Transcriber's Note: A number of typographical errors found in theoriginal text have been corrected in this version. A list of theseerrors is found at the end (before the advertisments from the originalbook). 

 THE DANVERS JEWELS

 AND

 SIR CHARLES DANVERS

 by

 Mary Cholmondeley

 NEW YORK

 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE

 1890

 * * * * *

 TO MY SISTER

 "DI"

 I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THE STORY WHICH SHE HELPED ME TO WRITE

 * * * * *

 CONTENTS. 

 THE DANVERS JEWELS 9

 THE SEQUEL. 

 SIR CHARLES DANVERS 93

 * * * * *

THE DANVERS JEWELS. 

CHAPTER I. 

I was on the point of leaving India and returning to England when hesent for me. At least, to be accurate--and I am always accurate--I wasnot quite on the point, but nearly, for I was going to start by the mailon the following day. I had been up to Government House to take my leavea few days before, but Sir John had been too ill to see me, or at leasthe had said he was. And now he was much worse--dying, it seemed, fromall accounts; and he had sent down a native servant in the noon-day heatwith a note, written in his shaking old hand, begging me to come up assoon as it became cooler. He said he had a commission which he wasanxious I should do for him in England. 

Of course I went. It was not very convenient, because I had to borrowone of our fellows' traps, as I had sold my own, and none of them hadthe confidence in my driving which I had myself. I was also obliged toleave the packing of my collection of Malay _krises_ and Indian_kookeries_ to my bearer. 

I wondered as I drove along why Sir John had sent for me. Worse, was he?Dying? And without a friend. Poor old man! He had done pretty well inthis world, but I was afraid he would not be up to much once he was outof it; and now it seemed he was going. I felt sorry for him. I felt moresorry when I saw him--when the tall, long-faced A. D. C. Took me into hisroom and left us. Yes, Sir John was certainly going. There was nomistake about it. It was written in every line of his drawn fever-wornface, and in his wide fever-lit eyes, and in the clutch of his longyellow hands upon his tussore silk dressing-gown. He looked a very sickbad old man as he lay there on his low couch, placed so as to court theair from without, cooled by its passage through damped grass screens, and to receive the full strength of the punka, pulled by an invisiblehand outside. 

"You go to England to-morrow?" he asked, sharply. 

It was written even in the change of his voice, which was harsh, as ofold, but with all the strength gone out of it. 

"By to-morrow's mail, " I said. I should have liked to say somethingmore--something sympathetic about his being ill and not likely to getbetter; but he had always treated me discourteously when he was well, and I could not open out all at once now that he was ill. 

"Look here, Middleton, " he went on; "I am dying, and I know it. I don'tsuppose you imagined I had sent for you to bid you a last farewellbefore departing to my long home. I am not in such a hurry to depart asall that, I can tell you; but there is something I want done--that Iwant you to do for me. I meant to have done it myself, but I am downnow, and I must trust somebody. I know better than to trust a cleverman. An honest fool--But I am digressing from the case in point. I havenever trusted anybody all my life, so you may feel honored. I have asmall parcel which I want you to take to England for me. Here it is. "

His long lean hands went searching in his dressing-gown, and presentlyproduced an old brown bag, held together at the neck by a string. 

"See here!" he said; and he pushed the glasses and papers aside from thetable near him and undid the string. Then he craned forward to lookabout him, laying a spasmodic clutch on the bag. "I'm watched! I knowI'm watched!" he said in a whisper, his pale eyes turning slowly intheir sockets. "I shall be killed for them if I keep them much longer, and I won't be hurried into my grave. I'll take my own time. "

"There is no one here, " I said, "and no one in sight except Cathcart, smoking in the veranda, and I can only see his legs, so he can't seeus. "

He seemed to recover himself, and laughed. I had never liked his laugh, especially when, as had often happened, it had been directed againstmyself; but I liked it still less now. 

"See here!" he repeated, chuckling; and he turned the bag inside outupon the table. 

Such jewels I had never seen. They fell like cut flame upon the marbletable--green and red and burning white. A large diamond rolled and fellupon the floor. I picked it up and put it back among the confused blazeof precious stones, too much astonished for a moment to speak. 

"Beautiful! aren't they?" the old man chuckled, passing his wasted handsover them. "You won't match that necklace in any jeweller's in England. I tore it off an old she-devil of a Rhanee's neck after the Mutiny, andgot a bite in the arm for my trouble. But she'll tell no tales. He! he!he! I don't mind saying now how I got them. I am a humble Christian, nowI am so near heaven--eh, Middleton? He! he! You don't like to contradictme. Look at those emeralds. The hasp is broken, but it makes a prettybracelet. I don't think I'll tell you how the hasp got broken--littleaccident as the lady who wore it gave it to me. Rather brown, isn't it, on one side? but it will come off. No, you need not be afraid oftouching it, it isn't wet. He! he! And this crescent. Look at thosediamonds. A duchess would be proud of them. I had them from a privatesoldier. I gave him two rupees for them. Dear me! how the sight of thembrings back old times. But I won't leave them out any longer. We mustput them away--put them away. " And the glittering mass was gathered upand shovelled back into the old brown bag. He looked into it once withhungry eyes, and then he pulled the string and pushed it over to me. "Take it, " he said. "Put it away now. Put it away, " he repeated, as Ihesitated. 

I put the bag into my pocket. He gave a long sigh as he watched itdisappear. 

"Now what you have got to do with that bag, " he said, a momentafterwards, "is to take it to Ralph Danvers, the second son of SirGeorge Danvers, of Stoke Moreton, in D----shire. Sir George has got twosons. I have never seen him or his sons, but I don't mean the eldest tohave them. He is a spendthrift. They are all for Ralph, who is a steadyfellow, and going to marry a nice girl--at least, I suppose she is anice girl. Girls who are going to be married always _are_ nice. Thosejewels will sweeten matrimony for Mr. Ralph, and if she is like otherwomen it will need sweetening. There, now you have got them, and that iswhat you have got to do with them. There is the address written on thiscard. With my compliments, you perceive. He! he! I don't suppose theywill remember who I am. "

"Have you no relations?" I asked; for I am always strongly of opinionthat property should be bequeathed to relatives, especially nearrelatives, rather than to entire strangers. 

"None, " he replied, "not even poor relations. I have no deservingnephew or Scotch cousin. If I had, they would be here at this momentsmoothing the pillow of the departing saint, and wondering how much theywould get. You may make your mind easy on that score. "

"Then who is this Ralph whom you have never seen, and to whom you areleaving so much?" I asked, with my usual desire for information. 

He glared at me for a moment, and then he turned his face away. 

"D----n it! What does it matter, now I'm dying?" he said. And then headded, hoarsely, "I knew his mother. "

I could not speak, but involuntarily I put out my hand and took hisleaden one and held it. He scowled at me, and then the words came out, as if in spite of himself--

"She--if she had married me, who knows what might--But she marriedDanvers. She called her second son Ralph. My first name is Ralph. " Then, with a sudden change of tone, pulling away his hand, "There! now youknow all about it! Edifying, isn't it? These death-bed scenes alwayshave an element of interest, haven't they? _Good_-evening"--ringing thebell at his elbow--"I can't say I hope we shall meet again. It would beimpolite. No, don't let me keep you. Good-bye again. "

"Good-bye, Sir John, " I said, taking his impatient hand and shaking itgently; "God bless you. "

"Thankee, " grinned the old man, with a sardonic chuckle; "if anythingcould do me good that will, I'm sure. Good-bye. "

 * * * * *

As I breakfasted next morning, previously to my departure, I could nothelp reflecting on the different position in which I was now returningto England, as a colonel on long leave, to that in which I had left itmany--I do not care to think how many--years ago, the youngest ensign inthe regiment. 

It was curious to remember that in my youth I had always been consideredthe fool of the family; most unjustly so considered when I look back atmy quick promotion owing to casualties, and at my long and prosperouscareer in India, which I cannot but regard as the result of highprinciples and abilities, to say the least of it, of not the meanestorder. On the point of returning to England, the trust Sir John had withhis usual shrewdness reposed in me was an additional proof, if proofwere needed, of the confidence I had inspired in him--a confidence whichseemed to have ripened suddenly at the end of his life, after many yearsof hardly concealed mockery and derision. Just as I was finishing myreflections and my breakfast, Dickson, one of the last joinedsubalterns, came in. 

"This is very awful, " he said, so gravely that I turned to look at him. 

"What is awful?"

"Don't you know?" he replied. "Haven't you heard about--Sir John--lastnight?"

"Dead?" I asked. 

He nodded; and then he said--

"Murdered in the night! Cathcart heard a noise and went in, and stumbledover him on the floor. As he came in he saw the lamp knocked over, and afigure rush out through the veranda. The moon was bright, and he saw aman run across a clear space in the moonlight--a tall, slightly builtman in native dress, but not a native, Cathcart said; that he would takehis oath on, by his build. He roused the house, but the man got cleanoff, of course. "

"And Sir John?"

"Sir John was quite dead when Cathcart got back to him. He found himlying on his face. His arms were spread out, and his dressing-gown wastorn, as if he had struggled hard. His pockets had been turned insideout, his writing-table drawers forced open, the whole room had beenransacked; yet the old man's gold watch had not been touched, and somemoney in one of the drawers had not been taken. What on earth is themeaning of it all?" said young Dickson, below his breath. "What was thethief after?"

In a moment the truth flashed across my brain. I put two and twotogether as quickly as most men, I fancy. _The jewels!_ Some one had gotwind of the jewels, which at that moment were reposing on my own personin their old brown bag. Sir John had been only just in time. 

"What was he looking for?" continued Dickson, walking up and down. "Theold man must have had some paper or other about him that he wanted toget hold of. But what? Cathcart says that nothing whatever has beentaken, as far as he can see at present. "

I was perfectly silent. It is not every man who would have been so in myplace, but I was. I know when to hold my tongue, thank Heaven!

