and while Ida waswalking home from Mrs. Brandon's, she encountered Mr. Brady, lookingextremely well turned-out in yachting costume and smoking a short pipe. 

There was something very flattering in the sound of the exclamation withwhich he greeted her; and then, as they shook hands, 'I should not haveknown you, Miss Morton; you are--' and he hesitated for acompliment--'such a stunner! What have you been doing to yourself?'

At the gate of the narrow garden, Mr. Deyncourt overtook them, carryingIda's bag of books for her. She introduced them, and was convinced thatthey glared at each other. 

And there ensued a time of some perplexity, but much enjoyment, on Ida'spart. Mr. Brady reviled the parson and all connected therewith in notvery choice language, and the parson, on his side, though saying nothing, seemed to her to be on the watch, and gratified, if not relieved, whenshe remained steady to her parochial work. 

And what was her mind? Personally, she had come to like and approve Mr. Deyncourt the most, and to have a sense that there was satisfaction inthat to which he could lead her, while the better taste that had grown inher was sometimes offended, almost insulted, by Tom Brady's tendency tocoarseness, and to treating her not as a lady, but as the Westhaven bellehe had honoured with his attentions two years before. Yet she had an oldkindness for him as her first love. And, moreover, he could give hereventually a title and very considerable wealth, a house in London, andall imaginable gaiety. While, as to Mr. Deyncourt, he was not poor andhad expectations, but the utmost she could look to for him withconfidence was Northmoor Vicarage after Mr. Woodman's time, and anywherethe dull, sober, hard-working life of a clergyman's wife!

Which should she choose--that is, if she had her choice, or if eitherwere in earnest? She was not sure of the curate, and therefore perhapslonged most that he should come to the point, feeling that this wouldanyway increase her self-esteem, and if she hesitated to bind herself toa life too high, and perhaps too dull, there was the dread, on the otherhand, that his family, who, she understood, were very grand people, wouldobject to a girl with nothing of her own and a governess sister. 

On the other hand, the Bradys were so rich that they had little need tocare for fortune--only, the richer people were, the greater theirexpectations--and she was more at ease with Tom than with Mr. Deyncourt. They would probably condone the want of fortune if she could write'Honourable' before her name, or had any prospect of so doing, and thegoverness-ship might be a far greater drawback in their eyes than inthose of the Deyncourts. 'However, thank goodness, ' said she to herself, 'that won't begin for two or three years, and one or other will be hailedlong before that--if-- Oh, it is very hard to be kept out of everythingby an old stick like Uncle Frank and a little wretch like Mite, who, after all, is a miserable Tyrolese, and not a Morton at all! It reallyis too bad!'

CHAPTER XXIXJONES OR RATTLER

When Lord Northmoor had occasion to be in London he usually went alone, for to take the whole party was too expensive, and not good for littleMichael. Besides, Bertha Morton had so urgently begged him to regard herhouse as always ready for him, that the habit had been established oftaking up his quarters there. 

Some important measures were coming on after Easter, and he had someother business, so that, in the form of words of which she longed to curehim, he told her that he was about to trespass on her hospitality for aweek or fortnight. 

'As long as ever you please, ' she said. 'I am glad to have some one tosit opposite to me and tell me home news, ' and they met at the station, she having been on an expedition on her own account, so that they drovehome together. 

No sooner were they within the house door than the parlour-maid began, 'That man has been here again, ma'am. '

'What, Jones?' said Bertha, in evident annoyance. 

'Yes, ma'am, and I am sorry to say he saw little Cea. The child had rundown after me when I answered the door, and he asked her if she did notknow her own father, and if she would come with him. "No, " she says, "I'm Miss Morton's, " and he broke out with his ugly laugh, and says he, "You be, be you, you unnatural little vagabond?"--those were his verywords, ma'am--"but a father is a father, and if he gives up his rights hemust know the reason why. " He wanted me, the good-for-nothing, to givehim half a sovereign at once, or he would take off the child on the spot, but, by good luck, she had been frightened and run away, the dear, and Ihad got the door between me and him, so I told him to be off till youcame home, or I would call for the police. So he was off for that time. '

'Quite right, Alice, ' said Miss Morton, and then, leading the wayupstairs and throwing herself down on a chair, she exclaimed, 'There, itought to be a triumph to you, Northmoor! You told me that I should havetrouble about poor little Cea's father, the brute!'

'Is he levying blackmail on you?'

'Yes. It is horribly weak of me, I know, and I can scarcely believe itof myself, but one can't abandon a child to a wretch like that, and hehas the law on his side. '

'Are you quite sure of that? He deserted her, I think you said. If youcould establish that, or prove a conviction against him--'

'Oh, I know she might be sent to an industrial school if I took it beforea magistrate, but if the other alternative would be destruction, thatwould be misery to her. See--' and there was a little tap at the door. 'Come in, Cea. There, make your curtsey to his lordship. '

A pretty little fair-haired pale-cheeked girl, daintily but simplydressed, came in and made her curtsey very prettily, and replied nicelyto Lord Northmoor's good-natured greeting and information that Michaelhad sent her a basket of primroses and a cowslip ball, which she wouldfind in the hall. 

'What do you say, Cea?' said Bertha, anxious to demonstrate her manners. 

'Thank you, my lord, and Master Michael, ' she uttered, but she wasevidently preoccupied with what she had to tell Miss Morton. 'Oh'm, there was such a nasty man here! And he wanted me, and said he was myfather, but he wasn't. He was the same man that gave Master Mite and methe bull's-eyes when we were naughty and Louisa went away. '

'Are you sure, Cea?' both exclaimed, but to the child of six the veryeagerness of the question brought a certain confusion, and though moregently Lord Northmoor asked her to describe him, she could not do it, andindeed she had been only five when the encounter had taken place. Theurgency of the inquiry somehow seemed to dispose her to cry, as if shethought she had been naughty, and she had to be dismissed to the cowslipball. 

'If the child is right, that man cannot be her father at all, ' said LordNorthmoor. 'That man's name is Rattler, and he is well known atWesthaven. '

'Should you know him?'

'I never saw him, but I could soon find those who have done so. '

'If we could only prove it! Oh, what a relief it would be! I dare noteven send the child to school--as I meant to do, Northmoor, for indeed wedon't spoil her--for fear she should be kidnapped; and I don't know ifthe school-board officer won't be after her, and I can't give as a reason"for fear she should be stolen by her father. "'

'Not exactly. It ought to be settled once for all. Perhaps the childwill tell more when you have her alone. '

'Is not Rattler only too like a nickname, or is he a native ofWesthaven?'

This Lord Northmoor thought he could find out, but the dinner was hardlyover before a message came that the man Jones had called again. 

'Perhaps I had better see him alone, ' said the guest, and Bertha was onlytoo glad to accept the offer, so he proceeded to the little room openinginto the hall, where interviews with tradesfolk or petitioners were held. 

The man had a blue jersey, a cap, and an evidently sailor air, or ratherthat of the coasting, lower stamp of seaman; but he was tall, ratherhandsome, and younger-looking than would have been expected of Cea'sfather. He looked somewhat taken aback by the appearance of a gentleman, but he stood his ground. 

'So I understand that you have been making demands upon Miss Morton, 'Lord Northmoor began. 

'Well, sir, my lord, a father has his feelings. There is a situationoffered me in Canada, and I intend to take the little girl with me. '

'Oh, indeed!' And there was a pause. 

'Or if the lady has taken a fancy to her, I'd not baulk her for a sumdown of twenty or five-and-twenty, once for all. '

'Oh, indeed!' again; then 'What do you say is the child's name?'

'Jones, my lord. '

'Her Christian name, I mean?'

He scratched his head. 'Cissy, my lord--Celia--Cecilia. Blest if I'msure!' as he watched the expression of the questioner. 'You see, thewomen has such fine names, and she was always called Baby when her poormother was alive. '

'Where was she baptized?'

'Well, you see, my lord, the women-folk does all that, and I was at sea;and by and by I comes home to find my poor wife dead, and the little onegone. '

'I suppose you are aware that you can have no legal claim to the childwithout full proof of her belonging to you--the certificate of yourmarriage and a copy of the register of her birth?'

The man was scarcely withheld from imprecations upon the work that wasmade about it, when Miss Morton had been quite satisfied on a poorfellow's word. 

'Yes, ladies may be satisfied for a time, but legally more than your wordis required, and you will remember that unless you can bring full proofthat this is your child, there is such a thing as prosecution forobtaining money on false pretences. '

'And how is a poor fellow to get the fees for them register clerks andthat?' said the man, in a tone waxing insolent. 

'I will be answerable for the fees, if you will tell me where thecertificates are to be applied for. '

'Well, how is a cove to know what the women did when he was at sea? Shedied at Rotherhithe, anyway, so the child will be registered there. '

'And the marriage? You were not at sea then, I suppose?'

But the man averred that there were so many churches that there was notelling one from another, and with a knowing look declared that the galswere so keen after a man that they put up the banns and hauled him wherethey would. 

He was at last got rid of, undertaking to bring the proofs of hispaternity, without which Lord Northmoor made it clear to him that he wasto expect neither child nor money. 

'I greatly doubt whether you will see any more of him, ' said LordNorthmoor when describing the interview. 

'Oh, Frank, ' cried Bertha, calling him thus for the first time, 'I do notknow how to thank you enough. You have done me an infinite kindness. '

'Do not thank me yet, ' he answered, 'for though I do not in the leastbelieve that this fellow is the child's father, he may find his way tothe certificates or get them forged; and it would be well to trace whathas become of the real Jones, as well as to make out about this Rattler. Is it true that the wife died at Rotherhithe?'

'Quite true, poor thing. I believe they had lived there since themarriage. '

'I will run down there if you can give me the address, and see if I canmake out anything about her husband, and see whether any one can speak tohis identity with this man. '

'You are a man of gold! To think of your taking all this trouble!'

'I only hope I may succeed. It is a return to old habits of hunting upevidence. '

Bertha was able to give the address of the lodging-house where poor Mrs. Jones had died, and the next morning produced another document, which hadbeen shut up in the Bible that had been rescued for the child, namely themarriage lines of David Jones and Lucy Smith at the parish church of thelast Lord Northmoor's residence in town. 

To expect a clergyman or clerk to remember the appearance of a bridegroomeight years ago was too much, even if they were the same who hadofficiated; but Bertha undertook to try, and likewise to consult a formerfellow-servant of poor Lucy, who was supposed to have abetted herunfortunate courtship. Frank, after despatching a letter of inquiry tohis sister-in-law about 'Sam Rattler, ' set forth by train and riversteamer for Rotherhithe. 

When they met again in the evening, Bertha had only made out from thefellow-servant that the stoker was rather small, and had a reddish beardand hair, wherewith Cea's complexion corresponded. 

The Rotherhithe discoveries had gone farther. Lord Northmoor hadpenetrated to the doleful den where the poor woman had died, and nowonder! for it seemed, as Bertha had warned him, a nest of fever andhorrible smells. The landlady remembered her death, which had been madememorable by Miss Morton's visits; but knew not whence she had come, though, stimulated by half-a-crown, she mentioned a small grocery shopwhere more might be learnt. There the woman did recollect Mrs. Jones asa very decent lady, and likewise her being in better lodgings untildeserted by her husband, the scamp, who had gone off in an Australiansteamer. 

At these lodgings the inquiry resulted in the discovery of the name ofthe steamer; and there was still time to look up the agent and the dateapproximately enough to obtain the list of the crew, with David Jonesamong them. It further appeared that this same David Jones had fallenoverboard and been drowned, but as he had not entered himself as amarried man, his wife had remained in ignorance of his fate. It was, however, perfectly clear that the little girl was an orphan, and thatBertha might be quite undisturbed in the possession of her. 

And thus Lord Northmoor came home a good deal fagged, and shocked by theinterior he had seen at Rotherhithe, but quite triumphant. 

Bertha was delighted, and declared herself eternally grateful to him; andshe could not but entertain the hope that the _soi-disant_ parent wouldmake another application, in which case she was quite prepared to givehim into custody; and she proceeded to reckon up the number of times thathe had applied to her, and the amount that he had extracted, wondering atherself for not having asked for proofs, but owning that she had beenafraid of being thus compelled to give up the child to perdition. 

The applications had all been within the last year, so that the man hadprobably learnt from Louisa Hall, the nursery-maid, that Cea was thechild of a deserted wife. 

A letter from Mrs. Morton gave some of the antecedents of Sam Rattler, aslearnt from Mrs. Hall, the charwoman, whose great dread he was. His realsurname was Jones, and he was probably a Samuel Jones whose name LordNorthmoor had noted as a boy on board David's ship. He belonged to adecent family in a country village, but had run away to sea, and wasknown at Westhaven by this nickname. He had a brother settled in Canada, who had lately written to propose to him a berth on one of the Ontariosteamers, and it was poor Mrs. Hall's dread that her daughter shouldaccompany him, though happily want of money prevented it. As to hisappearance, as to which there had been special inquiries, he was a tallfine-looking man, with a black beard, and half the girls at Westhavenwere fools enough to be after him. 

All this tallied with what had been gathered from the child, and thislast had probably been a bold attempt to procure the passage-money forhis sweetheart. 

He never did call again, having probably been convinced of the failure ofhis scheme, and scenting danger, so that every day for a fortnight Berthamet her cousin with a disappointed 'No Rattler!'

CHAPTER XXXSCARLET FEVER

There was a meeting of one of the many charitable societies to whichBertha had made Lord Northmoor give his name, and she persuaded him tostay on another day for it, though he came down in the morning with asore throat and heavy eyes, and, contrary to his usual habits, lay aboutin an easy-chair, and dozed over the newspaper all the morning. 

When he found himself unable to eat at luncheon, she allowed that he wasnot fit for the meeting, but demurred when he declared that he should gohome at once that afternoon to let Mary nurse his cold. The instinct ofgetting back to wife and home were too strong for Bertha to contend with, and he started, telegraphing to Northmoor to be met at the station. 

Perhaps there were delays, as in his oppressed and dazed state he hadmistaken the trains, for he did not arrive at home till nine o'clockinstead of seven, and then he looked so ill as he stumbled into the hall, dazzled by the lights, that Mary looked at him in much alarm. 

'Yes, ' he said hoarsely, 'I have a bad cold and sore throat, and Ithought I had better come home at once. '

'Indeed you had! If only you have not made it worse by the journey!'

Which apparently he had done, for he could scarcely swallow the warmdrinks brought to him, and had such a night, that when steps were heardin the house, he said--

'Mary, dear, don't let Mite come in. I am afraid it is too late to keepyou away, but if I had felt like this yesterday, I would have gonestraight to the fever hospital. '

'Oh no, no, what should you do but come home to me? Was it that horribleplace at Rotherhithe?'

'Perhaps. It is just a fortnight since, and I felt a strange shudder andchill as I was talking. But it may be nothing; only keep Mite away tillI have seen Trotman. My Mary, don't look like that! It may be nothing, and we have been very happy--thank God. '

Poor Mary, in a choking state, hurried away to send for the doctor, andto despatch orders to Nurse Eden to confine Master Michael to the nurseryand garden for the present, her sinking and foreboding heart forbiddingher to approach the child herself. 

The verdict of the doctor confirmed these alarms, for all the symptoms ofscarlet fever had by that time manifested themselves. Mary had gonethrough the disease long before, and had nursed through more than oneoutbreak at Miss Lang's, so her husband might take the comfort of knowingthat there was little anxiety on her account, though the doctor, evidently expecting a severe attack, insisted on sending in a trainednurse to assist her. 

As the little boy had fortunately been in bed and asleep long before hisfather came home, there was as yet no danger of infection for him, thoughhe must be sent out of the house at once. 

Lady Adela was not at home, and Mary would have doubted about sending himto the Cottage, even if she had been there; so she quickly made up hermind that Eden and the young nursery-maid should take him at once toWesthaven, to be either in the hotel or at Northmoor Cottage, accordingas his aunt should decide. 

How little she had thought, when she heard him say his prayers, andexchanged kisses with him at the side of his little bed, that it was thelast time for many a long day; and that her hungry spirit would have tofeed itself on that last smile and kiss of the fat hand, as she lookedout of her husband's window as the carriage drove away. 

Lady Adela knew too well what it was to be desolate not to come home soas to be at hand, though she left her little daughter at her uncle's. Bertha came on the following day. 

'I feel as if it were all my doing, ' she said. 'I could not bear it, ifit does not go well with him, after being the saving of poor little Cea. '

'There is nothing to reproach yourself with, ' said sober-minded LadyAdela. 'Neither you nor he could guess that he was running intoinfection. '

'No, ' said Bertha; 'of course, one never thinks of such things withgrown-up people, especially one whom one has always thought of as astick, and to whom perhaps ascribed some of its toughness, ' she added, smiling; 'but he did come home looking very white and worn-out, andcomplained of horrible smells. No, dear man, he was far too punctiliousto use the word, he only said that he should like to send the SanitaryCommission down the alley. I ought to have dosed him with brandy on thespot, for of course he was too polite to ask for it, so I only gave him acup of _tea_, ' said Bertha, with an infinite tone of scorn in the name ofthe beverage. 

'Will it be any comfort to tell you that most likely it would have beentoo late even if he would have accepted it? Come, Bertha, how often arewe told that we are not to think so much of consequences as of actions, and there was nothing blameworthy in the whole business. '

'Except that I was such a donkey as not to have begun by asking for theman's proofs, but I was so much afraid that he would pounce on the childthat I only thought of buying him off from time to time. I did not knowI was so weak. Well, at any rate, with little Mite to the fore, theplace will be left in good hands. I like Herbert on the whole, but tohave that woman reigning as Madame Mere would be awful. '

'Nay, I trust we are not coming to that! Trotman says it is a thoroughlysevere attack, but not abnormally malignant, as he calls it. It is amatter of nursing, he tells me, and that he has of the best--a matter ofnursing and of prayer, and that, ' added Adela, her eyes filling withtears, 'I am sure he has. '

'And yet--and yet, ' Bertha broke off. 

'Ah, you are thinking how we prayed before! And yet, Birdie, after thesesix years of seeing his rule and recognising what mine would have been, Isee it was for the best that my own little Michael was taken to his happyhome. '

'You'll call it for the best now, ' said Bertha grimly. 

'If it be so, it will prove itself; but I really do not see any specialcause for extra fear. '

Lady Adela and Bertha both thought themselves as far safe as any one canbe with scarlet fever, and would gladly have taken a share in thenursing. Bertha, however, had far too much of the whirlwind in her to bedesirable in a sick house, and on the principle that needless risk waswrong, was never admitted within the house doors, but Lady Adela insistedon seeing Mary every day, and was assured that she should be a welcomeassistant in case of need; but at present there was no necessity ofcalling in other help, the form of fever being lethargic with muchtorpidity, but no violence of delirium, and requiring no more watchingthan the wife and nurse could give. 

Frank never failed to know his Mary, and to respond when she addressedhim; but she was told never to attempt more than rousing him when it wasneedful to make him take food. He had long ago, with the precaution ofhis legal training, made every needful arrangement for her and for hisson; and even on the first day, he had not seemed to trouble himself onthese points, being too heavy and oppressed for the power of lookingforward. So the days rolled on in one continual watch on Mary's part, during which she seemed only to live in the present, and, secure that herboy was safe, would not risk direct communication with him or with hisnurse. 

Lady Adela had undertaken to keep Constance, the person who really lovedher uncle best, daily informed, and she also wrote at intervals to Mrs. Morton, by special desire of Lady Northmoor, and likewise to her own oldservant, Eden, the nurse. She wrote cheerfully, but Eden had othercorrespondents in the servants' hall, who dwelt sensationally on thedanger, as towards Whitsun week the fever began to run higher towards thecrisis, the strength was reduced, the torpor became heavier; and anxietyincreased as to whether there would be power of rally in a man who, though healthy, had never been strong. 

The anxiety manifested by the entire neighbourhood was a notable proof ofthe estimation in which the patient was held, and was very far fromspringing only from pity or humanity. Half the people who came to LadyAdela for further information had some cause going on in which 'ThatStick' was one of the most efficient of props. 

CHAPTER XXXIMITE

Little Michael Morton was in the meantime installed in his aunt's house. For him to be anywhere else was not to be thought of, and Mrs. Morton wassoft-hearted enough to be very fond of such a bright little boy, so muchin her own hands, and very amusing with the old-fashioned formal waysderived from chiefly consorting with older people. 

Besides, the pretty little fellow was an object of great interest to allher acquaintances, especially as it was understood at Westhaven that itwas only too possible that he might any day become Lord Northmoor; andnever had Mrs. Morton's drawing-room been so much resorted to by visitorsanxious for bulletins, or perhaps more truly for excitement. Mite was ayoung gentleman of some dignity. He sat elevated on a hassock upon achair to dine at luncheon-time, comporting himself most correctly; buthis aunt was sorely chafed at Eden's standing behind his chair, likeSancho's physician, to regulate his diet, and placing her veto uponlobsters, cucumbers, pastry, and glasses of wine with lumps of sugar inthem. 

It amounted to a trial of strength between aunt and nurse. Michaelsubmitted once or twice, when told that his mamma would not approve, butthe lobster struck him with extreme amazement and admiration, and hecould not believe but that the red, long-whiskered monster was not asgood as he was beautiful. 

'He has got a glove like what Peter wears to cut the holly hedge, 'exclaimed the boy, to the general amusement. 'Where's his hand?'

'My Mite shall have a bit of his funny hand, ' said Mrs. Morton, and Idawas dealing with the claw, when Eden interposed and said she did notthink her ladyship would wish Master Michael to have any. 

'Just a taste, nurse, with some of the cream, ' said Mrs. Morton. 'Here, Mitey dear. '

'No, Master Michael, mamma would say no, ' said Eden. 

'Really, Eden, you might let Mrs. Morton judge in her own house, ' saidIda. 

'Master Morton is under my charge, ma'am, and I am responsible for him, 'said Eden, respectfully but firmly. But Ida held out the claw, andMichael made a dart at it. 

Eden again said 'No, ' but he looked up at her with an exulting roguishgrin, and clasped it, whereupon she laid hold of him by the waist, andbore him off, kicking and roaring, amid the pitiful and indignantexclamations of his aunt and cousin. 

It may be that the faithful Eden was somewhat wanting in tact, by herdetermined attention to the routine that chafed her hosts; but she hadbeen forced to come away without directions, and could only hold fast tothe discipline of her well-ordered nursery under all obstacles. 

Master Michael was to have his cup of milk and run on the beach with thenursery-maid long before the usual awakening of the easy-going household, which regarded late hours as belonging to gentility; then, after thegeneral breakfast, his small lessons, over which there often was abattle, first, because he felt injured by not doing them with his mother, and next, because his hostesses regarded them as a hardship, and taughthim to cry over 'Reading without tears, ' besides detaining him as late asthey could over the breakfast, or proposing to take him out at once, without waiting for that quarter of an hour's work. Or whenout-of-doors, they would not bring him home for the siesta, on which hisnurse insisted, though it was often only lying down in the dark; nor hadMrs. Morton any scruple in breaking it, if she wanted to exhibit him toher friends, though if it were interrupted or omitted, the child's temperwas the worse all the afternoon. 

'That nurse is a thorough tyrant over the poor little darling, and a veryimpertinent woman besides, ' said Mrs. Morton. 

'A regular little spoiled brat, ' Ida declared him. 

While certainly the worse his father was said to be, the more his aunttried to spoil and indulge him, as a relief to her pity and grief. 

He had missed his home and parents a good deal at first, had cried at hislessons, and cried more at not having father to carry him to the nursery, nor mother to hear him say his prayers and kiss him at night; but timewore off the association, and he was full of delight at the sea, theships, the little crabs, and all the other charms of the shore. 

Above all, he was excited about the little boys. His own kind had nevercome in his way before, his chief playfellow being Amice, who was so mucholder as to play with him condescendingly and always give way to him. There was a large family in a neighbouring lodging containing what herespectfully called 'big knicker-bocker boys, ' who excited his intenseadmiration, and drew him like a magnet. 

For once Mrs. Morton and Eden were agreed as to the propriety of thecompanionship, since Rollstone had pronounced them of 'high family, ' andthe governess who was in charge of them was quite ready to be interestedin the solitary little stranger, even if he had not been the HonourableMichael. So was the elder girl of the party, but, unluckily, Michael wasjust of the age to be a great nuisance to children who played combinedand imaginative games which he could not yet understand. 

When they were making elaborate approaches to a sand fortification, erected with great care and pains, he would dash on it with a _coup demain_, break it down at once with his spade, and stand proudly laughingand mixing up the ruins together, heedless of the howls of anger of thebesiegers, and believing that he had done the right thing. 

And once, when a wrathful boy of eight had shaken the troublesome urchinas he would have done his own junior, had this last presumed to stir uphis clear pool of curiosities, most of the female portion of the familyhad taken the part of the intruder, and cried shame on any one who couldhurt or molest a poor dear little boy away from a father who was so ill!

Thus the Lincoln family, for the sake of peace and self-defence, usedsedulously to flee at the approach of Mite, and seek for secluded covesto which he was not likely to penetrate. 

Mr. Rollstone was Eden's great solace. They discovered that they hadonce been staying in the same country-house, and had a great number ofcommon acquaintances in the upper-servant world, and they entirely agreedin their estimate of Mrs. Morton and Ida, whom Mr. Rollstone pronouncedto be neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, though as for Miss Constance, shewas a lady all over, and always had been, and there might have been hopesfor Mr. Herbert, if only he could have got into the army. 

To sit with Mr. Rollstone, whom the last winter's rheumatics had leftvery infirm, was Eden's chief afternoon employment, as she could notfollow her charge's wanderings on the beach, but had to leave him to thenursery-maid, Ellen. The old butler wanted much to show 'Miss Eden' hisdaughter, who took advantage of Whit-Sunday and the Bank-holiday to rundown and see her parents, though at the next quarter she was coming homefor good, extremely sorry to leave her advantages in London, and thefriends she had made there, but feeling that her parents needed her somuch that she must pursue her employment at home. 

They were all very anxious on that Whit-Sunday, and Rose carried with hersomething of Constance's feeling, as with tears in her eyes she looked atthe little fellow at the children's service, standing by his nurse, withwide open, inquiring eyes, chiefly fixed upon Willie Lincoln insatisfaction whenever an answer proceeded from that object of hisunrequited attachment. With the young maiden's love of revelling insupposed grief, Rose already pitied the fair-faced, unconscious child asfatherless, and weighted with heavy responsibilities. 

Another pair of eyes looked at the boy, not with pity, but indignantimpatience. 

Perhaps even already that little pretender was the only obstacle betweenHerbert and the coronet that was his by right, between Ida herself and--

Ida had walked from the school to the church with Mr. Deyncourt, and hehad talked so gently and pitifully of the family distress, and assumed somuch grief on her part, that his sympathy made her heart throb; aboveall, when he told her that his two sisters were coming to stay with him, Mrs. Rollstone had contrived to make room for them, and they would showher, better than he could, some of the plans he wished to have carriedout with the little children. 

So he wished to introduce her to his sisters! What did that mean? Ifthe Deyncourts were ever so high they could not sneer at Lord Northmoor'ssisters. 

Then she thought of many a novel, and in real life, of what she believedrespecting that lost lover of Miss Morton's. And later in the day TomBrady lounged up to Northmoor Cottage, and leaning with one elbow on thewindow-sill, while the other arm held away the pipe he had just takenfrom his lips, he asked if they would give him a cup of tea, the wholeharbour was so full of such beastly, staring cads that there was no peacethere. One ought to give such places a wide berth at Whitsuntide. 

'I wonder you did not, ' said Ida, as she hastened to compound the tea. 

'Forgot it, ' he lazily droned, 'forgot it. Attractions, you know, ' and, as she brought the cup to the window, with a lump of sugar in the tongs, 'when sugar fingers are--' and the speech ended in a demonstration at thefingers that made Ida laugh, blush, and say, 'Oh, for shame, Mr. Brady!'

'You had better come in, Mr. Brady, ' called Mrs. Morton. 'You can'tdrink it comfortably there, and you'll be upsetting it. We are down inthe dining-room to-day, because--'

The cause, necessary to her gentility, was lost, as Ida proceeded to lethim in at the front door, and he presently deposited himself on the sofa, grumbling complacently at the bore of holidays, especially bank holidays. His crew would have been ready to strike, he declared, if he had takenthem out of harbour, or he would have asked the ladies to come on acruise out of the way of it all. 

'Why, thank you very much, Mr. Brady, but, really in my poor brother, Lord Northmoor's state, I don't know that it would be etiquette. '

'Ah, yes. By the bye, how's the governor?'

'Very sad, strength failing. I hardly expect to hear he is aliveto-morrow, ' and Mrs. Morton's handkerchief was raised. 

'Oh ay, sad enough, you know! I say, will it make any difference toyou?'

'My poor, dear brother! Well, it ought, you know. Indeed it would if ithad not been for that dear little boy. My poor Herbert!'

'It must have been an awful sell for him. '

'Yes, ' said Ida, 'and some people think there was something very oddabout it all--the child being born out in the Dolomites, with nobodythere!'

'Don't, Ida, I can't have you talk so, ' protested her mother. 

'Supposititious, by all that's lucky! I should strangle him!' and Mr. Brady put back his head and laughed a loud and hearty laugh, by no meanselegant, but without much sound of truculent intentions. 

CHAPTER XXXIIA SHOCK

It was on the Thursday of Whitsun-week when Lady Adela and Bertha camedown from their visit of inquiry, a little more hopeful than on theprevious day, though they could not yet say that recovery was setting in. 

But a great shock awaited them. The parlour-maid met them at the door, pale and tearful. 'Oh, my lady, Mrs. Eden's come, and--'

Poor Eden herself was in the hall, and nothing was to be heard but 'Oh, my lady!' and another tempest of sobs. 

'Come in, Eden, ' scolded Bertha, in her impatience. 'Don't keep us inthis way. What has happened to the child? Let us have it at once! Theworst, or you wouldn't be here. '

For all answer, Eden held up a little wooden spade, a sailor hat, and ashoe showing traces of sand and sea-water. 

'It is so then, ' said Lady Adela. 'Oh, his mother! But, ' after that onewail, she thought of the poor woman before her, 'I am sure you are not toblame, Eden. '

'Oh, my lady, if I could but feel that! But that I should have trustedthe darling out of my sight for a moment!'

Presently they brought her to a state in which she could tell herlamentable history. 