Presently the others came in, all full of the same subject, and thensuddenly I remembered that it was getting late; and there was a bustleand a leave-taking, and I had to post off before I could hear more. Not, however, that there was much more to hear, for everything seemed to bein the greatest confusion, and every species of conjecture was afloat asto the real criminal, and the motive for the crime. I had not much timeto think of anything during the first day on board; yet, busy as I wasin arranging and rearranging my things, poor old Sir John never seemedquite absent from my mind. His image, as I had last seen him, constantlyrose before me, and the hoarse whisper was forever sounding in my ears, "I'm watched! I know I'm watched!" I could not get him out of my head. Iwas unable to sleep the first night I was on board, and, as the longhours wore on, I always seemed to see the pale searching eyes of thedead man; and above the manifold noises of the steamer, and theperpetual lapping of the calm water against my ear, came the whisper, "I'm watched! I know I'm watched!"

CHAPTER II. 

I was all right next day. I suppose I had had what women call _nerves_. I never knew what nerves meant before, because no two women I ever metseemed to have the same kind. If it is slamming a door that upsets onewoman's nerves, it may be coming in on tiptoe that will upset another's. You never can tell. But I am sure it was nerves with me that firstnight; I know I have never felt so queer since. Oh yes I have, though--once. I was forgetting; but I have not come to that yet. 

We had a splendid passage home. Most of the passengers were in goodspirits at the thought of seeing England again, and even the childrenwere not so troublesome as I have known them. I soon made friends withsome of the nicest people, for I generally make friends easily. I do notknow how I do it, but I always seem to know what people really are atfirst sight. I always was rather a judge of character. 

There was one man on board whom I took a great fancy to from the first. He was a young American, travelling about, as Americans do, to see theworld. I forget where he had come from--though I believe he told me--orwhy he was going to London; but a nicer young fellow I never met. He wasrather simple and unsophisticated, and with less knowledge of the worldthan any man I ever knew; but he did not mind owning to it, and was asgrateful as possible for any little hints which, as an older man who hadnot gone through life with his eyes shut, I was of course able to givehim. He was of a shy disposition I could see, and wanted drawing out;but he soon took to me, and in a surprisingly short time we becamefriends. He was in the next cabin to mine, and evidently wished so muchto have been with me, that I tried to get another man to exchange; buthe was grumpy about it, and I had to give it up, much to young Carr'sdisappointment. Indeed, he was quite silent and morose for a whole dayabout it, poor fellow. He was a tall handsome young man, slightly built, with the kind of sallow complexion that women admire, and I wondered athis preferring my company to that of the womankind on board, who werecertainly very civil to him. One evening when I was rallying him on thesubject, as we were leaning over the side (for though it was December itwas hot enough in the Red Sea to lounge on deck), he told me that he wasengaged to be married to a beautiful young American girl. I forget hername, but I remember he told it me--Dulcima Something--but it is of noconsequence. I quite understood then. I always can enter into thefeelings of others so entirely. I know when I was engaged myself once, long ago, I did not seem to care to talk to any one but her. She did notfeel the same about it, which perhaps accounted for her marrying someone else, which was quite a blow to me at the time. But still I couldfully enter into young Carr's feelings, especially when he went on toexpatiate on her perfections. Nothing, he averred, was too good for her. At last he dropped his voice, and, after looking about him in the dusk, to make sure he was not overheard, he said:

"I have picked up a few stones for her on my travels; a few sapphires ofconsiderable value. I don't care to have it generally known that I havejewels about me, but I don't mind telling _you_. "

"My dear fellow, " I replied, laying my hand on his shoulder, and sinkingmy voice to a whisper, "not a soul on board this vessel suspects it, butso have I. "

It was too dark for me see his face, but I felt that he was muchimpressed by what I had told him. 

"Then _you_ will know where I had better keep mine, " he said, a momentlater, with his impulsive boyish confidence. "How fortunate I told youabout them. Some are of considerable value, and--and I don't know whereto put them that they will be absolutely safe. I never carried aboutjewels with me before, and I am nervous about _losing_ them, youunderstand. " And he nodded significantly at me. "Now where would youadvise me to keep them?"

"On you, " I said, significantly. 

"But where?"

He was simpler than even I could have believed. 

"My dear boy, " I said, hardly able to refrain from laughing, "do as Ido; put them in a bag with a string to it. Put the string round yourneck, and wear that bag under your clothes night and day. "

"At night as well?" he asked, anxiously. 

"Of course. You are just as likely to _lose_ them, as you call it, inthe night as in the day. "

"I'm very much obliged to you, " he replied. "I will take your advicethis very night. I say, " he added, suddenly, "you would not care to seethem, would you? I would not have any one else catch sight of them for agood deal, but I would show you them in a moment. Every one else is ondeck just now, if you would like to come down into my cabin. "

I hardly know one stone from another, and never could tell a diamondfrom paste; but he seemed so anxious to show me what he had, that I didnot like to refuse. 

"By all means, " I said. And we went below. 

It was very dark in Carr's cabin, and after he had let me in he lockedthe door carefully before he struck a light. He looked quite pale in thelight of the lamp after the red dusk of the warm evening on deck. 

"I don't want to have other fellows coming in, " he said in a whisper, nodding at the door. 

He stood looking at me for a moment as if irresolute, and then hesuddenly seemed to arrive at some decision, for he pulled a small parcelout of his pocket and began to open it. 

They really were not much to look at, though I would not have told himso for worlds. There were a few sapphires--one of a considerable size, but uncut--and some handsome turquoises, but not of perfect color. Heturned them over with evident admiration. 

"They will look lovely, set in gold, as a bracelet on _her_ arm, " hesaid, softly. He was very much in love, poor fellow! And then he added, humbly, "But I dare say they are nothing to yours. "

I chuckled to myself at the thought of his astonishment when he shouldactually behold them; but I only said, "Would you like to see them, andjudge for yourself?"

"Oh! if it is not giving you too much trouble, " he exclaimed, gratefully, with shining eyes. "It's very kind of you. I did not like toask. Have you got them with you?"

I nodded, and proceeded to unbutton my coat. 

At that moment a voice was heard shouting down the companion-ladder:"Carr! I say, Carr, you are wanted!" and in another moment some one washammering on the door. 

Carr sprang to his feet, looking positively savage. 

"Carr!" shouted the voice again. "Come out, I say; you are wanted!"

"Button up your coat, " he whispered, scowling suddenly; and with an oathhe opened the door. 

Poor Carr! He was quite put out, I could see, though he recoveredhimself in a moment, and went off laughing with the man, who had beensent for him to take his part in a rehearsal which had been suddenlyresolved on; for theatricals had been brewing for some time, and he hadpromised to act in them. I had not been asked to join, so I saw no moreof him that night. The following morning, as I was taking an early turnon the deck, he joined me, and said, with a smile, as he linked his armin mine, "I was put out last night, wasn't I?"

"But you got over it in a moment, " I replied. "I quite admired you; and, after all, you know--some other time. "

"No, " he said, smiling still, "not some other time. I don't think I willsee them--thanks all the same. They might put me out of conceit withwhat I have picked up for my little girl, which are the best I canafford. "

He seemed to have lost all interest in the subject, for he began to talkof England, and of London, about which he appeared to have that kind ofvague half-and-half knowledge which so often proves misleading to youngmen newly launched into town life. When he found out, as he soon did, that I was, to a certain extent, familiar with the metropolis, he beganto question me minutely, and ended by making me promise to dine with himat the Criterion, of which he had actually never heard, and go with himafterwards to the best of the theatres the day after we arrived inLondon. 

He wanted me to go with him the very evening we arrived, but on thatpoint I was firm. My sister Jane, who was living with a hen canary(called Bob, after me, before its sex was known) in a small house inKensington, would naturally be hurt if I did not spend my first eveningin England with her, after an absence of so many years. 

Carr was much interested to hear that I had a sister, and askedinnumerable questions about her. Was she young and lovely, or was shegetting on? Did she live all by herself, and was I going to stay withher for long? Was not Kensington--was that the name of thestreet?--rather out of the world? etc. 

I was pleased with the interest he took in any particulars about myselfand my relations. People so seldom care to hear about the concerns ofothers. Indeed, I have noticed, as I advance in life, such a generalwant of interest on the part of my acquaintance in the minutiæ of mypersonal affairs that of late I have almost ceased to speak of them atany length. Carr, however, who was of what I should call a trulydomestic turn of character, showed such genuine pleasure in hearingabout myself and my relations, that I asked him to call in London inorder to make Jane's acquaintance, and accordingly gave him her address, which he took down at once in his note-book with evident satisfaction. 

Our passage was long, but it proved most uneventful; and except for anoccasional dance, and the theatricals before-mentioned, it would havebeen dull in the extreme. The theatricals certainly were a greatsuccess, mainly owing to the splendid acting of young Carr, who becameafterwards a more special object of favor even than he was before. Itwas bitterly cold when we landed early in January at Southampton, and mynative land seemed to have retired from view behind a thick veil of fog. We had a wretched journey up to London, packed as tight as sardines in atin, much to the disgust of Carr, who accompanied me to town, and who, with his usual thoughtfulness, had in vain endeavored to keep thecarriage to ourselves, by liberal tips to guards and porters. When we atlast arrived in London he insisted on getting me a cab and seeing myluggage onto it, before he looked after his own at all. It was only whenI had given the cabman my sister's address that he finally took hisleave, and disappeared among the throng of people who were jostling eachother near the luggage-vans. 

Curiously enough, when I arrived at my destination an odd thinghappened. I got out at the green door of 23, Suburban Residences, andwhen the maid opened it, walked straight past her into the drawing-room. 