She had been spending the afternoon at Mr. Rollstone's, leaving MasterMichael as usual in the care of the underling, Ellen, and after that sheknew no more till neither child nor maid came home at his supper-time, and Mrs. Morton was slowly roused to take alarm, while Eden, halfdistracted, wandered about, seeking her charge, and found Ellen, callingand shouting in vain for him. Ellen confessed that she had seen himrunning after the Lincoln children, and supposing him with them, hadgiven herself up to the study of a penny dreadful in company with anotheryoung nursemaid. When they had awakened to real life, the first idea hadbeen that he must be with these children; but they were gone, and Ellen, fancying that he might have gone home with them, asked at their lodging, but no, he was not there. 

The tide was by this time covering the beach, and driving away themiserable maids, with the aunt, cousin and others who had been on thefruitless quest. No more could be done then, and they went home withdesolation in their hearts. Miss Ida, as Eden declared, stayed out longafter everybody else when it was clearly of no use, and came back sotired and upset that she went up straight to bed. There was still a hopethat some one might have met the little boy and taken him home, unableclearly to make out to whom he belonged, more especially as the Lincolnsin terror and compunction had confessed that they had seen him and hisnurse from a distance, and had rushed headlong round a projecting rockinto a cove, hoping that he had not seen them, because he was so tiresomeand spoilt all their games. And when that morning the spade, hat, andshoe were discovered upon the shore, not far from the very rock, the poorchildren had to draw plenty of morals on the consequences of selfishness. No doubt that poor little Michael had pursued them barefooted and gonetoo near the waves!

There was nothing more but the forlorn hope that the waves would restorethe little body they had carried off, and Mrs. Morton was watching forthat last sad satisfaction. In case of that contingency, Ellen, as thelast person known to have seen the boy, had been left at Westhaven, inagonies of despair, vowing that she would never speak to any one, norlook at a story-book again in her life. She had attempted the excusethat she thought she saw Miss Ida going in that direction, but the younglady had declared that she had never been on the beach at all thatafternoon till after the alarm had been given; and had been extremelyangry with Ellen for making false excuses and trying to shift off theblame, and the girl had been much terrified, and owned that she was notat all sure. 

'And oh, my lady, ' entreated Eden, 'don't send me up to the House! Don'tmake me face her ladyship! I should die of it!'

'We must think what is to be done about that, ' said Lady Adela. 'Can youtell whether any one from the House has seen you?'

Eden thought not, and after she had been consigned to her friend, LadyAdela's maid, to be rested, fed, and comforted as far as might bepossible, the sisters-in-law held sad counsel, and agreed that it was notsafe to keep back the terrible news from the poor mother who expecteddaily tidings of her child, and might hear some report, in spite of hershut-up state. 

'Poor Adela, I pity you almost as much as her, ' said Bertha. 

'Oh, I know now how much I have to be thankful for! No uncertainty--andmy little one's grave. '

'Besides Amice. Let me drive you up, Addie. Your heart is beatingenough to knock you down. '

'Well, I believe it is. But not up to the front door. I will go in bythe garden. Oh, may he be spared to her at least!'

Very pale then Lady Adela crept in, meeting a weeping maid who was muchrelieved to see her, but was hardly restrained from noisy sobs. Mr. Trotman, she said, had come just before the garden boy had inevitablydashed up with the tidings, and the household had been waiting till hecame out, to secure that he should be near when Lady Northmoor was told. 

Adela felt that this might be the safest opportunity, and sent a messageto the door to beg that her ladyship would come and speak to her for afew minutes in the study. 

Mary's soft step was soon there, and her lips were framing the words, 'Noground lost, ' when at sight of Adela's face the light went out of hereyes, and setting herself firmly on her feet, she said, 'You have badnews. My boy!'

Adela came near and would have taken her hand, saying--'My poorMary'--but she clasped them both as if to hold herself together, andsaid, 'The fever!'

'No, no--sadder still! Drowned!'

'Ah, then there was not all that suffering, and without me!Thankworthy-- Oh no, no, please'--as Lady Adela, with eyes brimmingover, would have pressed her to her bosom--'don't--don't upset me, or Icould not attend to Frank. It all turns on this one day, they say, and Imust--I must be as usual. There will be time enough to know all aboutit--if'--with a long oppressed gasp--'he is saved from the hearing it. '

'I think you are right, dear, ' said Adela, 'if you keep him--' but shecould not go on. 

'Well, any way, ' said Mary, 'either he will be given back, or he will besaved this. Let me go back to him, please. ' Then at the door, puttingher hand to her head--'Who is here?'

'Poor Eden. '

'Ah, let her and Emma know that I am sure it is not their fault. Comeagain to-morrow, please; I think he will be better. '

She went away in that same gliding manner, perfectly tearless. Adelawaited to see the doctor, who assured her that the patient had rathergained than lost during the last twenty-four hours, and that if he couldbe spared from any shock or agitation he would probably recover. LadyNorthmoor seemed so entirely absorbed by his critical state, that she wasnot likely to betray the sad knowledge she had put aside in the secretchamber of her heart, more especially as her husband was still too muchweighed down, and too slumberous to be observant, or to speak much, andknowing the child to be out of the house, he did not inquire for him. 

Nevertheless, Mr. Trotman gladly approved of Lady Adela's intention ofsleeping in the house in case of any sudden collapse; and the servants, who were not to let Lady Northmoor know, evidently felt this a greatrelief. 

'Yes, it is a comfort to think some one will be within that poor thing'sreach, ' said Bertha, as they went back together, 'and, if you can bearit, you are the right person. '

'She will not let herself dwell on it. She never even looked at Mrs. Morton's letter. '

'And I really hope they won't find the poor little dear, to have all thefuss and heart-rending. '

'Oh, Birdie!'

'There's only one thing that would make me wish it. I'm quite sure thatthat Miss Ida knows more about it than she owns. No, you need not say, "Oh, Birdie" again; I don't suspect her of the deed, but I do believe shesaw the boy and kept out of his way, and now wants that poor Ellen tohave all the blame!'

'You will believe nothing against a girl out of an orphanage!'

'I had rather any day believe Ellen Mole than Ida Morton. There'ssomething about that girl which has always revolted me. I would nevertrust her farther than I could see her!'

'Prejudice, Birdie; because she is in bad style. '

'You to talk of prejudice, Addie, who hardly knew how to go on livinghere under the poor stick!'

'Don't, Birdie. He has earned esteem by sheer goodness. Poor man, Idon't know what to wish for him when I think of the pang that awaitshim. '

'You know what to wish for yourself and Northmoor! Not but that Herbertmay come to good if he doesn't come into possession for many a longyear. '

'And now I must write to that poor child, Constance. But oh, Bertha, don't condemn hastily! Haven't I had enough of that?'

CHAPTER XXXIIIDARKNESS

Full a week later, Frank looked up from his pillow, and said, 'I wonderwhen it will be safe to have Mite back. Mary, sweet, what is it? I havebeen sure something was burthening you. Come and tell me. If he has thefever, you must go to him. No!' as she clasped his hand and laid herface down on the pillow. 

'Ah, Frank, he does not want us any more!'

'My Mary, my poor Mary, have you been bearing such knowledge about withyou? For how long?'

'Since that worst day, yesterday week. Oh, but to see you getting betterwas the help!'

'Can you tell me?'

She told him, in that low, steady voice, all she knew. It was verylittle, for she had avoided whatever might break the composure thatseemed so needful to his recovery; and he could listen quietly, partlyfrom the lulling effect of weakness, partly from his anxiety for her, andthe habit of self-restraint, in which all the earlier part of their liveshad been passed, made utterance come slowly to them. 

'Life will be different to us henceforth, ' he once said. 'We have hadthree years of the most perfect happiness. He gave and He hath takenaway. Blessed--'

And there he stopped, for he saw the working of her face. Otherwise theyhardly spoke of their loss even to one another. It went down deeper thanthey could bear to utter, and their hearts and eyes met if their lips didnot. Only Lord Northmoor lay too dejected to make the steps expected inthe recovery of strength for a few days after the grievous revelation, and on the day when at last he was placed on a couch by the window, hiswife collapsed, and, almost unconscious, was carried to her bed. 

It was not a severe or alarming attack, and all she wanted was to be letalone; but there was enough of sore throat and other symptoms to prolongthe quarantine, and Lady Adela could no longer be excluded from givingher aid. She went to and fro between the patients, and comforted eachwith regard to the other, telling the one how her husband's strength wasreturning, and keeping the other tranquil by the assurance that what hiswife most needed was perfect rest, especially from the necessity ofrestraining herself. Those eyes showed how many tears were poured forthwhen they could have their free course. Lady Adela had gone throughenough to feel with ready tact what would be least jarring to each. Shehad persuaded Bertha to go back to London, both to her many avocationsand to receive Amice, who must still be kept at a distance for some time. 

Lord Northmoor, as soon as he had strength and self-command for it, readpoor Mrs. Morton's letters, and also saw Eden, for whom there was littlefear of infection. She managed to tell her history and answer all hisquestions in detail, but she quite broke down under his kind tone offorgiveness and assurance that no blame attached to her, and that he wasonly grateful to her for her tender care of his child, and she went awaysobbing pitifully. 

Adela came back, after taking her from the room, where Frank was sittingin an easy-chair by the window, and looking out on the summer garden, which seemed to be stripped of all its charm and value for him. 

'Poor thing, ' she said, 'she is quite overcome by your kindness. '

'I do not think any one is more to be pitied, ' said he. 

'No, indeed, but she wishes you would have heard what she had to sayabout the supposing Ida to have gone in that direction. '

'I thought it better not. It would not have exonerated the poor littlemaid from carelessness, and there is no use in fostering a sense ofinjury or suspicion, when what is done cannot be undone, ' he saidwearily. 

'Indeed you are quite right, ' said Adela earnestly. 'You know how to bein charity with all men. Oh, the needless misery of hasty unjustsuspicions!' Then as he looked up at her--'Do you know our own story?'

'Only the main facts. '

'I think you ought to know it. It accounts for so much!' said she, movedpartly by the need of utterance, and partly by the sense that the turn ofhis thoughts might be good for him. 'You know what a passion for horsesthere has always been in this family. '

'I know--I could have had it if my life had begun more prosperously. '

'And you have done your best to save Herbert from it. Well, my Arthurhad it to a great degree; and so indeed had Bertha. They were brought upto nothing else; Bertha was, I really think, a better judge than herbrother, she was not so reckless. They became intimate with a CaptainAlder, who was in the barracks at Copington--much the nicest, as I usedto think, of the set, though I was not very glad to see an attachmentgrowing up between him and Bertha. There was always such a capacity ofgoodness in her that I longed to see her in the way of being raisedaltogether. '

'She has always been most kind to us. There is much to admire in her. '

'Her present life has developed all that is best; but--' She hesitated, wondering whether the good simple man were sensible of that warp in thenature that she had felt. She went on, 'Then she was a masterful, high-spirited girl, to whom it seemed inevitable to come to high wordswith any one about whom she cared. And I must say--she and my husband, while they were passionately fond of one another, seemed to have a sortof fascination in provoking one another, not only in words but in deeds. Ah, you can hardly believe it of her! How people get tamed! Well, Arthur bought a horse, a beautiful creature, but desperately vicious. Captain Alder had been with him when he first saw it, and admired it; butI do not think gave an opinion against it. Bertha, however, from themoment she saw its eyes and ears, protested against it in her vehementway. I remember imploring her not to make Arthur defy her; but reallywhen they got into those moods, I don't think they could stop themselves, and she thought Captain Alder encouraged him. So Arthur went out on thatfatal drive in the dog-cart, and no sooner were they out on the Colbeamroad than the horse bolted, they came into collision with a hay waggon. And--'

'I know!'

'Captain Alder was thrown on the top of the hay and not hurt. He came toprepare me to receive Arthur, and then went up to the house. Bertha, poor girl, in her wild grief almost flew at him. It was all his doing, she said; he had egged Arthur on; she supposed Arthur had bets. Inshort, she knew not what she said; but he left the house, and never hasbeen near her again. '

'Were they engaged?'

'Not quite formally, but they understood one another, and were waitingfor a favourable moment with old Lord Northmoor, who was not easy to dealwith, and it was far from being a good match anyway. We all thought, Ibelieve, that the drive was the fault or rather the folly of CaptainAlder, and Arthur was too ill to explain--unconscious at first--then notrousing himself. At last he asked for his friend, and then he told methat Captain Alder had done all in his power to prevent his taking thecreature out--had told him he had no right to endanger his life; and whenonly laughed at, had insisted on going with him, in hopes, I suppose, ofaverting mischief. I wrote--Lord Northmoor wrote to him at his quarters;but our letters came back to us. We had kept no watch on the gazette, and he had retired and left no address with his brother-officers. Berthaknew that his parents were dead, and that he had a sister at school atClifton. I wrote to her, but the mistress sent back my letter; and wefound that he had fetched away his sister and gone. Even his money wastaken from Coutts's, as if to cut off any clue. '

'He should not have so attended to a girl in her angry grief. '

'No, but I think there was some self-blame in him, though not about thathorse. I believe he thought he might have checked Arthur more. And hehad debts which he seems to have paid on selling out his capital. So, asI have told poor Bertha whenever she would let me, there may have beenother reasons besides her stinging words. '

'And it has preyed on her?'

'More than any one would guess who had not known her in old times. I wasglad that you secured that child, Cea, to her. She seems to havefastened her affections on her. '

'Alder, ' presently repeated Frank. 'Alder--I was thinking how the namehad come before me. There were some clients of ours--of Mr. Burford's, Imean--of that name; I think they sold an estate. Some day I will findout whether he knows anything about them, and I shall remember more byand by. '

'It would be an immense relief if you could find out anything good aboutthe poor fellow, ' said Adela, very glad to have found any topic ofinterest, and pleased to find that it occupied his thoughts afterwards, when he asked whether she knew the Christian name of _this_ young man, without mentioning any antecedent, as if he had been going on with thesubject all the time. 

In a few days the pair were able to meet, and to take up again the lifeover which a dark veil had suddenly descended, contrasting with thesunshine of those last few years. To hold up one another, and do theirduty on their way to the better world, was evidently the one thought, though they said little. 

Still neither was yet in a condition to return to ordinary life, and itwas determined that as soon as they were disinfected, they should leavethe house to undergo the same process, and spend a few weeks at somehealth resort. Only Mary shuddered at the notion of hearing the sound ofthe sea, and Malvern was finally fixed upon. Lady Adela would go withthem, and she wrote to beg that Constance, so soon as her term was over, might bring Amice thither, to be in a separate lodging at first, tillthere had been time to see whether the little girl's company would be asolace or a trial to the bereaved parents. 

Bertha, as soon as the chief anxiety was over, joined Mrs. Bury in amountaineering expedition. She declared that she had never dared toleave Cea before, lest the wretched father, now proved to be a myth, should come and abstract the child. 

CHAPTER XXXIVTHE PHANTOM OF THE STATION

There was a crash in Mrs. Morton's kitchen, where an elegant five o'clocktea was preparing, not only to greet Herbert, who had just come home toawait the news of his fate after the last military examination open tohim, but also for a friend or two of his mother's, who, to his greatannoyance, might be expected to drop in on any Wednesday afternoon. 

Every one ran out to see what was the matter, and the maid was foundpicking up Mrs. Morton's silver teapot, the basket-work handle of whichhad suddenly collapsed under the weight of tea and tea-leaves. Themistress's exclamations and objurgation of the maid for not havingdiscovered its frail condition need not be repeated. It had been awedding-present, and was her great pride. After due examination to seewhether there were any bruises or dents, she said--

'Well, Ida, we must have yours; run and fetch it out of the box. Youhave the key of it. ' And she held out the key of the cupboard where thespoons were daily taken out by herself or Ida. 

The teapot had been left to Ida by a godmother, who had been a farmer'swife, with a small legacy, but was of an unfashionable make and seldomsaw the light. 

'That horrid, great clumsy thing!' said Ida. 'You had much better usethe blue china one. '

'I'll never use that crockery for company when there's silver in thehouse! What would Mrs. Denham say if she dropped in?'

'I won't pour out tea in that ugly, heavy brute of a thing. '

'Then if you won't, I will. Give me the key this instant!'

'It is mine, and I am not going to give it up!'

'Come, Ida, ' said Herbert, weary of the altercation; 'any one would thinkyou had made away with it! Let us have it for peace's sake. '

'It's no business of yours. '

He whistled. However, at that moment the door-bell rang. 

It was to admit a couple of old ladies, whom both the young people viewedas very dull company; and the story of the illness of 'my brother, LordNorthmoor, ' as related by their mother, had become very tedious, so thatas soon as possible they both sauntered out on the beach. 

'I wonder when uncle will send for you!' Ida said. 'He must give you agood allowance now. '

'Don't talk of it, Ida; it makes me sick to think of it. I say--is thatthe old red rock where they saw the last of the poor little kid?'

'Yes; that was where his hat was. '

'Did you find it? Was it washed up?'

'Don't talk of such dreadful things, Bertie; I can't bear it! Andthere's Rose Rollstone!'

Ida would have done her utmost to keep her brother and Rose Rollstoneapart at any other time, but she was at the moment only too glad todivert his attention, and allowed him, without protest, to walk up toRose, shake hands with her, and rejoice in her coming home for good; but, do what Ida would, she could not keep him from recurring to the thoughtof the little cousin of whom he had been very fond. 

'Such a jolly little kid!' he said; 'and full of spirit! You should haveseen him when I picked him up before me on the cob. How he laughed!'

'So good, too, ' said Rose. 'He looked so sweet with those pretty browneyes and fair curls at church that last Sunday. '

'I can't make out how it was. The tide could not have been high enoughto wash him off going round that rock, or the other children would nothave gone round it. '

'Oh, I suppose he ran after a wave, ' said Ida hastily. 

'Do you know, ' said Rose mysteriously, 'I could have declared I saw himthat very evening, and with his nursery-maid, too!'

'Nonsense, Rose! We don't believe in ghosts!' said Ida. 

'It was not like a ghost, ' said Rose. 'You know I had come down for thebank-holiday, and went back to finish my quarter at the art embroidery. Well, when we stopped at the North Westhaven station, I saw a man, woman, and child get in, and it struck me that the boy was Master Michael andthe woman Louisa Hall. I think she looked into the carriage where I was, and I was going to ask her where she was taking him. '

'Nonsense, Rose! How can you listen to such folly, Herbert?'

'But that's not all! I saw them again under the gas when I got out. Iwas very near trying to speak to her, but I lost sight of her in thethrong; but I saw that face so like Master Michael, only scared and justready to cry. '

'You'll run about telling that fine ghost-story, ' said Ida roughly. 

'But Louisa could not have been a ghost, ' said Rose, bewildered. 'Ithought she was his nursery-maid taking him somewhere! Didn't she--'then with a sudden flash--'Oh!'

'Turned off long ago for flirting with that scamp Rattler, ' said Herbert. 'Now she has run off with him. '

'There was a sailor-looking man with her, ' said Rose. 

'I never heard such intolerable nonsense!' burst out Ida. 'Mereabsurdity!'

Herbert looked at her with surprise at the strange passion she exhibited. He asked--

'Did you say the Hall girl had run away?'

'Oh, never mind, Herbert!' cried Ida, as if unable to command herself. 'What is it to you what a nasty, horrid girl like that does?'

'Hold your tongue, Ida!' he said resolutely. 'If you won't speak, letRose. '

'She did, ' said Rose, in a low, anxious, terrified voice. 'I only heardit since I came home. She was married at the registrar's office to thatman Jones, whom they call the Rattler, and went off with him. It musthave been her whom I saw, really and truly; and, oh, Herbert, could shehave been so wicked as to steal Master Michael!'

'Somebody else has been wicked then, ' said Herbert, laying hold of hissister's arm. 

'I don't know what all this means, ' exclaimed Ida, in great agitation;'nor what you and Rose are at! Making up such horrible, abominableinsinuations against me, your poor sister! But Rose Rollstone alwayshated me!'

'She does not know what she is saying, ' sighed Rose; and, with muchdelicacy, she moved away. 

'Let me go, Herbert!' cried Ida, as she felt his grip on her hand. 

'Not I, Ida--till you have answered me! Is this so--that Michael is notdrowned, but carried off by that woman?' demanded Herbert, holding herfast and looking at her with manly gravity, not devoid of horror. 

'He is a horrid little impostor, palmed off to keep you out of the titleand everything! That's why I did it!' sobbed Ida, trying to wrenchherself away. 

'Oh, you did it, did you? You confess that! And what have you done withhim?'

'I tell you he is no Morton at all--just the nurse-woman's child, takento spite you. I found it all out at--what's its name?--Botzen; only mawould not be convinced. '

'I should suppose not! To think that my uncle and aunt would do such athing--why, I don't know whether it is not worse than stealing thechild!'

'Herbert! Herbert! do you want to bring your sister to jail, talking inthat way?'

'It is no more than you deserve. I _would_ bring you there if it is theonly way to get back the child! I do not know what is bad enough foryou. My poor uncle and aunt! To have brought such misery on them!' Heclenched his hands as he spoke. 

'Everybody said she didn't mind--didn't ask questions, didn't cry, didn'tgo on a bit like his real mother. '

'She could not, or it might have been the death of my uncle. Berthawrote it all to me; but you--you would never understand. Ida, I can'tbelieve that you, my sister, could have done such an awfully wickedthing!'

'I wouldn't, only I was sure he was not--'

'No more of that stuff!' said Herbert. 'You don't know what they are. '

'I do. So strict--not a bit like a mother. '

'If our mother had been like them, you might not have been such asenseless monster, ' said Herbert, pausing for a word. 'Come, now; tellme what you have done with him, or I shall have to set on the police. '

'Oh, Herbert, how can you be so cruel?'

'It is not I that am cruel! Come, speak out! Did you bribe her withyour teapot? Ah! I see: what has she done with him?'

He gripped her arm almost as he used to torture her when they werechildren, and insisted again that either she must tell him the wholetruth or he should set the police on the track. 

'You wouldn't, ' she said, awed. 'Think of the exposure and of mother!'

'I can think of nothing but saving Mite! I say--my mother knows nothingof this?'

'Oh no, no!'

Herbert breathed more freely, but he was firm, and seemed suddenly tohave grown out of boyishness into manly determination, and gradually heextracted the whole story from her. He would not listen to the delusionin which she had worked herself into believing, founded upon thenegations for which she had sedulously avoided seeking positiverefutation, and which had been bolstered up by her imagination andwishes, working on the unsubstantial precedents of novels. She hadbrought herself absolutely to believe in the imposture, and at a momentwhen her uncle's condition seemed absolutely to place within her graspthe coronet for Herbert, with all possibilities for herself. 

Then came the idea of Louisa Hall, inspired by seeing her speak to littleMichael on the beach, and obtain his pretty smiles and exclamation of'Lou, Lou! mine Lou!' for he had certainly liked this girl better thanEllen, who was wanting in life and animation. Ida knew that Sam Jones, alias Rattler, was going out to join his brother in Canada, and thatLouisa was vehemently desirous to accompany him, but had failed tosatisfy the requirements of Government as to character, so as to obtain afree passage, and was therefore about to be left behind in desertion anddistress. She might beguile Michael away quietly and carry him toCanada, where, as it seemed, there were any amount of farmers ready toadopt English children--a much better lot, in Ida's eyes, than the littleTyrolese impostor deserved. She even persuaded herself that she wasdoing an act of great goodness, when, at the price of her teapot, sheobtained that Louisa should be married by the registrar to Sam Jones, andtheir passage paid, on condition of their carrying away Michael withthem. The man was nothing loth, having really a certain preference forLouisa, and likewise a grudge against Lord Northmoor for having spoiltthat game with Miss Morton, which might have brought the means for thevoyage. 

They were married on Whit Monday, and Ida was warned that if she andLouisa could not get possession of the child by Wednesday, he would beleft behind. Louisa was accordingly on the watch, and Ida hovered about, just enough completely to put the nurses off their guard. They heardMichael's imploring call of 'Willie! Willie!' and then Louisa descendedon him with coaxings and promises, and Ida knew no more, except that, asshe had desired, a parcel had been sent her containing the hat and shoes. The spade she had herself picked up. 

When Rose had seen them, they had no doubt been on their way toLiverpool. 

It seemed to be Herbert's horror-stricken look that first showed hissister the enormity of what she had done, and when she pleaded 'for yoursake, ' he made such a fierce sound of disgust, that she only durst addfurther, 'Oh, Herbert, you will not tell?'

'Not find him?' he thundered. 

'No, no; I didn't mean that! But don't let them know about me! Justthink--'

'I must think! Get away now; I can't bear you near!'

And just then a voice was heard, 'Miss Hider, Miss Hider, your ma wantsyou!'

CHAPTER XXXVTHE QUEST

Herbert had made no promises, but as he paced up and down the shingleafter his sister had gone in, he had time to feel that, though he wasdetermined to act at once, the scandal of her deed must be as much aspossible avoided. Indeed, he believed that she might have renderedherself amenable to prosecution for kidnapping the child, and he felt onreflection that his mother must be spared the terror and disgrace. Hisdifficulties were much increased by the state of quarantine at Northmoor, for though the journey to Malvern had been decided upon, neither patientwas yet in a state to attempt it, and as one of the servants hadunexpectedly sickened with the disease, all approach to the place wasforbidden; nor did he know with any certainty how far his uncle'srecovery had advanced, since Bertha, his chief informant, had gone abroadwith Mrs. Bury, and Constance was still at Oxford. 

He went home, and straight up to his room, feeling it intolerable to meethis sister; and there, the first sleepless night he had ever known, convinced him that to the convalescents it would be cruelty to send hisintelligence, when it amounted to no more than that their poor little boyhad been made over to an unscrupulous woman and a violent, good-for-nothing man. 

'No, ' said Herbert, as he tossed over; 'it would be worse than believinghim quietly dead, now they have settled down to that. I must get himback before they know anything about it. But how? I must hunt up thosewretches' people here, and find where they are gone; if they know--aslike as not they won't. But I'll throw everything up till I find theboy!' He knelt up in his bed, laid his hand on his Bible--his uncle'sgift--and solemnly swore it. 

And Herbert was another youth from that hour. 

When he had brought his ideas into some little order, the foremost wasthat he must see Rose Rollstone, discover how much she knew or guessed, and bind her to silence. 'No fear of her, jolly little thing!' said heto himself; but, playfellows as they had been, private interviews werenot easy to secure under present circumstances. 

However, the tinkling of the bell of the iron church suggested an idea. 'She is just the little saint of a thing to be always off to church atunearthly hours. I'll catch her there--if only that black coat isn'talways after her!'

So Herbert hurried off to the iron building, satisfied himself with apeep that Rose's sailor hat was there, and then--to make sure ofher--crept into a seat by the door, and found his plans none the worsefor praying for all needing help in mind, body, or estate. Rose came outalone, and he was by her side at once. 'I say, Rose, you did not speakabout _that_ last night?'

'Oh no, indeed!'

'You're a brick! I got it all out of that sister of mine. I'm onlyashamed that she is my sister!'

'And where is the dear little boy?'

'That's the point, ' and Herbert briefly explained his difficulties, andRose agreed that he must try to learn where the emigrants had gone, fromtheir relations. And when he expressed his full intention of followingthem, even if he had to work his passage, before telling the parents, sheapplauded the nobleness of the resolution, and all the romance in herawoke at the notion of his bringing home the boy and setting him beforehis parents. She was ready to promise secrecy for the sake of preventingthe prosecution that might, as Herbert saw, be a terrible thing for thewhole family; and besides, it must be confessed, the two young things didrather enjoy the sharing of a secret. Herbert promised to meet her thenext morning, and report his discoveries and plans, as in fact she wasthe only person with whom he could take counsel. 

He did meet her accordingly, going first to the church. He had to tellher that he had been able to make nothing of Mrs. Hall. He was not surewhether she knew where her daughter had gone; at any rate, she would notown to any knowledge, being probably afraid. Besides, when acting ascharwoman, Master Herbert had been such a torment to her that she was notlikely to oblige him. 

He had succeeded better with the Jones family, and perhaps had learntprudence, for he had not begun by asking for the Rattler, but for therespectable brother who had invited him out, and had thus learnt that thedestination of the emigrant was Toronto, where the elder brother wasemployed on the _British Empress_, Ontario steamer. Mrs. Jones, themother, and her eldest son were decent people, and there was no reason tothink they were aware of the encumbrances that their scapegrace had takenwith him. 

So Herbert had resolved, without delay, to make his way to Toronto; wherehe hoped to find the child, and maybe, bring him back in a month's time. 

'Only, ' said Rose timidly, 'did you really mean what you said aboutworking your way out?'

'Well, Rose, that's the hitch. I had to pay up some bills after I got myallowance, and unluckily I changed my bicycle, and the rascals put a lotmore on the new one, and I haven't got above seven pounds left, and Imust keep some for the rail from New York and for getting home, for Ican't take the kid home in the steerage. The bicycle's worth something, and so is my watch, if I put them in pawn; so I think I can do it thatway, and I'm quite seaman enough to get employment, only I don't want tolose time about it. '

'I was thinking, ' said Rose shyly; 'they made me put into the Post OfficeSavings Bank after I began to get a salary. I have five-and-twentypounds there that I could get out in a couple of days, and I should be soglad to help to bring that dear little boy home. '

'Oh, Rose, you _are_ a girl! You see, you are quite safe not to lose it, for my uncle would be only too glad to pay it back, even if I came togrief any way, and it would make it all slick smooth. I would go toLiverpool straight off, and cross in the first steamer, and the thing'sdone. And can you get at it at once with nobody knowing?'

'Yes, I think so, ' said Rose. 'My father asked to see my book when firstI came home, and he is not likely to do so again, till I can explain allabout it, and I am sure it cannot be wrong. '

'Wrong--no! Right as a trivet! Rose, Rose, if ever that poor child seeshis father and mother again, it is every bit your doing! No one can tellwhat I think of it, or what my uncle and aunt will say to you! You'vebeen the angel in this, if Ida has been the other thing!'

But Rose found difficulties in the way of her angelic part, for herfather addressed her in his most solemn and sententious manner: 'Rose, Ihave always looked on you as sensible and discreet, but I have to saythat I disapprove of your late promenades with a young man connected withthe aristocracy. '

Rose coloured up a good deal, but cried out, 'It's not that, papa, notthat!'

'I do not suppose either you or he is capable at present of forming anydefinite purpose, ' said Mr. Rollstone, not to be baulked of hisdiscourse; 'but you must bear in mind that any appearance ofencouragement to a young man in his position can only have a mostdamaging effect on your prospects, and even reputation, howeverflattering he may appear. '

'I know it, papa, I know it! There has been nothing of the kind, Iassure you, ' said Rose, who during the last discourse had had time toreflect; 'and he is going away to-morrow or next day, so you need not beafraid, though I must see him or send to him once more before he goes. '

'Well, if you are helping him to get some present for his sisters, I donot see so much objection for this once; only it must not occur again. '

Rose was much tempted to let this suggestion stand, but truth forbadeher, and she said, 'No, papa, I cannot say it is that; but you will knowall about it before long, and you will not disapprove, if you will onlytrust your little Rose, ' and she looked up for a kiss. 