"Well, Jane!" I cried. 

A pale middle-aged woman rose as I came in, and I stood aghast. It wasnot my sister. It was soon explained. She was a little pettish about it, poor woman! It seemed my sister had quite recently changed her house, and the present occupant had been put to some slight inconveniencebefore by people calling and leaving parcels after her departure. Shegave me Jane's new address, which was only in the next street, and Iapologized and made my bow at once. My going to the wrong house was sucha slight occurrence that I almost forgot it at the time, until I wasreminded of it by a very sad event which happened afterwards. 

Jane was delighted to see me. It seemed she had written to inform me ofher change of address, but the letter did not reach me before I startedfor England with the Danvers jewels, about which I have been asked towrite this account. Considering this _is_ an account of the jewels, itis wonderful how seldom I have had occasion to mention them so far; butyou may rest assured that all this time they were safe in their bagunder my waiscoat; and knowing I had them there all right, I did nottrouble my head much about them. I never was a person to worry aboutthings. 

Still I had no wish to be inconvenienced by a hard packet of littleknobs against my chest any longer than was necessary, and I wrote thesame evening to Sir George Danvers, stating the bare facts of the case, and asking what steps he or his second son wished me to take to put thelegacy in the possession of its owner. I had no notion of trusting apacket of such immense value to the newly organized Parcels Post. Withjewels I consider you cannot be too cautious. Indeed, I told Jane so atthe time, and she quite agreed with me. 

CHAPTER III. 

I did not much like the arrangement of Jane's new house when I came tostay in it. The way the two bedrooms, hers and mine, were shut off fromthe rest of the house by a door, barred and locked at night for fear ofburglars, was, I thought, unpleasant, especially as, once in my room forthe night, there was no possibility of getting out of it, the key of thedoor of the passage not being even allowed to remain in the lock, butretiring with Jane, the canary cage, and other valuables, into her ownapartment. I remonstrated, but I soon found that Jane had not remainedunmarried for nothing. She was decided on the point. The outer doorwould be locked as usual, and the key would be deposited under thepin-cushion in her room, as usual; and it was so. 

The next morning, as Jane and I went out for a stroll before luncheon, we had to pass the house to which I had driven by mistake the daybefore. To our astonishment, there was a crowd before the door, and apoliceman with his back to it was guarding the entrance. The blinds wereall drawn down. The image of the pale lonely woman, sitting by herlittle fire, whom I had disturbed the day before, came suddenly back tome with a strange qualm. 

"What is it?" I hurriedly asked a baker's boy, who was standing at anarea railing, rubbing his chin against the loaf he was waiting todeliver. The boy grinned. 

"It's murder!" he said, with relish. "Burgilars in the night. I'vesupplied her reg'lar these two months. One quartern best white, onehalf-quartern brown every morning, French rolls occasional; but it's allup now. " And he went off whistling a tune which all bakers' boyswhistled about that time, called "My Grandfather's Timepiece, " orsomething similar. 

A second policeman came up the street at this moment, and from him Ilearned all the little there was to know. The poor lady had not beenmurdered, it seemed, but, being subject to heart complaint, had died inthe night of an acute attack, evidently brought on by fright. The maid, the only other person in the house, sleeping as maids-of-all-work onlycan, had heard nothing, and awoke in the morning to find her mistressdead in her bed, with the window and door open. "Strangely enough, " thepoliceman added, "although nothing in the house had been touched, thelock of an unused bedroom had been forced, and the room evidentlysearched. "

Poor Jane was quite overcome. She seemed convinced that it was only by aspecial intervention of Providence that she had changed her house, andthat her successor had been sacrificed instead of herself. 

"It might have been me!" she said over and over again that afternoon. 

Wishing to give a turn to her thoughts, I began to talk about Sir John'slegacy, in which she had evinced the greatest interest the night before, and, greatly to her delight, showed her the jewels. I had not looked atthem since Sir John had given them to me, and I was myself astonished attheir magnificence, as I spread them out on the table under thegas-lamp. Jane exhausted herself in admiration; but as I was puttingthem away again, saying it was time for me to be dressing and going tomeet Carr, who was to join me at the Criterion, she begged me on noaccount to take them with me, affirming that it would be much safer toleave them at home. I was firm, but she was firmer; and in the end Iallowed her to lock them up in the tea-caddy, where her small stock ofready money reposed. 

I met Carr as we had arranged, and we had a very pleasant evening. PoorCarr, who had seen the papers, had hardly expected that I should turnup, knowing the catastrophe of the previous night had taken place at thehouse I was going to, and was much relieved to hear that my sister hadmoved, and had thus been spared all the horror of the event. 

The dinner was good, the play better. I should have come home feelingthat I had enjoyed myself thoroughly, if it had not been for a littleadventure with our cab-driver that very nearly proved serious. We got ahansom directly we came out of the theatre, but instead of taking us tothe direction we gave him, after we had driven for some distance I beganto make out that the cabman was going wrong, and Carr shouted to him tostop; but thereupon he lashed up his horse, and away we went like thewind, up one street, and down another, till I had lost all idea where wewere. Carr, who was young and active, did all he could; but the cabman, who, I am afraid, must have been intoxicated, took not the slightestnotice, and continued driving madly, Heaven knows where. At last, aftergetting into a very dingy neighborhood, we turned up a crooked darkstreet, unlit by any lamp, a street so narrow that I thought everymoment the cab would be overturned. In another moment I saw two men rushout of a door-way. One seized the horse, which was much blown by thistime, and brought it violently to a stand-still, while the other flew atthe cab, and catching Carr by the collar, proceeded to drag him out bymain force. I suppose Carr did his best, but being only an American, hecertainly made a very poor fight of it; and while I was laying into theman who had got hold of him, I was suddenly caught by the legs myselffrom the other side of the cab. I turned on my assailant, saw a heavystick levelled at me, caught at it, missed it, beheld a series offireworks, and remembered nothing more. 

 * * * * *

The first thing I heard on beginning to come to myself was a series ofsubdued but evidently heart-felt oaths; and I became sensible of an airyfeeling, unpleasant in the extreme, proceeding from an open condition ofcoat and waistcoat quite unsuited to the time of year. A low chorus ofmuffled whispering was going on round me. As I groaned, involuntarily, it stopped. 

"He's coming to!" I heard Carr say. "Go and fetch some brandy. " And Ifelt myself turned right side uppermost, and my hands were rubbed, while Carr, in a voice of the greatest anxiety, asked me how I felt. Iwas soon able to sit up, and to become aware that I had a splittingheadache, and was staring at a tallow-candle stuck in a bottle. Havinggot so far I got a little farther, and on looking round found myselfreclining on a sack in a corner of a disreputable-looking room, dingywith dirt, and faithful to the memory of bad tobacco. Then I suddenlyremembered what had occurred. Carr saw that I did so, and instantlypoured forth an account of how we had been rescued from a condition ofgreat peril by the man to whom the house we were in belonged, to whom hehardly knew how to express his gratitude, and who was now gone for somebrandy for me. He told me a great deal about it, but I was so dizzy thatI forgot most of what he said, and it was not until our delivererreturned with the brandy that I became thoroughly aware of what wasgoing forward. I could not help thinking, as I thanked the honest fellowwho had come to our assistance, how easily one may be deceived byappearances, for a more forbidding-looking face, under its fur cap, Inever saw. That of his son, who presently returned with a four-wheelerwhich Carr had sent for, was not more prepossessing. In fact, they weretwo as villanous-looking men as I had ever seen. After recompensing bothwith all our spare cash, we got ourselves hoisted stiffly into the cab, and Carr good-naturedly insisted on seeing me home, though he owned tofeeling, as he put it, "rather knocked up by his knocking down. " We wereboth far too exhausted to speak much, until Carr gave a start and a gaspand said, "By Jove!"

"What?" I inquired. 

"They are gone!" he said, tremulously--"my sapphires. They are gone!Stolen! I had them in a bag round my neck, as you told me. They musthave been taken from me when I was knocked down. I say, " he added, quickly, "how about yours? Have you got them all right?"

Involuntarily I raised my hand to my throat. A horrid qualm passed overme. 

"Thank Heaven!" I replied, with a sigh of relief. "They are safe at homewith Jane. What a mercy! I might have lost them. "

"_Might!_" said Carr. "You would have lost them to a dead certainty;mine _are_ gone!" And he stamped, and clinched his fists, and lookedpositively furious. 

Poor Carr! I felt for him. He took the loss of his stones so to heart;and I am sure it was only natural. I parted from him at my own door, andwas glad on going in to find Jane had stayed up for me. I soon figuredin her eyes as the hero of a thrilling adventure, while her clever handsapplied sticking-plaster _ad libitum_. We were both so full of theevents of the evening, and the letter which I was to write to the_Times_ about it the next day, that it never entered the heads of eitherof us, on retiring to bed, to remove Sir John's jewels from thetea-caddy into which they had been temporarily popped in the afternoon. 

CHAPTER IV. 

I really think adventures, like misfortunes, never come single. Wouldyou believe it? Our house was broken into that very night. Nothingserious came of it, wonderful to relate, owing to Jane's extraordinarypresence of mind. She had been unable to sleep after my thrillingaccount of the cab accident, and had consoled herself by readingBaxter's "Saint's Rest" by her night-light, for the canary becamerestless and liable to sudden bursts of song if a candle were lighted. While so engaged she became aware of a subdued grating sound, which hadcontinued for some time before she began to speculate upon it. While shewas speculating it ceased, and after a short interval she distinctlyheard a stealthy step upon the stair, and the handle of the passage doorbefore-mentioned was gently, very gently turned. 