'Well, I never found you not to be trusted, though you are a coaxingpuss, ' said her father, and so the matter ended with him, but she hadanother encounter with her mother. 

'Mind, Rose, if that churching--which Sunday was enough for any good girlin my time--is only to lead to walking with young gents which has no callto you, I won't have it done. '

Mrs. Rollstone was not cultivated up to her husband's mark, neither hadshe ever inspired so much confidence, and Rose made simple answer, 'It isall right, mamma; I have spoken to papa about it. '

'Oh, if your pa knows, I suppose he is satisfied; but men aren't the sameas a mother, and if that there young Mr. Morton comes dangling andgallanting after you, he is after no good. '

'He is doing no such thing, ' said Rose in a resolutely calm voice thatmight have shown that she was with difficulty controlling her temper;'and, besides, he is going away. '

Wherewith Mrs. Rollstone had to be satisfied. 

Rose took a bold measure when she had taken her five five-pound notesfrom the savings bank. She saw her father preparing to waddle out forhis daily turn on the beach, and she put the envelope containing them, addressed to H. Morton, Esq. , into his hand, begging him to give it toMr. Morton himself. 

Which he did, when he met Herbert trying to soothe his impatience with acigar. 

'Here, sir, ' he said, 'my daughter wishes me to give you this. I don'task what it is, mind; but I tell you plainly, I don't like secretsbetween young people. '

Herbert tried to laugh naturally, then said, 'Your daughter is no end ofa trump, Mr. Rollstone. '

'Only recollect this, sir--I know my station and I know yours, and I willhave no nonsense with her. '

'All right!' said Herbert shortly, with a laugh, his head too full ofother matters to think what all this implied. 

He wished to avoid exciting any disturbance, so he told his mother thathe should be off again the next day. 

'It is very hard, ' grumbled Mrs. Morton, 'that you can never be contentedto stay with your poor mother! I did hope that with the regatta, and theyachts, and Mr. Brady, you would find amusement enough to give us alittle of your company; but nothing is good enough for you now. Which ofyour fine friends are you going to?'

Herbert was not superior to an evasion, and said, 'I'm going up to townfirst, and shall see Dacre, and I'll write by and by. '

She resigned herself to the erratic movements of the son, who, beingagain, in her eyes, heir to the peerage, was to her like a comet in ahigher sphere. 

CHAPTER XXXVIIDA'S CONFESSION

The move to Malvern was at last made, and the air seemed at once toinvigorate Lord Northmoor, though the journey tried his wife more thanshe had expected, and she remained in a very drooping state, in spite ofher best efforts not to depress him. Nothing seemed to suit her so wellas to lie on a couch in the garden of their lodging, with Constancebeside her, talking, and sometimes smiling over all her little Mite'spretty ways; though at other times she did her best to seem to takeinterest in other matters, and to persuade her husband that hisendeavours to give her pleasure or interest were successful, because theexertions he made for her sake were good for him. 

He was by this time anxious--since he was by the end of three weeks quitewell, and fairly strong--to go down to Westhaven, and learn all he couldabout the circumstances of the fate of his poor little son; and onlydelayed till he thought his wife could spare him. Lady Adela urged himat last to go. She thought that Mary lived in a state of effort for hissake, and that there was a certain yearning and yet dread in the minds ofboth for these further details, so that the visit had better be over. 

Thus it was about six weeks after Herbert's departure that Mrs. Mortonreceived a note to tell her that her brother-in-law would arrive the nextevening. It was terrible news to Ida, and if there had been time shewould have arranged to be absent elsewhere; but as it was she had nopower to escape, and had to spend her time in assisting in all theelaborate preparations which her mother thought due to the Baron--a verydifferent personage in her eyes from the actual Frank. 

He did not come till late in the day, and then Mrs. Morton received himwith a very genuine gush of tears, and anxious inquiries. He was thin, and looked much older; his hair was grayer, and had retreated from hisbrow, and there was a bent, worn, dejected air about the whole man, which, as Mrs. Morton said, made her ready to cry whenever she looked athim; but he was quite composed in manner and tone, so as to repress heragitation, and confirm Ida's inexperienced judgment in the idea thatMichael was none of his. He was surprised and concerned at Herbert'sabsence, which was beginning to make his mother uneasy, and he promisedto write to some of the boy's friends to inquire about him. To put offthe evil day, Ida had suggested asking Mr. Deyncourt to meet him, butthat gentleman could not come, and dinner went off in stiff efforts atconversation, for just now all the power thereof, that Lord Northmoor hadever acquired, seemed to have forsaken him. 

Afterwards, in the August twilight, he begged to hear all. Ida withdrew, glad not to submit to the ordeal, while her mother observed, 'Poor, dearIda! She was so fond of her dear little cousin, she cannot bear to hearhim mentioned! She has never been well since!'

Then, with copious floods of tears, and all in perfect good faith, sherelated the history of the loss, as she knew it, with--on his leadingquestions--a full account of all the child's pretty ways during his stay, and how he had never failed to say his prayer about making papa better, and how he had made friends with Mr. Deyncourt, in spite of havingpronounced his church like a big tin box all up in frills; and how he hadadmired the crabs, and run after the waves, and had been devoted to theWillie, who had thought him troublesome--giving all the anecdotes, towhich Frank listened with set face and dry eyes, storing them for hiswife. He thanked Mrs. Morton for all her care and tenderness, andexpended assurances that no one thought her to blame. 

'It is one of those dispensations, ' he said, 'that no one can guardagainst. We can only be thankful for the years of joy that no one cantake from us, and try to be worthy to meet him hereafter. '

Mrs. Morton had wept so much that she was very glad to seize the firstexcuse for wishing good-night. She said that she had put all Michael'slittle things in a box in his father's room, for him to take home to hismother, and bade Frank--as once more she called him--good-night, kissinghim as she had never done before. The shock had brought out all that wasbest and most womanly in her. 

That box had an irresistible attraction for Frank. He could not but openit, and on the top lay the white woolly, headless dog that had beenMite's special darling, had been hugged by him in his slumbers everynight, and been the means of many a joyous game when father and mothercame up to wish the noisy creature good-night, and 'Tarlo' had been madeto bark at them. 

Somehow the 'never more' overcame him completely. He had not before beenbeyond the restraint of guarding his feelings for Mary's sake; and, tiredwith the long day, and torn by the evening's narration, all hisself-command gave way, and he fell into a perfect anguish of deep-drawn, almost hysterical sobbing. 

 [Picture: 'What?' and he threw the door wide open]

Those sobs were heard through the thin partition in Ida's room. Theywere very terrible to her. They broke down the remnant of her excusethat the child was an imposition. They woke all her woman's tenderness, and the impulse to console carried her in a few moments to the door. 

'Uncle! Uncle Frank!'

'I'm not ill, ' answered a broken, heaving, impatient voice. 'I wantnothing. '

'Oh, let me in, dear uncle--I've something to tell you!'

'Not now, ' came on the back of a sob. 'Go!'

'Oh, now, now!' and she even opened the door a little. 'He is notdrowned! At least, Rose Rollstone thinks--'

'What?' and he threw the door wide open. 

'Rose Rollstone is sure she saw him with Louisa Hall in London that day, 'hurried out Ida, still bent on screening herself. 'She's gone to Canada. It's there that Herbert is gone to find him and bring him home!'

'And why--why were we never told?'

'You were too ill, uncle, and Rose did not know about it till she camehome. Then she told Herbert, and he hoped to find him and write. '

'When was this?'

'When Herbert came home--the 29th or 30th of June, ' said Ida, trembling. 'He _must_ find him, uncle; don't fear!'

It was a strange groaning sigh that answered; then, with a great effort--

'Thank you, Ida; I can't understand it yet--I can't talk! Good-night!'Then, with an afterthought, when he had almost shut his door, he turnedthe handle again to say, 'Who did you say saw--thought she saw--my boy?Where?'

'Rose Rollstone, uncle; first at the North Station--then at Waterloo!And Louisa Hall too!'

'I thank you; good-night!'

And for what a night of strange dreams, prayers, and uncertainties didFrank shut himself in--only forcing himself by resolute will intosleeping at last, because he knew that strength and coolness were needfulfor to-morrow's investigation. 

CHAPTER XXXVIIHOPE

That last sleep lasted long, till the sound of the little tinkling bellcame through the open window, and then the first waking thought that Mitewas alive was at first taken for a mere blissful dream. It was only thesight of the woolly dog that recalled with certainty the conversationwith Ida. 

To pursue that strange hint was of course the one impulse. The bell hadceased before Frank had been able to finish dressing, but the house wasso far from having wakened to full life, that remembering the lateness ofthe breakfast hour, he decided on hastening out to lay his anxious, throbbing feelings before his God, if only to join in the prayer that ourdesires may be granted as may be most expedient for us. 

Nor was he without a hope that the girl whom Constance described as sodevout and religious might be found there. 

And she was; he knew her by sight well enough to accost her when she cameout with 'Miss Rollstone, I believe?'

She bowed, her heart thumping almost as much as the father's, in theimportance of what she had to tell, and the doubt how much she had aright to speak without betrayal. 

'I am told, ' Lord Northmoor said, with a tremble in his voice, 'that youthink you saw my poor little boy. '

'I am almost sure I did, ' said Rose. 

'And when, may I ask?'

'On the evening of the Wednesday in Whitsun week, ' said Rose. 

'Just when he was lost--and where?'

'At the North Station. I had got into the train at the main station. Isaw him put into the train at the North one, and taken out at Waterloo. '

'And why--why, may I ask, have we been left--have we never heard thisbefore?'

His voice shook, as he thought of all the misery to himself and his wifethat might have been spared, as well as the danger of the child. Rosehesitated, doubting how much she ought to say, and Mr. Deyncourt cameout. 

'May I introduce myself?' said Frank, hoping for an auxiliary, --'LordNorthmoor. I have just heard that Miss Rollstone thinks she saw mylittle boy in the London train the day he disappeared; and I am trying tounderstand whether there is really any hope that she is right, and thatwe can recover him. '

Mr. Deyncourt was infinitely surprised, and spoke a few words of wonderthat this had not been made known. Rose found it easier to speak to him. 

'I saw Louisa Hall with him; I did not know she was not still his maid. I thought she had been sent to take him somewhere. And when I heard fromhome that he--he was--drowned, I only thought the likeness had deceivedme. It was not till Mr. Morton came home, and we talked it over, that Iunderstood that Louisa Hall was dismissed long ago, and was eloping toCanada. 

'And then, ' for she had spoken falteringly, and with an effort, as theirsounds of inquiry elicited each sentence--'and then, Mr. Morton said hewould follow her to Canada. He did not want Lady Northmoor to betortured with uncertainty. '

'Very strange, ' said the gentlemen one to the other, Lord Northmooradding--

'Thank you, Miss Rollstone; I will not detain you, unless you can tell memore. '

Rose was glad to be released, though pained and vexed not to dare toexpress her reasons for full certainty. 

'Is this only a girl's fancy?' sighed the father. 

'I think she is a sensible girl. '

'And my nephew Herbert is a hard-headed fellow, not likely to fly off ona vague notion. Is this Hall girl's mother still living here?'

'Certainly. It has been a bad business, her going off with that Jones;but I ascertained that she was married to him. '

'Jones--Sam Jones, or Rattler?'

'Even so. '

'Ah! She was dismissed on his account. And I detected him in imposingon Miss Morton. Yet--where does this Mrs. Hall live?'

'Along this alley. Shall I come with you?'

'Thank you. '

'It may induce her to speak out, if there is anything to hear. I darenot hope! It is too incredible, and I don't understand those children'ssilence. '

He spoke it almost to himself, and the clergyman thought it kinder not tointerrupt his thoughts during the few steps down the evil-smelling alleythat led to the house, where Mrs. Hall was washing up her cup afterbreakfast. It was Mr. Deyncourt who spoke, seeing that the swelling hopeand doubt were almost too much for his companion. 

'Good morning, Mrs. Hall; we have come to you early, but Lord Northmooris very anxious to know whether you can throw any light on what hasbecome of his little boy. '

Mrs. Hall was in a very different state of mind from when she had deniedall knowledge to Herbert, a mere boy, whom she did not like, and when shewas anxious to shelter her daughter, whose silence had by this time begunto offend her. The sight of the clergyman and the other gentlemanalarmed her, and she began by maundering out--

'I am sure, sir, I don't know nothing. My daughter have never writ oneline to me. '

'He was with her!' gasped out Lord Northmoor. 

'I am sure, sir, it was none of my doing, no, nor my daughter wouldn'tneither, only the young lady over persuaded her. 'Tis she as was theguilty party, as I'll always say. '

'She--who?'

'Miss Morton--Miss Hida, sir; and my gal wouldn't never have done it, sir, but for the stories she told, fictious stories they was, I'm sure, that the child wasn't none of my lady's, only a brat picked up in foreignparts to put her brother out of his chance. '

'What are you saying?' exclaimed Lord Northmoor. 'My niece never couldhave said any such thing. '

'Indeed, but she did, sir, my Lord, and that's what worked on mydaughter, though I always told her not to believe any such nonsense; butthen you see, she couldn't get her passage paid to go out with Rattler, and Miss Hida give her the money if so be she would take off the child toCanada with her. '

'And where?' hoarsely asked the father. 

'That I can't tell, my Lord; Louey have never written, and I knows nomore than nothing at all. She've not been a dutiful gal to me, as havedone everything for her. '

There was no more to be made out of Mrs. Hall, and they went their way. 

'There is no doubt that the little fellow is alive, ' said Mr. Deyncourt. 

'Who can guess what those wretches have done to him?' said Lord Northmoorunder his breath. 'Not that I am unthankful for the blessed hope, ' headded, uncovering his head, 'but I am astounded more than I can say, by_this_--'

'It must be invention of the woman, ' said Mr. Deyncourt. 

'I hope so, ' was the answer. 

'Could Miss Rollstone have suspected it? She was very unlike what I haveseen of her before. '

They separated for breakfast, agreeing to meet afterwards to hunt up theJones family. 

Ida had suffered a good deal all the night and morning as she wonderedwhat her confession might entail on her. Sometimes she told herself thatsince it would come out in Herbert's letters on the discovery of thechild, it was well to have the honour of the first disclosure, and herbrother was certain to keep her part in the matter a secret; but, on theother hand, she did not know how much Louisa might have told her mother, nor whether Mrs. Hall might persist in secrecy--nay, or even Rose. Indeed, she was quite uncertain how much Rose had understood. She couldnot have kept back guesses, and she did not believe in honour on Rose'spart. So she was nervous on finding that her uncle was gone out. 

When he came in to breakfast, he merely made a morning greeting. Afterwards he scarcely spoke, except to answer an occasional remark fromher mother. To herself, he neither looked nor spoke, but when Mrs. Morton declared that he looked the better for his morning walk, there wasa half smile and light in his eye, and the weight seemed gone from hisbrow. Mrs. Morton asked what he was going to do. 

'I am going out with Mr. Deyncourt, ' he answered. 

And Ida breathed more freely when he was gone. 

But she little knew that Mr. Deyncourt had gone to Rose Rollstone in herfather's presence, and told her of Mrs. Hall's revelations, asking her ifthis had been the cause of her silence. She had to own how the truth hadflashed at once on her and Mr. Morton. 

'It would be so very dreadful for them if it were known, ' she said. 'Hethought if he brought back the boy, his sister's part need not be known. '

'Then that was the secret!' exclaimed Mrs. Rollstone. 'Well, I'll notblame you, child, but you might have told us. '

Secrets were safe with the ex-butler, but not quite so much so with hiswife, though all three tried to impress on her the need of silence, before Mr. Deyncourt hastened out to rejoin Lord Northmoor. The inquirytook a much longer time than they had expected, for the family wanted didnot live in Mr. Deyncourt's district, and they were misdirected more thanonce to people who disdained the notion of being connected with theRattler, if they had ever heard of such a person. At last they did finda sister-in-law, who pronounced George Jones to be a good fellow, so faras she knew. He sent home to his mother regularly, and lately had hadout his brother Sam, and a good job too, to have him out of the way, onlywhat must he do but go and marry that there trollopy girl, as was nogood. 

Yes, George had written to say they had come safe to Toronto, but she didnot hear as he said anything about a child. The letter was to hismother, who had taken it into the country when she went to stay with herdaughter. This deponent didn't know the address, and her husband was outwith a yacht. 

Nothing could be done but to pursue the mother to a village about fivemiles off, where she was traced out with some difficulty, and persuadedto refer to her son George's letter, where he mentioned the safe arrivalof Mr. And Mrs. Sam, but without a word about their bringing a child withthem. This omission seemed to dash all former hopes, so as to show Frankhow strong they had been, and besides, there had been more than time forHerbert to have written after reaching Toronto. 

However, the one step of knowing George Jones's address had been gained, and with no more than this, they had to return, intending to see whetherIda had any notion as to what was to be done. 

It was evening when Lord Northmoor came in. Mrs. Morton was alone, andas she looked up, was answered by his air of disappointment as he shookhis head. 

'Oh, it is so dreadful, ' she exclaimed, 'it is all over the place! Wemet Mr. Brady and his sisters, and they cut Ida dead. She is quitebroken-hearted, indeed, she is. '

'Then she has told you all?'

'She could not help it. Mrs. Rollstone came to ask me if it was true--asa friend, she said, I should say it was more like an enemy, and Mrs. Hallcame too, wanting to see Ida, but I saw her instead. The wicked woman tohave given in! And they have gone and told every one, and the policewill be after my poor child. '

'No, they would not interfere unless I prosecuted, and that I certainlyshould not do unless it proved the only means of tracing my child. Icame home intending to ask Ida if she gave any directions about him. Itseems certain that he was not brought to Toronto. '

'Indeed! She made sure that he would be there!' exclaimed Mrs. Morton, much dismayed. 'Let me go and see. She is so much upset altogether thatshe declares that she cannot see you this evening. '

Mrs. Morton went, and presently brought word that Ida was horrified athearing that little Michael was not with the Joneses. She had trustedLouisa to treat him kindly, and only dispose of him to some of thoseCanadian farmers, who seemed to have an unlimited appetite for adoptedchildren, and the last hope was that this might have been the case, though opportunities could have been few on the way to Toronto. 

Ida had cried over the tidings. It must have been worse than she hadever intended that the child should be treated; and the shock was greatboth to her and to her mother. 

Mrs. Morton really seemed quite broken down, both by sorrow and fear forthe boy, and by the shame, the dread of the story getting into thepapers, and the sense that she could never go on living at Westhaven; andher brother-in-law quite overwhelmed her by saying that he should do allin his power to prevent publicity, and that he entirely exonerated herfrom all blame in the matter. 

'Ah, Frank dear, ' she said, 'you are so good, it makes me feel what asinful woman I am! I don't mean that I ever gave in for a moment to thatnonsense of poor Ida's which was her only bit of excuse. No one that hadever been a mother could, you know; but I won't say that I did notgrumble at my boy losing his chances. '

'I don't wonder!'

'And--and I never would listen to you and Mary about poor Ida. I let heridle and dress, and read all those novels, and it is out of them she gotthat monstrous notion. You little know what I have gone through withthat girl, Frank, so different from the other two. Oh! if I could onlybegin over again!'

'Perhaps, ' said Frank, full of pity, 'this terrible shock may open hereyes, and by God's blessing be the beginning of better things. '

'Oh, Frank, you are a perfect angel ever to bear the sight of us again!'cried the poor woman, ever violent in her feelings and demonstrations. 'Hark! What's that?--I can't see any one. '

'Please, ma'am, it's Miss Rollstone, with a letter for his Lordship. '

CHAPTER XXXVIIITHE CLUE

 'BEST OF ROSES, --

 'I don't know where my uncle is, so please send him this. I got to Toronto all right, and had not much trouble in finding out the steady-going Jones, who is rather a swell, chief mate on board the _British Empress_. He was a good deal taken aback by my story, and said that his brother had come out with his wife, but no child. It was quite plain that he was a good deal disappointed in the Rattler, and not at all prepared for Mrs. Louisa, whom neither he nor his wife admired at all, at all. He had got his brother a berth on a summer steamer that had just been set up on Lake Winnipeg--being no doubt glad to get rid of such an encumbrance as the wife, and he looked very blue when he heard that I was quite certain that she had taken the kid away with her, and been paid for it. There was nothing for it but to go after them, and find out from them what they had done with poor little Mite. He is a right good fellow, and would have gone with me, but that he is bound to his boat, and a stunner she is; but he gave me a letter to Sam, so I had to get on the Canadian Pacific Railway, so that I should have been nonplussed but for your loan. Splendid places it goes through, you never saw such trees, nor such game. 

 'As good luck would have it, I was in the same car with an Englishman--a gentleman, one could see with half an eye, and we fraternised, so that I told him what I was come about. He was awfully good-natured, and told me he lived a mile or two out of Winnipeg, and had a share in the steam company, and if I found any difficulty I was to come to him, Mr. Forman, at Northmoor. I stared at the name, as you may guess! There was a fine horse and buggy waiting for him at the station, and off he went. I put up at the hotel--there's sure to be that whatever there is not--and went after the Joneses next. I got at the woman first, she looked ill and fagged, as if she didn't find life with Rattler very jolly. She cried bucketsful, and said she didn't know anything, since she put the poor little Mite to sleep after supper in a public-house at Liverpool. She was dead tired, and when she woke he was gone, and her husband swore at her, and never would tell her what he had done with the boy, except that he had not hurt him. Then I interviewed Sam Rattler himself. He cut up rough, as he said my Lord had done him an ill turn, and he had the game in his hands now, and was not going to let him know what was become of his child, without he came down handsome enough to make up for what he had done him out of. So then I had to go off to Mr. Forman. He has such a place, a house such as any one might be delighted to have--pine trees behind, a garden in front, no end of barns and stables, with houses and cows, fine wheat fields spreading all round, such as would do your heart good. That is what Mr. Forman and his brother-in-law, Captain Alder, have made, and there's a sweet little lady as ever you saw, Alder's sister. The Captain was greatly puzzled to hear it was Lord Northmoor's son I was looking for. He is not up in the peerage like your father, you see, and I had to make him understand. He thought Lord N. Must be either the old man, or Lady Adela's little boy. He said some of his happiest days had been at Northmoor, and he asked after Lady Adela, and if Miss Morton was married. He came with me, and soon made Mr. Rattler change his note, by showing him that it would be easy to give him the sack, even if he was not laid hold of by the law on my information for stealing the child. They are both magistrates and could do it. So at last the fellow growled out that he wasn't going to be troubled with another man's brat, and just before embarking, he had laid it down asleep at the door of Liverpool Workhouse! So no doubt poor little Michael is there! I would have telegraphed at once; but I don't know where my uncle is, or whether he knows about it, but you can find out and send him this letter at once. I have asked him to pay your advance out of my quarter; and as to the rest of it, it is all owing to you that the poor little kid is not to grow up a pauper. 

 'I am staying on at Northmoor--it sounds natural; they want another hand for their harvesting, so I am working out my board, as is the way here, at any rate till I hear from my uncle, and I shall ask him to let me stay here for good as a farming-pupil. It would suit me ever so much better than the militia, even if I could get into it, which I suppose I haven't done. It is a splendid country, big enough to stretch oneself in, and I shall never stand being cramped up in an island after it; besides that I don't want to see Ida again in a hurry, though there is some one I should like no end to see again. There, I must not say any more, but send this on to my uncle. I wish I could see his face. I did look to bring Mite back to him, but that can't be, as I have not tin enough to carry me home. I hope your loan has not got you into a scrape. 

 'Yours ever (I mean it), 'H. MORTON. '

The letter to Lord Northmoor, which the servant put into his hand, wasshorter, and began with the more important sentence--'The rascal droppedMichael at Liverpool Workhouse. '

The father read it with an ejaculation of 'Thank God, ' the aunt answeredwith a cry of horror, so that he thought for a moment she had supposed hesaid 'dropped him into the sea, ' and repeated 'Liverpool Workhouse. '

'Oh, yes, yes; but that is so dreadful. The Honourable Michael Morton ina workhouse!'

'He is safe and well taken care of there, no doubt, ' said Frank. 'I haveno fears now. There are much worse places than the nurseries of thosegreat unions. ' Then, as he read on, 'There, Emma, your boy has actednobly. He has fully retrieved what his sister has done. Be happy overthat, dear sister, and be thankful with me. My Mary, my Mary, will thejoy be too much? Oh, my boy! How soon can I reach Liverpool? There, you will like to read it. I must go and thank that good girl who foundhim the means. '

He was gone, and found Rose in the act of reading her letter aloud (allbut certain bits, that made her falter as if the writing was bad) to herparents and Mr. Deyncourt. And there, in full assembly, he found himselfat a loss for words. No one was so much master of the situation as Mr. Rollstone. 

'My Lord, I have the honour to congratulate your Lordship, ' he said, witha magnificence only marred by his difficulty in rising. 

'I--I, ' stammered his Lordship, with an unexpected choke in his throat, 'have to congratulate you, Mr. Rollstone, on having such a daughter. 'Then, grasping Rose's hand as in a vice, 'Miss Rollstone, what we owe toyou--is past expression. '

'I am sure she is very happy, my Lord, to have been of service, ' said hermother, with a simper. 

Mr. Deyncourt, to relieve the tension of feeling, said, 'Miss Rollstonewas reading the letter about Mr. Morton's adventures. Would you not likeher to begin again?'

And while Rose obeyed, Lord Northmoor was able to extract his cheque-bookfrom his pocket-book, and as Rose paused, to say--

'I have a debt of which my nephew reminds me. Miss Rollstone furnishedthe means for his journey. Will you let me fill this up? This can berepaid, ' he added, with a smile, 'the rest, never. '

Mr. Rollstone might have been distressed at the venture on which hisdaughter's savings had gone; but he was perfectly happy and triumphantnow, except that, even more than Mrs. Morton, he suffered from the ideaof the Honourable Michael being exposed to the contamination of aworkhouse, and was shocked at his Lordship's thinking it would have beenworse for him to be with the Rattler. Then, hastily looking at hiswatch, Lord Northmoor asked when the post went out, and hearing there wasbut half an hour to spare, begged Mr. Deyncourt to let him lose no timeby giving him the wherewithal to write to his wife. 

'She would miss a note and be uneasy, ' he said. 'Yet I hardly know whatI dare tell her. Only not mourning paper!' he added, with an exultantsmile. 

In the curate's room he wrote--

 'DEAREST WIFE, --

 'I have been out all day, and have only a moment to say that I am quite well, and trust to have some most thankworthy news for you. Don't be uneasy if you do not hear to-morrow. --Your own

 'FRANK. '

There was still time to scribble--

 'DEAR LADY ADELA, --

 'I trust to you to prepare Mary for well-nigh incredible joy, but do not agitate her too soon. I cannot come till Friday afternoon. 

 'Yours gratefully, 'NORTHMOOR. '

Having sent this off, his next search was for a time-table. He wouldfain have gone by the mail train that very night, but Mr. Deyncourt andMrs. Morton united in persuading him that his strength was not yet equalto such a pull upon it, and he yielded. They hardly knew the man, usually so equable and quiet as to be almost stolid. 

He smiled, and declared he could neither eat nor sleep, but he actuallydid both, sleeping, indeed, better and longer than he had done since hisillness, and coming down in the morning a new man, as he called himself, but the old one still in his kindness to Mrs. Morton. He promised totelegraph to her as soon as he knew all was well, assured her that hewould do his best to keep the scandal out of the papers, that he wouldnever forget his obligations to Herbert's generosity, and that if shemade up her mind to leave Westhaven he would facilitate her so doing. 

Ida was not up. She had had a very bad night, and indeed she hadconfessed that she had been miserable under dreams worse than waking, ever since the child was carried off. Her mother had observed herrestlessness and nervousness, but had set a good deal down to love, andperhaps had not been entirely wrong. At any rate, she was now reallyill, and could not bear the thought of seeing her uncle, though he sent amessage to her that now he did not find it nearly so hard to forgive her, and that he felt for her with all his heart. 

It was this gentleness that touched Mrs. Morton above all. Years hadsoftened her; perhaps, too, his patience, and the higher tone of Mr. Deyncourt's ministry, and she was, in many respects, a different womanfrom her who had so loudly protested against his marrying Mary Marshall. 

CHAPTER XXXIXTHE HONOURABLE PAUPER

Lord Northmoor's card was given to the porter with an urgent request foran interview with the Master of the workhouse. 

He steadied his voice with difficulty when, on entering the office, hesaid that he had come to make inquiry after his son, a child of three anda half years old, who had been supposed to be drowned, but he had nowdiscovered had been stolen by a former nurse, and left at the gate of theworkhouse, and as the Master paused with an interrogative 'Yes, my Lord?'he added--'On the night between the Wednesday and Thursday of Whitsunweek, May the--'

'Children are so often left, ' said the Master. 'I will ascertain fromthe books as to the date. '

After an interval really of scarcely a minute, but which might have beenhours to the father's feeling, he read--

'May 18th. --Boy, of apparently four years old, left on the steps, asleep, apparently drugged. '

'Ah!'

'Calls himself Mitel Tent--name probably Michael Trenton. '

'Michael Kenton Morton. ' Then he reflected, 'No doubt he thought he wasto say his catechism. '

'Does not seem to know parents' name nor residence. Dress--man's oldrough coat over a brown holland pinafore--no mark--feet bare; talks as ifcarefully brought up. May I ask you to describe him. '

'Brown eyes, light hair, a good deal of colour, sturdy, large child, 'said Lord Northmoor, much agitated. 'There, ' holding out a photograph. 

'Ah!' said the Master, in assent. 

'And where--is he here?'

'He is at the Children's Home at Fulwood Lodge. Perhaps I had better askone of the Guardians, who lives near at hand, to accompany you. '

This was done, the Guardian came, much interested in the guest, and a cabwas called. Lord Northmoor learnt on the way that the routine in suchcases, which were only too common, was the child was taken by the policeto the bellman's office till night and there taken care of, in case heshould be a little truant of the place, but being unclaimed, he spent afew days at the Union, and then was taken to the Children's Home atFulwood. Inquiries had been made, but the little fellow had been stillunder the influence of the drug that had evidently been administered tohim at first, and then was too much bewildered to give a clear account ofhimself. He was in confusion between his real home and Westhaven, andthe difference between his appellation and that of his parents waslikewise perplexing, nor could he make himself clear, even as to what heknew perfectly well, when interrogated by official strangers who alarmedhim. 