Jane has some of that quickness of perception which has been of such useto myself through life. In a moment she had grasped the situation. Someone was in the house. In another moment she was hanging out of herbedroom window, springing the policeman's rattle which she had had byher for years with a view to an emergency of this kind, and at the sametime--for she was a capable woman--blowing a piercing strain on acabman's whistle. 

To make a long story short, her extraordinary presence of mind was thesaving of us. With her own eyes she saw two dark figures fly up our areasteps and disappear round the corner, and when a policeman appeared onthe scene half an hour later, he confirmed the fact that the house hadbeen broken into, by showing us how an entrance had been effectedthrough the kitchen window. 

There was of course no more sleep for us that night, and the remainderof it was passed by Jane in examining the house from top to bottom everyhalf hour or so, owing to a rooted conviction on her part that aburglar might still be lurking on the premises, concealed in thecellaret, or the jam cupboard, or behind the drawing-room curtains. 

By that morning's post I heard, as I expected I should do, from SirGeorge Danvers, but the contents of the letter surprised me. He wrotemost cordially, thanking me for my kindness in undertaking such a heavyresponsibility (I am sure I never felt it to be so) for an entirestranger, and ended by sending me a pressing invitation to come downto Stoke Moreton that very day, that he and his son, whose future wifewas also staying with them, might have the pleasure of making theacquaintance of one to whom they were so much indebted. He added thathis eldest son Charles was also going down from London by a certaintrain that day, and that he had told him to be on the lookout for me atthe station in case I was able to come at such short notice. I made upmy mind to go, sent Sir George a telegram to that effect, and proceededto fish up the jewels out of the tea-caddy. 

Jane, who had never ceased for one instant to comment on the event ofthe night, positively shrieked when she saw me shaking the bag free fromtea-leaves. 

"Good gracious! the burglars, " she exclaimed. "Why, they might havetaken them if they had only known. "

Of course they had _not_ known, as I had been particularly secret aboutthem; but I wished all the same that I had not left them there allnight, as Jane would insist, and continue insisting, that they had beenexposed to great danger. I argued the matter with her at first; butwomen, I find, are impervious as a rule to masculine argument, and it isa mistake to reason with them. It is, in fact, putting the sexes for themoment on an equality to which the weaker one is unaccustomed, andconsequently unsuited. 

A few hours later I was rolling swiftly towards Stoke Moreton in acomfortable smoking carriage, only occupied by myself and Mr. CharlesDanvers, a handsome young fellow with a pale face and that peculiartired manner which (though, as I soon found, natural to him) is so oftenaffected by the young men of the day. 

"And so Ralph has come in for a legacy in diamonds, " he said, listlessly, when we had exchanged the usual civilities, and had become, to a certain degree, acquainted. "Dear me! how these good steady youngmen prosper in the world. When last I heard from him he had prevailedupon the one perfect woman in the universe to consent to marry him, andhis aunt (by-the-way, you will meet her there, too--Lady MaryCunningham) had murmured something vague but gratifying abouttestamentary intentions. A week later Providence fills his brimming cupwith a legacy of jewels, estimated at----" Charles opened his lightsleepy eyes wide and looked inquiringly at me. "What are they estimatedat?" he asked, as I did not answer. 

I really had no idea, but I shrugged my shoulders and looked wise. 

"Estimated at a fabulous sum, " he said, closing his eyes again. "Ah! hadthey been mine, with what joyful alacrity should I have ascertainedtheir exact money value. And mine they ought to have been, if the sacredlaw of primogeniture (that special Providence which watches over theinterests of eldest sons) had been duly observed. Sir John had not thepleasure of my acquaintance, but I fear he must have heard somereports--no doubt entirely without foundation--respecting my career, which had induced him to pass me over in this manner. What a moral! Myfather and my aunt Mary are always delicately pointing out thedifference between Ralph and myself. I wish I were a good young man, like Ralph. It seems to pay best in the long-run; but I may as wellinform you, Colonel Middleton, of the painful fact that I am the blacksheep of the family. "

"Oh, come, come!" I remarked, uneasily. 

"I should not have alluded to the subject if you were not likely tobecome fully aware of it on your arrival, so I will be beforehand withmy relations. I was brought up in the way I should go, " he continued, with the utmost unconcern, as if commenting on something that did notaffect him in the least; "but I did not walk in it, partly owing to theuncongenial companionship that it involved, especially that of my auntMary, who took up so much room herself in the narrow path that sheeffectually kept me out of it. From my earliest youth, also, I tookextreme interest in the parable of the Prodigal, and as soon as itbecame possible I exemplified it myself. I may even say that I acted thepart in a manner that did credit to a beginner; but the wind-up wasruined by the lamentable inability of others, who shall be nameless, tothrow themselves into the spirit of the piece. At various intervals, " hecontinued, always as if speaking of some one else, "I have returnedhome, but I regret to say that on each occasion my reception was not inany way what I could have wished. The flavor of a fatted calf isabsolutely unknown to me; and so far from meeting me half-way, I have inextreme cases, when impelled homeward by urgent pecuniaryconsiderations, found myself obliged to walk up from the station. "

"Dear me! I hope it is not far, " I said. 

"A mere matter of three miles or so uphill, " he resumed; "nothing to ahealthy Christian, though trying to the trembling legs of the ungodlyafter a long course of husks. There, now I think you are quite _au fait_as to our family history. I always pity a stranger who comes to a houseignorant of little domestic details of this kind; he is apt to makemistakes. " "Oh, pray don't mention it, "--as I murmured some words ofthanks--"no trouble, I assure you; trouble is a thing I don't take. By-the-way, are you aware we are going straight into a nest of privatetheatricals at Stoke Moreton? To-night is the last rehearsal; perhaps Ihad better look over my part. I took it once years ago, but I don'tremember a word of it. " And after much rummaging in a magnificentsilver-mounted travelling-bag, the Prodigal pulled out a paper book andcarelessly turned over the leaves. 

I did not interrupt his studies, save by a few passing comments on theweather, the state of the country, and my own health, which, I am sorryto say, is not what it was; but as I only received monosyllabic answers, we had no more conversation worth mentioning till we reached StokeMoreton. 

CHAPTER V. 

Stoke Moreton is a fine old Elizabethan house standing on rising ground. As we drove up the straight wide approach between two rows of ancientfantastically clipped hollies, I was impressed by the stately dignity ofthe place, which was not lessened as we drew up before a great archeddoor-way, and were ushered into a long hall supported by massive pillarsof carved white stone. A roaring log-fire in the immense fireplace threwa ruddy glow over the long array of armor and gleaming weapons whichlined the walls, and made the pale winter twilight outside look bleakindeed. Charles, emerging slim and graceful out of an exquisite ulster, sauntered up to the fire, and asked where Sir George Danvers was. As hestood inside the wide fireplace, leaning against one of the pillarswhich supported the towering white stone chimney-piece, covered withheraldic designs and coats of arms, he looked a worthier representativeof an ancient race than I fear he really was. 

"So they have put the stage at that end, in front of the pillars, " heremarked, nodding at a wooden erection. "Quite right. I could not haveplaced it better myself. What, Brown? Sir George is in the drawing-room, is he? and tea, as I perceive, is going in at this moment. Come, ColonelMiddleton. " And we followed the butler to the drawing-room. 

I am not a person who easily becomes confused, but I must own I did getconfused with the large party into the midst of which we were nowushered. I soon made out Sir George Danvers, a delicate, butirascible-looking old gentleman, who received me with dignifiedcordiality, but returned Charles's greeting with a certain formality andcoldness which I was pained to see, family affection being, in myopinion, the chief blessing of a truly happy home. Charles I alreadyknew, and with the second son, Ralph, a ruddy, smiling young man withany amount of white teeth, I had no difficulty; but after that I becamehopelessly involved. I was introduced to an elderly lady whom Iaddressed for the rest of the evening as Lady Danvers, until Charlescasually mentioned that his mother was dead, and that, until theDeceased Wife's Sister Bill was passed, he did not anticipate that hisaunt Mary would take upon herself the position of step-mother to herorphaned nephews. The severe elderly lady, then, who beamed so sweetlyupon Ralph, and regarded Charles with such manifest coldness, was theiraunt Lady Mary Cunningham. She had known Sir John slightly in her youth, she said, as she graciously made room for me on her sofa, and sheexpressed a very proper degree of regret at his sudden death, considering that he had not been a personal friend in any way. 

"We all have our faults, Colonel Middleton, " said Lady Mary, with agentle sigh, which dislodged a little colony of crumbs from the front ofher dress. "Sir John, like the rest of us, was not exempt, though I haveno doubt the softening influence of age would have done much, since Iknew him, to smooth acerbities of character which were unfortunatelystrongly marked in his early life. "

She had evidently not known Sir John in his later years. 

As she continued to talk in this strain I endeavored to make out whichof the young ladies present was the one to whom Ralph was engaged. I wasundecided as to which it was of the two to whom I had already beenintroduced. Girls always seem to me so very much alike, especiallypretty girls; and these were both of them pretty. I do not mean thatthey resembled each other in the least, for one was dark and one wasfair; but which was Miss Aurelia Grant, Ralph's _fiancée_, and which wasMiss Evelyn Derrick, a cousin of the family, I could not make out untillater in the evening, when I distinctly saw Ralph kiss the fair one inthe picture-gallery, and I instantly came to the conclusion that she wasthe one to whom he was engaged. 

I asked Charles if I were not right, as we stood in front of thehall-fire before the rest of the party had assembled for dinner, and hetold me that I had indeed hit the nail on the head in this instance, though for his own part he never laid much stress himself on such anoccurrence, having found it prove misleading in the extreme to draw anyconclusion from it. He further informed me that Miss Derrick was theyoung lady with dark hair who had poured out tea, and whom he hadfavored with some of his conversation afterwards. 

I admired Ralph's taste, as did Charles, who had never seen his futuresister-in-law before. Aurelia Grant was a charming little creature, witha curly head and a dimple, and a pink-and-white complexion, and asuspicion of an Irish accent when she became excited. 

Charles said he admired her complexion most because it was so thoroughlywell done, and the coloring was so true to nature. 

I did not quite catch his meaning, but it certainly was a beautifulcomplexion; and then she was so bright and lively, and showed suchpretty little teeth when she smiled! She was quite delightful. I did notwonder at Ralph's being so much in love with her, and Charles agreedwith me. 

"There is nothing like a good complexion, " he remarked, gravely. "Onemay be led away to like a pale girl with a mind for a time, but forpermanent domestic happiness give me a good complexion, and--a dimple, "he added, as if it were an after-thought. "I feel I could not bestow mybest affections on a woman without a dimple. Yes, indeed! Ralph haschosen well. "

Now I do not agree with Charles there, as I have always considered thata woman _should_ have a certain amount of mind; just enough, in fact, toenable her to appreciate a superior one. I said as much to Charles; buthe only laughed, and said it was a subject on which opinion had alwaysvaried. 

"How did he meet her?" I inquired. 

"On the Rigi, last summer, " said Charles. "I am thinking of going theremyself next year. Lovely orphan sat by Lady Mary at _table d'hôte_. Readtracts presented by Lady Mary. Made acquaintance. Lovely orphan'stravelling companion or governess discovered to be live sister ofdefunct travelling companion or governess of Lady Mary. Result, warmfriendship. Ralph, like a dutiful nephew, appears on the scene. Fortnight of fine weather. Interesting expeditions. Romantic attachment, cemented by diamond and pearl ring from Hunt & Roskell's. There is thewhole story for you. "

Evelyn Derrick joined us as he finished speaking. She was a tallgraceful girl, gentle and dignified in manner, with a pale refined face. She was pretty in a way, but not to compare to Aurelia. Evelyn had ananxious look about her, too. Now I do not approve of a girl lookinggrave; she ought to be bright and happy, with a smile for every one. Itis all very well for us men, who have the work of the world to do, tolook grave at times, but with women it is different; and a woman alwayslooks her best when she smiles--at least, I think so. 

Then Aurelia came down, perfectly dazzling in white satin; then SirGeorge, then Ralph, giving an arm to Lady Mary, who suffered fromrheumatism in her foot. Then came the gong, and there was a rustle downof more people, young and old, friends of the family who had come toact, or to see their sons and daughters act. As I never could get eventheir names right, I shall not attempt to give any account of them, especially as they are not of importance in any way. 

After dinner, on entering the drawing-room, I found that greatexcitement prevailed among the ladies respecting Sir John's jewels. About his sad fate and costly legacy they all seemed fully informed. Ihad myself almost forgotten the reason of my visit in my interest in mynew surroundings, not having even as yet given up the jewels to SirGeorge Danvers or Ralph; but, at the urgent request of all the ladies atonce, Ralph begged me to bring them down, to be seen and admired thenand there, before the rehearsal began. 

"They will all be yours, you know, " Ralph said to Aurelia. "You shallwear them on your wedding-day. "

"You are always talking about being married, " said Aurelia, with alittle pout. "I wish you would try and think of something else to say. Iwas quite looking forward to it myself until I came here, and now I amquite, _quite_ tired of it beforehand. "

Ralph laughed delightedly, and Sir George reminding me that every onewas dying of anxiety, himself included, I ran up-stairs to take thebrown bag from around my neck, and in a few minutes returned with it inmy hand. They were all waiting for me, Lady Mary drawn up in anarm-chair beside an ebony table, on which a small space near her hadbeen cleared, Charles alone holding rather aloof, sipping his coffeewith his back to the fire. 

"Don't jostle, " he said, as they all crowded round me. "Evelyn, let mebeg of you not to elbow forward in that unbecoming manner. Observe howAunt Mary restrains herself. Take time, Middleton! your coffee isgetting cold. Won't you drink it first?"

As he finished speaking I turned the contents of the bag upon the table. The jewels in the bright lamp-light seemed to blaze and burn into theebony of the table. There was a general gasp, a silence, and then achorus of admiration. Charles came up behind me and looked over myshoulder. 

"Good gracious!" said Lady Mary, solemnly. "Ralph, you are a rich man. Why, mine are nothing to them!" and she touched a diamond and emeraldnecklace on her own neck. "I never knew poor Sir John had so much goodin him. "

"Oh, Ralph, Ralph!" cried Aurelia, clasping her little hands with a deepsigh. "And will they really be my very own?"

Ralph assured her that they would, and that she should act in them thefollowing night if she liked. 

I think there was not a woman present who did not envy Aurelia as Ralphtook up a flashing diamond crescent and held it against her fair hair. Isaw Evelyn turn away and begin to tear up a small piece of paper in herhand. Women are very jealous of each other, especially the nice, bywhich I mean the pretty, ones. I was sorry to see jealousy so plainlymarked in such a charming looking girl as Evelyn; but women are all thesame about jewels. Aurelia blushed and sparkled, and pouted when theclasp caught in her hair, and shook her little head impatiently, and wasaltogether enchanting. 

After the first burst of admiration had subsided, General Marston, anold Indian officer, who had been somewhat in the rear, came up, andlooked long at the glittering mass upon the table. 

"Are you aware, " he said at last to Ralph, pointing to the crescent, "that those diamonds are of enormous value? I have not seen such stonesin any shop in London. I dare not say what that one crescent alone isworth, or that emerald bracelet. Jewels of such value as this are agrave responsibility. " He stood, shaking his head a little and turningthe crescent in his hand. "Wonderful!" he said. "Wonderful! Do not tearup that piece of rice-paper, Miss Derrick, " he added, taking it fromher. "The crescent was wrapped in it, and I will put it round it again. All these stones want polishing, and many of them resetting. They oughtnot to be tumbled together in this way in a bag, with nothing toprevent them scratching each other. See, Ralph, here is a clasp broken;and here are some loose stones; and this star has no clasp at all. Youmust take them up to some trustworthy jeweller, and have them thoroughlylooked over. "

"I suppose the second son was specially mentioned, Middleton?" saidCharles, as I drew back to let the rest handle and admire. 

"Of course!" said Lady Mary, sharply; "and a very fortunate thing, too. "

"Very--for Ralph, " he replied. "It is really providential that I am whatI am. Why, I might have ruined the dear boy's prospects if I had paid mytailor's bill, and lived in the country among the buttercups anddaisies. Ah! my dear aunt, I see you are about to remark how all thingshere below work together for good!"

"I was not going to remark anything of the kind, " retorted Lady Mary, drawing herself up; "but, " she added, spitefully, "I do not feel theless rejoiced at Ralph's good fortune and prosperity when I see, as I sooften do, the ungodly flourishing like a green bay-tree. "

"Of course, " said Charles, shaking his head, "if that is your ownexperience, I bow before it; but for my own part, I must confess I havenot found it so. Flourish like a green bay-tree! No, Aunt Mary, it is afallacy; they don't: I am sure I only wish they did. But I see therehearsal is beginning. May I give you an arm to the hall?"

The offer was entirely disregarded, and it was with the help of minethat Lady Mary retired from an unequal combat, which she never seemedable to resist provoking anew, and in which she was invariably worsted, causing her, as I could see, to regard Charles with the concentratedbitterness of which a severely good woman alone is capable. 

I soon perceived that Charles was on the same amicable terms with hisfather; that they rarely spoke, and that it was evidently only with aview to keeping up appearances that he was ever invited to the paternalroof at all. Between the brothers, however, in spite of so much toestrange them, a certain kindliness of feeling seemed to exist, whichwas hardly to have been expected under the circumstances. 

The rehearsal now began, and Sir George Danvers, who had remained behindto put by the jewels, and lock them up in his strong-box among hispapers, came and sat down by me, again thanking me for taking charge ofthem, though I assured him it had been very little trouble. 

"Not much trouble, perhaps, but a great responsibility, " he said, courteously. 

"A soldier, Sir George, " I replied, with a slight smile, "becomes earlyinured to the gravest responsibility. It is the air we breathe; it istaken as a matter of course. "

He looked keenly at me, and was silent, as if consideringsomething--perhaps what I had said. 

I was delighted to find the play was one of those which I had seen actedduring our passage home. There is nothing I like so much as knowing aplay beforehand, because then one can always whisper to one's companionwhat is coming next. The stage, with all its adjustments, had beencarefully arranged, the foot-lights were lighted, the piece began. Allwent well till nearly the end of the first act, when there was a crybehind the scenes of "Mr. Denis!" Mr. Denis should have rushed on, butMr. Denis did not rush on. The play stopped. Mr. Denis was not in thelibrary, the improvised greenroom; Mr. Denis did not appear when hisname was called in stentorian tones by Ralph, or in pathetic falsetto byCharles. In short, Mr. Denis was not forthcoming. A rush up-stairs onthe part of most of the young men brought to light the awful fact thatMr. Denis had retired to his chamber, a prey to sudden and acuteindisposition. 

"Dear me!" said Charles to Lady Mary, with a dismal shake of his head, "how precarious is life! Here to-day, and in bed to-morrow. Support youraunt Mary, my dear Evelyn; she wishes to retire to rest. Indeed, we mayas well all go to bed, for there will be no more acting to-night withoutpoor Denis. I only trust he may be spared to us till to-morrow, and thathe may be well enough to die by my hand to-morrow evening. "

We all dispersed for the night in some anxiety. The play could notproceed without Mr. Denis, who took an important part; and Sir Georgeruefully informed me that all the neighboring houses had been filled forthese theatricals, and that great numbers of people were expected. Therewas to be dancing afterwards, but the principal feature of theentertainment was the play. We all retired to rest, fervently hopingthat the health of Mr. Denis might be restored by the followingmorning. 