Lord Northmoor was himself a Poor Law Guardian, and had no vaguesuperstitions to alarm him as to the usage of children in workhouses; buthe was surprised at the pleasant aspect of the nursery of the LiverpoolUnion, a former gentleman's house and grounds, with free air andbeautiful views. 

The Matron, on being summoned, said that she had from the first beensure, in spite of his clothes, that little Mike was a well-born, tenderly-nurtured child, with good manners and refined habits, and shehad tried in vain to understand what he said of himself, though night andmorning, he had said his prayers for papa and mamma, and at first addedthat 'papa might be well, ' and he might go home; but where home was therewas no discovering, except that there had been journeys by puff puff; andLouey, and Aunt Emma, and Nurse, and sea, and North something, and 'nastyman, ' were in an inextricable confusion. 

She took them therewith into a large airy room, where the elder children, whole rows of little beings in red frocks, were busied under thedirection of a lively young nurse, in building up coloured cubes, 'gifts'in Kindergarten parlance. 

There was a few moments of pause, as all the pairs of eyes were raised tomeet the new-comers. With a little sense of disappointment, but more ofanxiety, Frank glanced over them, and encountered a rounded, somewhatpuzzled stare from two brown orbs in a rosy face. Then he ventured tosay 'Mite, ' and there followed a kind of laughing yell, a leap over thestructure of cubes, and the warm, solid, rosy boy was in his arms, on hisbreast, the head on his shoulder in indescribable ecstasy of content onboth sides, of thankfulness on that of the father. 

'No doubt there!' said the Guardian and the Matron to one another, between smiles and tears. 

Mite asked no questions. Fate had been far beyond his comprehension forthe last five months, and it was quite enough for him to feel himself inthe familiar arms, and hear the voice he loved. 

'Would he go to mamma?'

The boy raised his head, looked wonderingly over his father's face, andsaid in a puzzled voice--

'Louey said she would take me home in the puff puff. '

'Come now with father, my boy. Only kiss this good lady first, who hasbeen so kind to you. 

'Kiss Tommy too, and Fanny, ' said Michael, struggling down, and beginninga round of embraces that sufficiently proved that his nursery had been ahappy one, while his father could see with joy that he was as healthy andfresh-looking as ever, perhaps a little less plump, but with the naturalgrowth of the fourth year, and he was much the biggest of the party, withthe healthfulness of country air and wholesome tendance, while most ofthe others were more or less stunted or undergrown. 

Lord Northmoor's longing was to take his recovered son at once to gladdenhis mother's eyes; but Michael's little red frock would not exactly suitwith the manner of his travels. 

So he accepted the Guardian's invitation to come to his house and letMichael be fitted out there, an invitation all the more warmly givenbecause it would have been a pity to let wife and daughters miss theinterest of the sight of the lost child and his father. So, allformalities being complied with and in true official spirit, the accountfor the boy's maintenance having been asked for, a hearty and cordialleave was taken of the Matron, and Michael Kenton Morton was dischargedfrom Liverpool Union. 

The lady and her daughters were delighted to have him, and would havemade much of him, but the poor little fellow proved that his confidencein womankind had been shaken, by clinging tight to his father, andshowing his first inclination to cry when it was proposed to take himinto another room to be dressed. Indeed, his father was as littlewilling to endure a moment's separation as he could be, and looked on andassisted to see him made into a little gentleman again in outwardcostume. 

After luncheon there was still time to reach Malvern by a reasonable hourof the evening, and Frank felt as if every moment of sorrow were almost acruelty to his wife. The Guardian's wife owned that she ought not topress him to sleep at her house, and forwarded his departure with strongfellow-feeling for the mother's hungry bosom. 

From the station Frank sent telegrams to Herbert, to Mrs. Morton, and toRose Rollstone; besides one to Lady Adela, containing only the reference, Luke xv. 32. 

People looked somewhat curiously at the thin, worn-looking, elderly man, with the travelling bag in one hand, and the little boy holding tight bythe other, each with a countenance of radiant gladness; and again, to seehow, when seated, he allowed himself to be climbed over and clasped bythe sturdy being, who seemed almost overwhelming to one so slight. 

When the September twilight darkened into night, Michael, who had beenasleep, awoke with a scream and flung both arms round his father's neck, exclaiming--

'Oh, Louey, I'll not cry! Don't let him throw me out! Oh, the nastyman!'

And even when convinced that no nasty man was present, and that it waspapa, not Louey, whom he was grappling, he still nestled as close aspossible, while he was only pacified in recurring frights by listening toa story. Never good at story-telling, the only one that, for the nonce, his father could put together was that of Joseph, and this elicitedvarious personal comparisons. 

'Mine wasn't a coat of many colours, it was my blue frock! Did they dipit in blood, papa?'

'Not quite, my darling, but it was the same thing. '

Then presently, 'It wasn't a camel, but a puff puff, and _he_ was socross!'

By and by, 'I didn't tell anybody's dreams, papa. They didn't make meride in a cha-rot, but nurse made me monitor, 'cause I knew all myletters. I should like to have a brother Benjamin. Mayn't Tommy be mybrother? Wasn't Joseph's mamma very glad?'

Michael's Egypt had not been a very terrible house of bondage, and thedarker moments of his abduction did not dwell on his memory; but yearslater, when first he tasted beer, he put down the glass with a shudder, as the smell and taste brought back a sense of distress, confusion, andhorror in a gas-lit, crowded bar, full of loud-voiced, rough figures, andresounding with strange language and fierce threats to make him swallowthe draught which, no doubt, had been drugged. 

CHAPTER XLJOY WELL-NIGH INCREDIBLE

The midday letters were a riddle to the ladies at Malvern. 

'Out all day, ' said Mary, 'that is well. He will get strong outboating. '

'I hope Herbert has come home to take him out, ' said Constance. 

'Or he may be yachting. I wonder he does not say who is taking him out. I am glad that he can feel that sense of enjoyment. '

Yet that rejoicing seemed to be almost an effort to the poor mother whocraved for a longer letter, and perhaps almost felt as if her Frank weregetting out of sympathy with her grief--and what could be the good news?

'Herbert must have passed!' said Constance. 

'I hope he has, but the expression is rather strong for that, ' said LadyAdela. 

'Perhaps Ida is engaged to that Mr. Deyncourt? Was that his name?' saidLady Northmoor languidly. 

'Oh! that would be delicious, ' cried Constance, 'and Ida has grown muchmore thoughtful lately, so perhaps she would do for a clergyman's wife. '

'Is Ida better?' asked her aunt, who had been much drawn towards the girlby hearing that her health had suffered from grief for Michael. 

'Mamma does not mention her in her last letter, but poor Ida is reallymuch more delicate than one would think, though she looks so strong. This would be delightful!'

'Yet, joy well-nigh incredible!' said her aunt, meditatively. 'Were notthose the words? It would not be like your uncle to put them in that wayunless it were something--even more wonderful, and besides, why should henot write it to me?'

'Oh--h!' cried Constance, with a leap, rather than a start. 'It can beonly one thing. '

'Don't, don't, don't!' cried poor Mary; 'you must not, Constance, itwould kill me to have the thought put into my head only to be lost. '

Constance looked wistfully at Lady Adela; but the idea she had suggestedhad created a restlessness, and her aunt presently left the room. ThenConstance said--

'Lady Adela, may I tell you something? You know that poor dear littleMite was never found?'

'Oh! a boat must have picked him up, ' cried Amice; 'and he is comingback. '

'Gently, Amy; hush, ' said the mother, 'Constance has more to tell. '

'Yes, ' said Constance. 'My friend, Rose Rollstone, who lives just by ourhouse at Westhaven, and was going back to London the night that Mite waslost, wrote to me that she was sure she had seen his face just then. Shethought, and I thought it was one of those strange things one hears ofsights at the moment of death. So I never told of it, but now I cannothelp fancying--'

'Oh! I am sure, ' cried Amice. 

Lady Adela thought the only safe way would be to turn the two youngcreatures out to pour out their rapturous surmises to one another on thewinding paths of the Malvern hills, and very glad was she to have doneso, when by and by that other telegram was put into her hands. 

Then, when Mary, unable to sit still, though with trembling limbs, cameback to the sitting-room, with a flush on her pale cheek, excited by thesound at the door, Lady Adela pointed to the yellow paper, which she hadlaid within the Gospel, open at the place. 

Mary sank into a chair. 

'It can't be a false hope, ' she gasped. 

'He would never have sent this, if it were not a certainty, ' said Adela, kneeling down by her, and holding her hands, while repeating whatConstance had said. 

A few words were spent on wonder and censure on the girl's silence, moreunjust than they knew, but hardly wasted, since they relieved thetension. Mary slid down on her knees beside her friend, and then came asilence of intense heart-swelling, choking, and unformed, but none theless true thanksgiving, and ending in a mutual embrace and an outcry ofMary's--

'Oh, Adela! how good you are, you with no such hope'--and that greatblessed shower of tears that relieved her was ostensibly the burst ofsympathy for the bereaved mother with no such restoration in view. Thencame soothing words, and then the endeavour with dazed eyes and throbbinghearts to look out the trains from Liverpool, whence, to their amazement, they saw the telegram had started, undoubtedly from Lord Northmoor. There was not too large a choice, and finally Lady Adela made the hopeseem real by proposing preparations for the child's supper andbed--things of which Mary seemed no more to have dared to think than ifshe had been expecting a little spirit; but which gave her hopesubstance, and inspired her with fresh energy and a new strength, as sheran up and downstairs, directing her maid, who cried for joy at the news, and then going out to purchase those needments which had become suchtokens of exquisite hope and joy. After this had once begun, she seemedreally incapable of sitting still, for every moment she thought ofsomething her boy would want or would like, or hurried to see if all wasright. 

Constance begged again and again to run on the messages, but she wouldnot allow it, and when the girl looked grieved, and said she was tiringherself to death, Lady Adela said--

'My dear, sitting still would be worse for her. However it may turn out, fatigue will be best for her. '

'Surely it can't mean anything else!' cried Constance. 

'I don't see how it can. Your uncle weighs his words too much to raisefalse hopes. '

So, dark as it was by the time the train was expected, Adela promoted theordering a carriage, and went herself with the trembling Mary to thestation, not without restoratives in her bag, in case of, she knew notwhat. Not a word was spoken, but hands were clasped and hearts wereuplifted in an agony of supplication, as the two sat in the dark on thedrive to the station. Of course they were too soon, but the drivermanoeuvred so as to give them a full view of the exit--and then came thatminute of indescribable suspense when the sounds of arrival were heard, and figures began to issue from the platform. 

It was not long--thanks to freedom from luggage--before there came intofull light a well-known form, with a little half-awake boy holding hishand. 

Then Adela quietly let herself out of the brougham, and in another momenther clasping hand and swimming eyes had marked her greeting. She pointedto the open door and the white face in it, and in one moment more a pairof arms had closed upon Michael, and with a dreamy murmur, 'Mam-mam, mam-ma, ' the curly head was on her bosom, the precious weight on her lap, her husband by her side, the door had closed on them, they were drivingaway. 

'Oh! is it real? Is he well?'

'Perfectly well! Only sleepy. Strong, grown, well cared for. '

'My boy, my boy, ' and she felt him all over, gazed at the rosy facewhenever a tantalising flash of lamplight permitted, then kissed andkissed, till the boy awoke more fully, with another 'Mamma! Mamma, 'putting his hand to feel for her chain, as if to identify her. Then witha coo of content, 'Mite has papa and mamma, ' and he seemed under thenecessity of feeling them both. 

Only at their own door did those happy people even recollect Lady Adela, with shame and dismay, which did not last long, for she came on them, laughing with pleasure, and saying it was just what she had intended, while Mite was recognising his Amy and his Conny, and being nearlydevoured by them. 

He still was rather confused by the strange house. 'It's not home, ' hesaid, staring round, and blinking at the lights; 'and where's my bighorse?'

'You shall soon go home to the big horse--and Nurse Eden, poor nurseshall come to you, my own. '

To which Michael responded, holding out a plump leg and foot foradmiration. 'I can do mine own socks and bootses now, and wash mine ownhands and face. '

Nevertheless, he was quite sleepy enough to be very happy and content tobe carried off to his mother's bedroom, where he sat enthroned on herlap, Constance feeding him with bread and milk, while Amice held thebowl, and the maid, almost equally blissful, hovered round, and thereagain he sat with the two admiring girls one at each foot, disrobing him, as best they might. 

Nearly asleep at last, he knelt at his mother's knee with the murmuredprayer, but woke just enough to say, 'Mite needn't say "make papabetter, " nor "bring Mite home. "'

'No, indeed, my boy. Say Thank God for all His mercy. '

He repeated it and added of himself, 'Bless nursey, and let Tommy and Fanhave papas and mammas again. Amen. '

He was nodding again by that time, but he held his mother's hand fastwith 'Don't go, Mam!' Nor did she. She had asked no questions. To bealone with her boy and Him, whom she thanked with her whole soul, wasenough for her at present. 

CHAPTER XLITHE CANADIAN NORTHMOOR

It was not till Lord Northmoor began to answer in detail the questionsthat were showered on him as he ate his late dinner, that he fullyrealised the history of his recovered son even to himself. 'LiverpoolWorkhouse, ' and 'all owing to Herbert, ' were his first replies, and hehad eaten his soup before Adela and Constance had discovered theconnection between the two; nay, they were still more bewildered whenConstance asked, 'Then Herbert found him there?'

'Herbert? Oh no, good fellow. He is in Canada, he went after himthere. '

'To Canada?'

'Yes; that woman, the nursery girl Hall, kidnapped the child, Herbertfollowed her there, and found he had been dropped at Liverpool. '

Then on further inquiries, Frank became sensible that he must guard thesecret of Ida's part in the transaction. He hoped to conceal it fromall, except his wife, for it was hardly injustice to the Jones pair inanother hemisphere to let their revenge bear the whole blame. Indeed, hedid not himself know that it was Ida's passion or Rose's mention ofhaving seen Michael's face that had roused Herbert's suspicion. 

He had heard Herbert's account of his adventures in the letter to Rosewith mere impatience to come to what related to his son, and it had madeno impression on his mind; but when he took out his own much brieferletter, the address at Northmoor, and the sentences that followed, thebrief explanation where to seek for Michael suggested much. 

'I doubt whether I could ever have got the rascal to speak out if it hadnot been for Captain Alder, with whose brother-in-law, Mr. Forman, I hadthe luck to meet on the way. They were some of the first settlers here, and have a splendid farm, export no end of wheat and ice, and have ashare in the steam company. I am working out my board here for them tillyou are good enough to send me my quarter's allowance, deducting the 25pounds that Miss Rollstone helped me to, as there was no one else to whomI could apply. I should like to stay here for good and all, and theywould take me for a farming-pupil for less than you have been giving tomy crammers, all in vain, I am afraid. The life would suit me muchbetter; they let me live with the family, and they are thorough rightsort of people, religious, and all that--and Alder seemed to take aninterest in me from the time he made out who I was, and, indeed, theplace is named after our Northmoor, where he says he spent his happiestdays. If you can pacify my mother, and if you would consent, I am sure Icould do much better here than at home, and soon be quite off yourhands. '

For the present, Lord Northmoor, who could only feel that he owed morethan he could express to his nephew, sent the youth a bill such as tocover his expenses, with permission, so far as he himself was concerned, to remain with these new friends, at least until there was another letterand time to consider this proposal. 