CHAPTER VI. 

But far from being better the following morning, Denis was much worse. Charles, who had sat up most of the night with him, and who came down tobreakfast more cool and indifferent than ever, at once extinguished anyhope that still remained that he would be able to take his part thatnight. 

Great was the consternation of the whole party. A vague feeling ofresentment against Denis prevailed among the womankind, who, having allpreserved their own healths intact for the occasion (and each by her ownaccount was a chronic invalid), felt it was extremely inconsiderate, notto say indelicate, of "a great man like him" to spoil everything bybeing laid up at the wrong moment. 

But what was to be done? Denis was ill, and without Denis the play couldnot proceed. Must the whole thing be given up? There was a generalchorus of lamentation. 

"I see no alternative, " said Charles, "unless some Curtius will leapinto the gulf, and go through the piece reading the part, and that isalways a failure at the best of times. "

At that moment I had an idea; it broke upon me like a flash oflightning: _Valentine Carr_! I had seen him act the very part Denis wasto have taken, in the theatricals on the steamer. How wonderfullyfortunate that it should have occurred to me!

I told Charles that I had a friend who had acted that part only the weekbefore. 

"_You!_" cried Charles, losing all his customary apathy--"you don't sayso! Great heavens, where is he? Out with him! Where is he at thismoment? England, Ireland, Scotland, or Wales? Where is this treasureconcealed?"

"Oh, Colonel Middleton! Oh, how delightful!" cried a number of gentlevoices; and I was instantly surrounded, and all manner of questions putto me. Would he come? Was he tall? And oh! _had_ he a beard? He had nota beard, had he? because it would not do for the part. Did he act well?When had he acted? Where had he acted?

Sir George interrupted the torrent of interrogation. 

"Do you think he would come?" he asked. 

"I am almost sure he would, " I said; "he is a great friend of mine. "

"It would be an exceedingly good-natured and friendly act, " said SirGeorge. "Charles--no, I mean Ralph--bring a telegraph form, and if youwill write a telegram at once, Middleton, I will send it to the stationdirectly. We shall have an answer by twelve o'clock, and until then wewill not give up all hope, though of course we must not count on yourfriend being able to come at such short notice. "

The telegram was written and despatched, Carr having given me an addresswhere letters would find him, though he said he did not put up there. Isincerely hoped he would not be out of the way on this occasion, and Iwas not a little pleased when, a few hours later, I received a telegramin reply saying that he could come, and should arrive by the afternoontrain which had brought me the day before. 

The spirits of the whole party revived. I (as is often the case) was inhigh favor with all. Even poor Denis, who had been very much depressed, was sufficiently relieved by the news--so Charles said--to smile overhis beef-tea. Lady Mary, who appeared at luncheon-time, treated me withmarked consideration. I had already laid them under an obligation, shesaid, graciously, by undertaking the care of the jewels, and now theywere indebted to me a second time. Was Mr. Carr one of Lord Barrantyne'ssons, or was he one of the Crampshire Carrs? She had known Lady CarolineCarr in her youth, but had not met her of late years. She seemedsurprised when I told her that Carr was an American, and he sank, Icould see, at once in her estimation; but she was kind enough to saythat she was not a person who was prejudiced in any way by a man'snationality, and that she believed that very respectable people might befound among the Americans. 

The day passed in the usual preparations for an entertainment. If I wentinto the hall I was sure to run against gardeners carrying in quantitiesof hot-house plants, with which the front of the stage was being hiddenfrom the foot-lights to the floor; if I wandered into the library Iinterrupted Aurelia and Ralph rehearsing their parts alone, with theirheads very close together; if I hastily withdrew into the morning-room, it was only to find Charles upon his knees luring Evelyn to immediateflight, in soul-stirring accents, before an admiring audience of notunenvious young ladyhood. 

"Now, Evelyn, I ask you as a favor, " said Charles, as I came in, movingtowards her on his knees, "will you come a little closer when I am down?I don't mind wearing out my knees the least in a good cause; but I oweit to myself, as a wicked baron in hired tights, not to cross the stagein that position. Any impression I make will be quite lost if I do; andunless you keep closer, I shall never be able to reach your hand andclasp it to a heart at least two yards away. Now, "--rising, and crossingover to the other side--"I shall begin again. 'Ah! but my soul'sadored--'"

"Is Middleton here?" asked a voice in the door-way. It was Sir GeorgeDanvers who had put his head into the room, and I went to him. 

"I say, Middleton, " he began, twirling his stick, and looking ratherannoyed, "it is excessively provoking. I never thought of it before, butI find there is not a bed in the house. Every cranny has been filled. Itnever occurred to me that we had not a room for your friend, now that heis kind enough to come. And it looks so rude, when it is so exceedinglygood-natured of him to come at all. "

"Oh, dear! anywhere will do, " I said. 

"There is not even room for Ralph in the house, " continued Sir George. "I have put him up at the lodge, " pointing to a small house at the endof the drive, near the great entrance gates. "There is another nicelittle room leading out of his, " he added, hesitating--"but really Idon't like to suggest--"

"Oh, that will do perfectly!" I broke in. "Carr is not the sort offellow to care a straw how he is put up. He will be quite contentanywhere. "

"Come and see it, " he said, leading the way out-of-doors. "I would haveturned out Charles in a moment, and given Carr his room; but Denis isreally rather ill, and Charles sees to him, as he is next door. "

I could not help saying how much I liked Charles. 

"Strangers always do, " he replied, coldly, as we walked towards thelodge. "I constantly hear him spoken of as a most agreeable young man. "

"And he is so handsome. "

"Yes, " replied Sir George, in the same hard tone, "handsome andagreeable. I have no doubt he appears so to others; but I, who have hadto pay the debts and hush up the scandals of my handsome and agreeableson, find Ralph, who has not a feature in his face, the better-lookingof the two. I know Charles is head over ears in debt at this moment, but, "--with sudden acrimony--"he will not get another farthing from me. It is pouring water into a sieve. "

"Ralph is marrying a sweetly pretty creature, " I said, with warmth, desirous of changing the subject. 

"Yes, she is very pretty, " said Sir George, without enthusiasm; "but Iwish she had belonged to one of our county families. It is nothing inthe way of connection. She has no relations to speak of--one uncleliving in Australia, and another, whom she goes to on Saturday, inIreland. There seems to be no money either. It is Lady Mary's doing. Shetook a fancy to her abroad; and to say the truth, I did not wish toobject, for at one time there seemed to be an attraction between Ralphand his cousin Evelyn Derrick, which his aunt and I were both glad tothink had passed over. I do not approve of marriages between cousins. "

We had reached the lodge by this time, and I was shown a tidy littleroom leading out of the one Ralph was occupying, in which I assured SirGeorge that Carr would be perfectly comfortable, much to the courteousold gentleman's relief, though I could see that he was evidently annoyedat not being able to put him up in the house. 

In the afternoon, towards five o'clock, Carr arrived. I went into thehall to meet him, and to bring him into the drawing-room myself. Just aswe came in, and while I was introducing him to Sir George, Ralph andAurelia, who were sitting together as usual, started a lovers' squabble. 

"Oh _my_!" said Ralph, suddenly. 

"It is all your fault. You jogged my elbow, " came Aurelia's quickrejoinder. 

"My dearest love, I did _not_, " returned Ralph, on his knees, pocket-handkerchief in hand. 

It appeared that between them they had managed to transfer Amelia's teafrom her cup to the front of her dress. 

"You did; you know you did, " she said, evidently ready to cry withvexation. "I was just going to drink, and you had your arm round theback of my--"

"Hush, Aurelia, I beg, " expostulated Charles. "Aunt Mary and I arebecoming embarrassed. It is not necessary to enter into particulars asto the exact locality of Ralph's arm. "

"Round the back of my chair, " pouted Aurelia. 

"It is all right, Aunt Mary, " called Charles, cheerfully, to that lady. "Only the back of her _chair_. We took alarm unnecessarily. Just as itshould be. I have done the same myself with--a different chair. "

"He is _always_ doing it, " continued Aurelia, unmollified. "I have toldhim about it before. He made me drop a piece of bread and butter on thecarpet only yesterday. "

"I ate it afterwards, " humbly suggested Ralph, still on his knees, "andthere were hairs in it. There were, indeed, Aurelia. "

"And now it is my tea-gown, " continued Aurelia, giving way to theprettiest little outburst of temper imaginable. "I wish you would get upand go away, Ralph, and not come back. You are only making it worse byrubbing it in that silly way with your wet handkerchief. "

"Here is another, " said Charles, snatching up Lady Mary's delicatecambric one, which was lying on her work-table, while I was in the actof introducing Carr to her; and before that lady's politeness to Carrwould allow her to turn from him to expostulate, Charles was on hisknees beside Ralph, wiping the offending stain. 

"'Out, d----d spot!' or rather series of spots. What, Aurelia! you don'twish it rubbed any more? Good! I will turn my attention to the_Aubusson_ carpet. Ha! triumph! Here at least I am successful. AuntMary, you have no conception how useful your handkerchief is. The amountof tea or dirt, or both, which is leaving the carpet and taking refugein your little square of cambric will surprise you when you see it. Ah!"rising from his knees as I brought up Carr, having by this timepresented him to Sir George. "Very happy to see you, Mr. Carr. Most kindof you to come. Evelyn, are you pouring out some tea for Mr. Carr?Nature requires support before a last rehearsal. May I introduce you tomy cousin Miss Derrick?"

After Carr had also been introduced to Aurelia, who, however, was stilltoo much absorbed in her tea-gown to take much notice of him, he seemedglad to retreat to a chair by Evelyn, who gave him his tea, and talkedpleasantly to him. He was very shy at first, but he soon got used to us, and many were the curious glances shot at him by the rest of the partyas tea went on. There was to be a last rehearsal immediately afterwards, so that he might take part in it; and there was a general unacknowledgedanxiety on the part of all the actors as to how he would bear thatcrucial test on which so much depended. I was becoming anxious myself, being in a manner responsible for him. 

"You're not nervous, are you?" I said, taking him aside when tea wasover. "Only act half as well as you did on the steamer and you will docapitally. "

"Yes, I am nervous, " he replied, with a short uneasy laugh. "It isenough to make a fellow nervous to be set down among a lot of peoplewhom he has never seen before--to act a principal part, too. I had noidea it was going to be such a grand affair or I would not have come. Ionly did it to please you. "

Of course I knew that, and I tried to reassure him, reminding him thatthe audience would not be critical, and how grateful every one was tohim for coming. 

"Tell me who some of the people are, will you?" he went on. "Who is thattall man with the fair mustache? He is looking at us now. "

"That is Charles, the eldest son, " I replied; "and the shorter one, withthe pleasant face, near the window, is Ralph, his younger brother. "

"That is a very good-looking girl he is talking to, " he remarked. "I didnot catch her name. "

"Hush!" I said. "That is Miss Grant, whom he is engaged to. They havejust had a little tiff, and are making it up. He _does_ talk to her agood deal. I have noticed it myself. Such a sweet creature!"

"Is she going to act?"

"Yes, " I replied. "They are going to begin at once. You need not dress. It is not a dress rehearsal. "

"I think I will go and get my boots off, though, " said Carr. "Can youshow me where I am?"

"I am afraid you are not in the house at all, " I said. "The fact is--didnot Sir George tell you?" And then I explained. 

For a moment his face fell, but it cleared instantly, though not beforeI had noticed it. 

"You don't mind?" I said, astonished. "You quite understand--"

"Of course, of course!" he interrupted. "It is all right, I have a cold, that is all; and I have to sing next week. I shall do very well. Praydon't tell your friends I have a cold. I am sure Sir George is kindnessitself, and it might make him uneasy to think I was not in his house. "

The rehearsal now began, and in much trepidation I waited to see Carrcome on. The moment he appeared all anxiety vanished; the other actorswere reassured, and acted their best. A few passages had to berepeated, a few positions altered, but it was obvious that Carr couldact, and act well; though, curiously enough, he looked lessgentlemanlike and well-bred when acting with Charles than he had donewhen he was the best among a very mixed set on the steamer. 

"You act beautifully, Mr. Carr!" said Aurelia, when it was over. "Doesn't he, Ralph?"

"Doesn't he?" replied Ralph, hot but good-humored. "I am sure, Carr, weare most grateful to you. "

"So am I, " said Charles. "Your death agonies, Carr, are a credit tohuman nature. No great vulgar writhings with legs all over the stage, like Denis; but a chaste, refined wriggle, and all was over. It is apleasure to kill a man who dies in such a gentlemanlike manner. If onlyEvelyn will keep a little closer to me when I am on my wicked baronialknees, I shall be quite happy. You hear, Evelyn?"

"How you can joke at this moment, " said Evelyn, who looked pale andnervous, "I cannot think. I don't believe I shall be able to remember aword when it comes to the point. "

"Stage-fever coming on already, " said Charles, in a different tone. "Ah!it is your first appearance, is it not? Go and rest now, and you will beall right when the time comes. I have a vision of a great success, and acall before the curtain, and bouquets, and other delights. Only go andrest now. " And he went to light a candle for her. He seemed verythoughtful for Evelyn. 

It was the signal for all of us to disperse, the ladies to their rooms, the men to the only retreat left to them, the smoking-room. As Aureliawent up-stairs I saw her beckon Ralph and whisper to him:

"Am I really to wear them?"

"Wear what, my angel? The jewels! Why, good gracious, I had quiteforgotten them. Of course I want you to wear them. "

"So do I, dreadfully, " she replied, with a killing glance over thebalusters. "Only if I am, you must bring them down in good time, and putthem on in the greenroom. I hope you have got them somewhere safe. "

"Safe as a church, " replied Ralph, forgetting that in these days thesimile was not a good one. "Father has them in his strong-box. I willask him to get them out--at least all that could be worn--and I willgive them a rub up before you wear them. "

"Ah!" said Charles, sadly, as we walked up-stairs, "if only I had knownSir John!"

CHAPTER VII. 

It was nearly eight o'clock when I came down. The play was to begin ateight. The hall, which was brilliantly lighted, was one moving mass ofblack coats, with here and there a red one, and evening-dresses manycolored--the people in them, chatting, bowing, laughing, being usheredto their places. Lady Mary and Sir George Danvers side by side receivedtheir guests at the foot of the grand staircase, Lady Mary, resplendentin diamond tiara and riviere, smiling as if she could never frown; SirGeorge upright, courteous, a trifle stiff, as most English countrygentlemen feel it incumbent on themselves to be on such occasions. 

Presently the continual roll of the carriages outside ceased, the lampswere toned down, the orchestra struck up, and Sir George and Lady Marytook their seats, looking round with anxious satisfaction at the hallcrowded with people. People lined the walls; chairs were being liftedover the heads of the sitting for some who were still standing; cushionswere being arranged on the billiard-table at the back for a covey ofwhite waistcoats who arrived late; the staircase was already crowdedwith servants; the whole place was crammed. 

I wondered how they were getting on behind the scenes, and slipping outof the hall, I traversed the great gold and white drawing-room, preparedfor dancing, and peeped into the morning-room, which, with the adjoininglibrary, had been given up to the actors. They were all assembled in themorning-room, however, waiting for one of the elder ladies who had notcome down. The prompter was getting fidgety, and walking about. The twoscene-shifters, pale, weary-looking men, who had come down with thescenery, were sitting in the wings, perfectly apathetic amid the generalexcitement. Charles and several other actors were standing round afootman who was opening champagne bottles at a surprising rate. I sawCharles take a glass to Evelyn, who was shivering with a sharp attack ofstage-fever in an arm-chair, looking over her part. She smiledgratefully, but as she did so her eyes wandered to the other side of theroom, where Ralph, on his knees before Aurelia, was fastening a diamondstar in her dress. Diamonds, rubies, and emeralds flashed in her hair, and on her white neck and arms. Ralph was fixing the last ornament ontoher shoulder with wire off a champagne bottle, there being no clasp tohold it in its place. I saw Evelyn turn away again, and Charles, who waswatching her, suddenly went off to the fire, and began to complain ofthe cold, and of the thinness of his silk stockings. 

The elder lady--"the heavy mother, " as Charles irreverently calledher--now arrived; the orchestra, which was giving a final flourish, wasbegged in a hoarse whisper to keep going a few minutes longer; eyes wereapplied to the hole in the curtain, and then, every one being assembled, it was felt by all that the awful moment had come at last. A moremiserable-looking set of people I never saw. I always imagined that theactors behind the scenes were as gay off the stage as on it; but I foundto my astonishment that they were all suffering more or less from severemental depression. Ralph and Aurelia were now sitting ruefully togetheron an ottoman beside the painting table, littered with its variousrouges and creams and stage appliances. Even Charles, who hadestablished Evelyn on a chair in the wings at the side she had to comeon from, and was now drinking champagne with due regard to hispaint--even Charles owned to being nervous. 

"I wish to goodness Mrs. Wright would begin!" he said. "Ah, there shegoes!"--as she ascended the stage steps. "There goes the bell. We are infor it now. She starts, and I come on next. Up goes the curtain. Wherethe devil has my book got to?"

In another moment he was in the wings, intent on his part; then I sawhim throw down his book and go jauntily forward. A moment more, andthere was a thunder of applause. All the actors looked at each other, and smiled a feeble smile. 

"He will do, " said General Marston, the Indian officer, who, now in thedress of an old-fashioned livery servant, proceeded to mount the steps. It dawned upon me that I was missing the play, and I hurried back tofind Charles convulsing the audience with the utmost coolness, andevidently enjoying himself exceedingly. Then Evelyn came on--But whocares to read a description of a play? It is sufficient to say thatAurelia looked charming, and many were the whispered comments on hermagnificent jewels; but on the stage Evelyn surpassed her, as much asAurelia surpassed Evelyn off it. 

Ralph and Carr did well, but Charles was the favorite with every one, from the Duchess of Crushington in the front seat to the scullery-maidon the staircase. He was so bold, so wicked, so insinuating, in hisplumed cap and short cloak, so elegantly refined when he wiped his swordupon his second's handkerchief. He took every one's heart by storm. Ralph, who represented all the virtues, with rather thick ankles and afalse mustache, was nowhere. When the curtain fell for the last time, amid great and continued applause, the "heavy mother, " Ralph, Aurelia, all were well received as they passed before it; but Charles, whoappeared last, was the hero of the evening. 

"He is engaged to his cousin, Miss Derrick, isn't he?" said a lady nearme, in a loud whisper to a friend. 

"Hush! no. Charles can't marry. Head over ears in debt. They say _she_is attached to one of her cousins, but I forget which. I am not sure itwas not the other one. "

"Then it is the second son who is going to be married, is it? I know Iheard something about one of them being engaged. "

"Yes, the second son is engaged to that good-looking girl in diamonds, who acted Florence Mordaunt. A lot of money, I believe, but not much inthe way of family. Grandfather sold mouse-traps in Birmingham, so peoplesay. "

"She looks like it!" replied the other, who had daughters out, and couldnot afford to let any praise of other girls pass. "No breeding orrefinement; and she will be stout later, you will see. "

The play being over, a general movement now set in towards thedrawing-room, where the band was already installed, and making itspresence known by an inspiriting valse tune. In a few moments twenty, thirty, forty couples were swaying to the music; Aurelia in her actingcostume was dancing away with Ralph in his red stockings; Carr with the"heavy mother, " and Charles in prosaic evening-dress was flying pastwith Evelyn, who, now that she had effaced her beautiful stagecomplexion, looked pale and grave as ever. 