At the same time, he wrote to Rose Rollstone, not only the particulars ofMichael's history, but a request for those details about Herbert'sfriends to which he had scarcely listened when she read them. He sentlikewise a paragraph to several newspapers, explaining that theHonourable M. K. Morton, whose 'watery grave' had been duly recorded, hadin fact been only abducted by a former maid-servant, and bestowed inLiverpool Workhouse, where he had been discovered by the generousexertions of his cousin, Herbert Morton, Esquire. It was hoped that thiswould obviate all suspicion of Ida, who was reported as still so unwellthat her mother was anxious to carry her abroad at once to try the effectof change of scene. Upon which Frank consulted Mr. Hailes, as to whetherthe prosperity that had begun to flow in upon Northmoor would justify himin at once taking the house at Westhaven off her hands, and making it athank-offering as a parsonage for the district of St. James. Thisbreak-up seemed considerably to lessen her reluctance to the idea ofHerbert's remaining in Canada, as in effect, neither she nor Ida feltinclined as yet to encounter his indignation, or to let him hear whatWesthaven said. There would be no strong opposition on her part, exceptthe tears which he would not see; and she was too anxious to carry Idaaway to think of much besides. 

Frank had, however, made up his mind that he could not let the son of hisonly brother, the youth whom he had regarded almost as a son, and who hadlost so much by the discovery of the child, drift away into expatriation, without being personally satisfied as to these new companions. This wasostensible reason enough for a resolution to go out himself to thetransatlantic Northmoor to make arrangements for his nephew. Moreover, he was bent on doing so before the return of Mrs. Bury and Bertha, fromwhom the names of Alder and Northmoor were withheld in the joyfulletters. 

From Mr. Hailes he obtained full confirmation of what he had heard fromLady Adela--a story which the old gentleman's loyalty had withheld asmere gossip--about the young people who had been very dear to him. 

He confessed that poor Arthur Morton had a bad set about him--indeed, hisfather's tastes had involved him in the kind of thing, and Lady Adela hadbeen almost a child when married to him by relations who were much toblame. Captain Alder had belonged to the set, but had always seemed toogood for them, and as if thrown among them from association. There wasno doubt that he and Bertha were much in love, but there was sure to bestrong opposition from her father, and even her brother had shownsymptoms of thinking his friend had no business to aspire to his sister'shand. Moreover, it appeared afterwards that the Captain was heavily indebt to Arthur Morton. It was under these circumstances that theaccident occurred. Bertha had mistrusted the horse's eye and ear, andimplored her brother not to venture on driving it, and had been banteredgood-humouredly on her unusual fears. At the first shock, the untamedgirl had spoken bitter words, making Captain Alder accountable for theaccident. What they were, neither Mr. Hailes nor any one else exactlyknew, but they had cut deep. 

When, on poor Arthur's recovery of consciousness, there was an endeavourto find Captain Alder, he had left the army; and though somewhat laterthe full amount of the debt was paid, it was conveyed in a manner thatmade the sender not easily traceable, and as it came just when Arthur wasagain past communication, and sinking fast, no great effort was made toseek one who was better forgotten. 

It had not then been known how Bertha's life would be wrecked by thatsense of injustice and cruelty--nor what a hold the love of that man hadtaken on her; but like Lady Adela, Mr. Hailes averred that she had neverbeen the same since that minute of stormy grief and accusation; and thathe believed that, whatever might come of it, the being able to confessher wrongs, and to know the fate of her lover, was the only thing thatcould restore the balance of her spirits or heal the sore. 

From his own former employer, Mr. Burford, Frank procured that other linkwhich floated in his memory when Lady Adela spoke. The name had comeinto Mr. Burford's office because he had been engaged on the part of oneof his clients in purchasing an estate of the Alder family, at a timewhich corresponded with Arthur Morton's death, and the payment of thedebt. There was a second instalment of the price which had to be paid toa Quebec bank. 

This was all that could be learnt; but it confirmed Lord Northmoor'simpression that it would be right to see him, and as far as explanationcould go, to repair the injustice which had stung him so deeply. Aletter could not do what an interview could, and Herbert's plans werequite sufficient cause for a journey to Winnipeg. 

Of course it was a wrench to leave his wife and newly-recovered son; buthe had made up his mind that it was right, both as an act of justice toan injured man, incumbent upon him as head of the family, and likewise asneedful in his capacity of guardian to Herbert, while the possibility ofbringing healing to Bertha also urged him. 

However, Frank said little of all this, only quite simply, as if he weregoing to ride to the petty sessions at Colbeam, mentioned that he thoughtit right to go out to Canada to see about his nephew. 

And as soon as he had brought the party home, and seen his boy once morein his own nursery, he set forth, leaving Mary to talk and wonder withLady Adela over the possible consequences. 

CHAPTER XLIIHUMBLE PIE

Bertha had just arrived from her tour, having rushed home on the tidingsof a quarrel between the doctors and the lady nurses of her pet hospital;and she had immediately dashed down to Northmoor to secure her cousin asone of the supporters. She sat by Lady Adela's fire, very muchdisconcerted at hearing that he was not come home yet, though expectedevery day. 

'What should he have gone off to Canada for? He might have beencontented to stay at home, after having lost all this time by hisillness. Oh, yes, I know that sounds ungrateful, when it was all in thecause of my little Cea. I shall be thankful to him all my life, but allthe same, he ought to be at home when he is wanted, and I wonder he likedto fly off just when he had got his dear little boy back again. '

'He did not like it, but thought it his duty. '

'Duty--what, to Herbert? Certainly the boy has come out very well inthis matter, considering that the finding Mite was to his own detriment;but probably he has found his vocation as a colonist. Still Northmoormight have let him find that for himself. '

'Do you know where the home he found is, Bertha?'

'Somewhere about Lake Winnipeg, isn't it?'

'Yes; and the name is Northmoor. '

'Named by Herbert, eh? Or didn't John Tulse go out? Did he name theplace in loyalty to us?'

'Not John Tulse, but one who told Herbert that his happiest days werespent here. '

'Adela, you mean something. Don't tantalise me. Is it Fred Alder? Andwas he kind to the boy for old sake's sake, because he bore the old name?Did he think he was your Mike?'

Bertha was leaning forward now, devouring Adela with her eyes. 

'He was much puzzled to understand who Herbert was, but he gave him greathelp. The man could hardly have been made to speak if he had not broughthim to his bearings. Herbert has been living with him and hisbrother-in-law ever since, and is going to remain as a farming-pupil. '

'Married of course to a nasal Yankee?'

'No. '

There was a pause. Bertha drew herself back in her chair, Adela busiedherself with the tea-cups. Presently came the question--

'Did Northmoor know?'

'Yes, he did. '

'And was that the reason of his going out?'

'Herbert was one motive, but I do not think he would have gone if therehad not been another reason. '

'You did not ask him?' she said hotly. 

'Certainly not. '

'I don't want any one to interfere, ' said Bertha, in a suddenly changedmood, 'especially not such a stick as that. He might have let it alone. '

'And if you heard that Captain Alder was--'

'A repentant prodigal, eh? A sober-minded, sponsible, easy-going, steadymoney-making Canadian, ' interrupted Bertha vehemently, 'such as approvedhimself to his Lordship's jog-trot mind. Well, what then?'

'Oh, Birdie, perverse child as ever. '

'And so you actually despatched my Lord to eat humble pie in my name. You might have waited to see what I thought of the process. '

Bertha jumped up, as if to go and take off her hat, but just at thatmoment some figures crossed the twilight window, and in another secondAdela had sprung into the hall, meeting Mary and Frank, whom she beckonedinto the dining-room. 

Bertha had followed as far as the room door, when, in the porch, shebeheld a tall large form, and bearded countenance. One moment more andthose two were shut into the drawing-room. 

Mary, Frank, and Adela stood together over the dining-room fire, allsmiles and welcome. 

'Doesn't he look well?' was Mary's cry, as she displayed her husband. 

'Better than ever. Nothing like bracing air. Oh! I am glad you brought_him_' indicating the other room, 'down at once; she might have had anaughty fit, and tormented herself and everybody. '

'You think it will be all right?' said Frank anxiously. 'It was aventure, but when he heard that she was at the Dower House, there was noholding him. He thinks she has as much to forgive as he has. '

'You wrote something of that--though the actual misery and accident wereno fault of his, poor fellow, and yet--yet all that self-acted andre-acted on one another, and did each other harm, ' said Adela. 

'Yes, ' said Frank; 'harm that he only fully understood gradually, afterhe had burst away from it all in the shock, and was living a verydifferent life with his little sister, and afterwards with her husband, athoroughly good man. '

'To whom you have trusted your nephew?'

'Entirely. Herbert is very happy there, much more so than ever before, useful and able to follow his natural bent. '

'I am very glad he will do well there. '

A sudden interruption here came on them in the shape of Amice, who hadnot been guarded against. She flew into the room in a fright, exclaiming--

'Mamma, mamma, there's a strange man like a black bear in thedrawing-room, and he has got his arm round Aunt Bertha's waist. '

'Oh!' as she perceived Lord Northmoor. 

'A Canadian bear I have just brought home, eh, Amy?' said he, exhilaratedinto fun for once, while Lady Adela indulged in a quiet smile at themanner of partaking of humble pie. 

Amice had, however, broken up the _tete-a-tete_, and all were soontogether again, Lady Adela greeting Captain Alder as an old friend, andhe, in the restraint of good breeding, betraying none of his feeling atthe contrast between the girlish wife and the faded widow, althoughperhaps in very truth Adela Morton was a happier, certainly a morepeaceful woman now than in those days. 

All must spend the evening together. Where? The Northmoors carried theday, Adela and Bertha must come up to dinner, yes, and Amice too. It wasfine moonlight and the Captain would stay and escort them. 

Meantime Lord and Lady Northmoor revelled in a moonlight walk togetherexactly as they had done seven years before as a bride and bridegroom, but with that further ingredient in joy before them--that nightly rompwith their Mite, to which Frank had been looking forward all through hisvoyage. Their Mite all the happier because his Tom and Fanny were at thekeeper's lodge, and allowed to play with him in the garden, and on theheath. 

Six weeks later, Lord Northmoor acted as father at Bertha's wedding, aquiet one, with Constance and Amice as bridesmaids, with, assupernumerary, little Boadicea, who was to share the new Canadian home. 

Michael was there in the glory of his first knickerbockers, and Mrs. Burywas there, and her last words ere the bride came down dressed for thejourney were, 'How about "that stick, " my dear?'

'Ah! sticks are sometimes made of good material. '

'There is a tree that groweth by the Water Side, ' said Adela. 

CHAPTER XLIIITHE STAFF

Five years later almost all the members of the Morton family were metonce more at Westhaven. 

Ida was slowly dying. She had always been more or less delicate, and shehad never entirely recovered the effect of the distress she had broughtupon herself by that foolish crime towards her little cousin. Her motherhad joined Miss Gattoni, and they had roamed about the Continent in thevarious resorts of seekers of health and of pleasure, hoping to distracther mind and restore her strength and spirits. For a time this sometimesseemed to succeed, and she certainly became prettier; but disappointmentalways ensued; a little over-exertion or excitement was sure to bring onillness, and there were even more painful causes for her collapses. Heruncle's care had not been entirely able to prevent the publication ofsuch a sensational story, known, as it was, to most people at Westhaven;in fact, he was only able to reach the more respectable papers; and thesociety to which Miss Gattoni introduced them was just that whichrevelled in the society papers. So every now and then whispers would goabout that Miss Morton was the heroine--or rather the villain--of thepiece, and these were sure ultimately to reach Miss Gattoni. And atGenoa they had actually been at the same _table-d'hote_ with Tom Brady'ssister--nay, they had seen the _Morna_ in the harbour. 

Gradually each summer brought less renovation; each winter, whereverspent, brought Ida lower, till at length she was ill enough for hermother thankfully to reply to Constance's entreaty to come out to them atBiarritz. 

Constance had grown to be in her vacation more and more the child of thehouse at Northmoor, and since her college career had ended with creditexternally, and benefit inwardly, she had become her aunt's right hand, besides teaching Amice music and beginning Michael's Latin; but it wasplain that her duty lay in helping to nurse her sister, and her uncleescorted her. They were greatly shocked at the change in the oncebrilliant girl, and her broken, dejected manner, apparently incapable oftaking interest in anything. She would scarcely admit her uncle atfirst, but when she discovered that even Constance was in perfectignorance of her part in the loss of Michael, she was overcome with thehumiliation of intense gratitude, and the sense of a wonderfulforgiveness and forbearance. 

He never exactly knew what he had said to her; but for the two days thathe was able to remain, she wished for him to sit with her as much aspossible, though often in silence; and she let him bring her the Englishchaplain. 

No one expected her to live through the spring, but with it came anotherpartial revival, and therewith a vehement desire to see Westhaven again. It was as if her uncle had extracted the venom of the sting of remorse, and when that had become repentance, the old affection for the home ofher childhood was free to revive. Good Mr. Rollstone was dead, but hiswife and daughter kept on the lodging-house, and were affectionately gladto welcome their old friends. Herbert, who had been happily farming fortwo years on his own account, on an estate that his uncle had purchasedfor him, came for the first time on a visit from the Dominion--tall, broad, bearded, handsome, and manly, above all, in his courtesy andgentleness to the sick sister who valued his strong and tender help morethan any other care. Mary came with her husband and boy from Northmoorfor the farewell. When Ida tearfully asked her forgiveness, the injurywas so entirely past that it was not hard to say, in the spirit ofJoseph--

'Oh, my poor child, do not think of that! No one has suffered from it somuch as you have. It really did Michael no harm at all, only making alittle man of him; and as to Herbert, his going out was the best thing inthe world for him, dear, noble, generous fellow. And after all, Ida, 'she added, presently, 'I do believe you had rather be as you are now thanthe girl you were then?'

'Oh, Aunt Mary, it is what Uncle Frank and you are--that--makes onefeel--'

Ida could say no more. She once saw Michael's bright boyish face awedinto pity, and had the kiss that sealed her earthly pardon, unconsciousas he was of the evil she had attempted. There was the pledge of higherpardon, before her uncle and aunt left her to those nearer who couldminister to her as she went down to the River ever flowing. 

Before that time, however, Herbert had made known to Rose one of hisgreat reasons for settling in Canada, namely, that he meant to take herback with him. He had told his uncle long ago, and Mrs. Alder was quiteready and eager to welcome her as a cousin. Even Mr. Rollstone couldhardly have objected under these circumstances, and Rose only doubtedabout leaving her mother. It presently appeared, however, that Mrs. Morton wished to remain with Mrs. Rollstone. Westhaven was more to herthan any other place, and her vanity had so entirely departed that shecould best take comfort in her good old friend's congenial society. Constance offered to remain and obtain some daily governess or highschool employment there; but it was to her relief that she found that thetwo old ladies did not wish it. There was a sense that her tastes andhabits were so unlike theirs that they would always feel her to be likecompany and be on their best behaviour, and decidedly her mother wouldnot 'stand in her light, ' and would be best contented with visits fromher and to Northmoor. 

So, after the quietest of weddings in the beautiful St. James's Church, Herbert and Rose went out to be welcomed at Winnipeg, and Constancereturned with her uncle to be a daughter to Aunt Mary--till such time asshe was sought by the young Vicar of Northmoor. 

 THE END.