I suppose it was a capital ball. Every one seemed to enjoy it. I did notdance myself, but I liked watching the others; and after a time Charles, who had been dancing indefatigably with two school-room girls withpigtails, came and flung himself down on the other half of the ottomanon which I was sitting. 

"Three times with each!" he said, in a voice of extreme exhaustion. "Nofavoritism. I have done for to-night now. "

"What! Are you not going to dance any more?"

"No, not unless Evelyn will give me another turn later, which sheprobably won't. There she goes with Lord Breakwater again. How I dodislike that young man! And look at Carr--valsing with Aurelia! Heseems to be leaping on her feet a good deal, and she looks as if shewere telling him so, does not she? There! they have subsided into thebay-window. I thought she would not stand it long. He does not dance aswell as he acts. Heigh-ho! Come in to supper with me, Middleton. Thesupper-room will be emptier now, and I am dying of hunger. You must bethe same, for you had no regular dinner any more than we had. Comealong. We will get a certain little table for two that I know of, in thebay-window where I took the fair pigtail just now, to the evidentanxiety of the parental chignon who was at the large table. We will havea good feed in peace and quietness. "

In a few minutes we were established in a quiet nook in the supper-room, which was now half empty, and were making short work of everythingbefore us. 

"How well Carr acted!" said Charles at last, leaning back, and leisurelysipping his champagne. "I can think of something besides food now. Didnot you think he acted well?"

"Yes, " I said, "but you cut him out. "

"Did I!" said Charles, absently, beckoning to some lobster salad whichwas passing. "Have some? Do, Middleton. We can but die once. You won't?Well I will. Have you often seen Carr act before?"

"Never, " I said. "I never met him till I came on board the _Bosphorus_at----"

"Indeed! Oh! I fancied you were quite old friends. "

"We made great friends on the steamer. "

"Did you see much of him in London?" he asked, filling up his glass andmine. 

"Not much, naturally, " I said, laughing. "I was in London only twonights. "

"Ah! I forgot. Very good of you, I am sure, to come down here so soonafter your arrival. You would hardly have seen him at all since youlanded, then?"

"Carr? Yes, " I replied, thinking Charles's talk was becoming very vague;though when I rallied him about it next day he assured me it had beenvery much to the point indeed. "We dined and went to the play together, and had rather a nasty accident into the bargain on our way home. "

"What kind of accident?"

I told him the particulars, which seemed to interest him very much. 

"And you had all those jewels of poor Sir John's with you, no doubt, "continued Charles. "You said you had them on you day and night. I wonderyou were not relieved of them. "

"That is just what Carr said, " I went on; "for he lost something of his, poor fellow. However, I had left them with Jane in a--in a _safeplace_. "

I did not think it necessary to mention the tea-caddy. 

"Oh! so Carr knew you had charge of them, did he?" said Charles. "Havesome of these grapes, Middleton; the white ones are the best. "

"Yes, " I said, "he was the only person who had any idea of such a thing. I am very careful, I can tell you; and I did not mean to have half theship's company know that I had valuables to such an amount upon me. WhenI told Jane about them--"

"Oh, then, Jane--I beg her pardon, Miss Middleton--was aware you hadthem with you?"

"Of course, " I replied; "and she was quite astonished at them when Ishowed them to her. "

"I hope, " continued Charles, with his charming smile--all the morecharming because it was so rare--"that Miss Middleton will add me to thenumber of her friends some day. I live in London, you know; but I wonderat ladies caring to live there. No poultry or garden, to which thefeminine mind usually clings. "

"Jane seems to like it, " I said. 

"Yes, " replied Charles, meditatively. "I dare say she is very wise. Awoman who lives alone is much safer in town than in an isolated house inthe country, in case of fire, or thieves, or----"

"Well, I don't know that, " I said. "I don't see that they are so verysafe. Why, only the night before I came down here----" I stopped. I hadlooked up to catch a sudden glimpse of Carr's face, pale and uneasy, watching us in a mirror opposite. In a moment I saw his face turnsmiling to another--Evelyn's, I think--and both were gone. 

Charles's light steel eyes were fixed full upon me. 

"'Only the night before you came down here, ' you were saying, " heremarked, leaning back and half shutting them as usual. 

"Yes, only the night before I came down here our house was broken into;"and I gave him a short account of what had happened. "And only the nightbefore _that_, " I added, "a poor woman was murdered in Jane's old house. I remember it especially, because I went to the house by mistake, notknowing Jane had moved, and I saw her, poor thing, sitting by the fire. I don't see that living in town _is_ so much safer for life andproperty, after all. "

"Dear me! no. You are right, perfectly right, " said Charles, dreamily. "Your sister's experience proves it. And that other poor creature--onlythe night before--and in Miss Middleton's former house, too. Well, Middleton, " with a start, "I suppose we ought to be going back now. Ihave got all I want, if you have. I wonder what time it is? I'm dogtired. "

We re-entered the ball-room to find the last valse being played, and acrowd of people taking leave of Lady Mary. 

"Where's father?" asked Charles, as Ralph came up. "He ought to be hereto say good-night. "

"He's gone to bed, " said Ralph. "Aunt Mary sent him. He was quite doneup. He has been on his legs all day. I expect he will be laid upto-morrow. "

In a quarter of an hour the ball-room was empty, and Lady Mary, who wasdragging herself wearily towards the hall as the last carriage rolledaway, felt that she might safely restore the balance of her mind by asudden lapse from the gracious and benevolent to the acid and severe. 

"To bed! to bed!" she kept repeating. "Where is Evelyn? I want her arm. General Marston, Colonel Middleton, will you have the goodness to go andglean up these young people? Mrs. Marston and Lady Delmour, you mustboth be tired to death. Let us go on, and they can follow. "

General Marston and I found a whole flock of the said young people inthe library, candle in hand, laughing and talking, thinking they weregoing that moment, but not doing it, and all, in fact, listening toCharles, who was expounding a theory of his own respecting ball dresses, which seemed to meet with the greatest feminine derision. 

"First take your silk slip, " he was saying as we came in. "There isnothing indiscreet in mentioning a slip; is there, Evelyn? I trust not;for I heard Lady Delmour telling Mrs. Wright that all well-brought-upyoung ladies had silk slips. Then--"

"He exposes his ignorance more entirely every moment, " said Evelyn. "Letus all go to bed, and leave him to hold forth to men who know as littleas himself. "

"Oh, Ralph!" said Aurelia, pointing to the jewels on her neck and arms;"before we go I want you to take back these. I don't like keeping themmyself; I am afraid of them. " And she began to take them off and laythem on the table. 

"Nonsense, my pet; keep them yourself, and lock them up in yourdressing-case. " And Ralph held them towards her. 

"I haven't got a dressing-case, " said Aurelia, pouting; "and my hat-boxwon't lock. I don't like having them. I wish you would keep themyourself. "

"Bother!" said Ralph; "and father has gone to bed. He can't put themback into his safe, and he keeps the key himself. Where is the bag theygo in?"

Aurelia said that she had seen him put it behind a certain jar on thechimney-piece in the morning-room, and Carr went for it, she followinghim with a candle, as all the lamps had been put out. They presentlyreturned with it, and Ralph, who had been collecting all the jewelsspread over the table, shovelled them in with little ceremony. 

"Bother!" he said again, looking round and swinging the bag; "what onearth am I to do with them? Ah, well, here goes!" and he opened a sidedrawer in a massive writing-table and shoved the bag in. 

"There!" he said, locking it, and putting the key in his pocket; "theywill do very well there till to-morrow. Are you content now, Aurelia?"

"Oh yes, " she said, "I am, if you are. " And she bade us good-night andfollowed in the wake of the others, who were really under way at last. 

As we all tramped wearily up-stairs to the smoking-room I saw Charlesdraw Ralph aside and whisper something to him. 

"Nonsense!" I heard Ralph say. "Safe enough. Besides, who would suspecttheir being there? Just as safe as in the strong-box. Brahma lock. Won'tbe bothered any more about them. "

Charles shrugged his shoulders and marched off to bed. Ralph and Carrlikewise went off shortly afterwards to their rooms in the lodge. Carrlooked tired to death. I went down with them, at Ralph's request, tolock the door behind them, as all the servants had gone to bed. 

It was a fine night, still and cold, with a bright moon. It hadevidently been snowing afresh, for there was not a trace of wheels uponthe ground; but it had ceased now. 

"Good-night!" called Ralph and Carr, as they went down the stepstogether. I watched the two figures for a moment in the moonlight, theirfootsteps making a double track in the untrodden snow. The cold wasintense. I drew back shivering, and locked and bolted the door. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

It is very seldom I cannot sleep, but I could not that night. There wassomething in the intense quiet and repose of the great house, after allthe excitement of the last few hours, that oppressed me. Everythingseemed, as I lay awake, so unnaturally silent. There was not a sound inthe wide grate, where the last ashes of the fire were silently giving upthe ghost, not a rumble of wind in the old chimney which had had so muchto say the night before. I tossed and turned, and vainly sought forsleep, now on this side, now on that. At last I gave up trying, half inthe hope that it might steal upon me unawares. I thought of the play andthe ball, of poor Charles and his debts--of anything and everything--butit was no good. In the midst of a jumble of disconnected ideas Isuddenly found myself listening again to the silence--listening as if ithad been broken by a sound which I had not heard. My watch ticked loudand louder on the dressing-table, and presently I gave quite a start asthe distant stable clock tolled out the hour: One, two, three, four. Ihad gone to bed before three. Had I been awake only an hour? It seemedincredible. Getting up on tiptoe, vaguely afraid myself of breaking thesilence, I noiselessly pushed aside the heavy curtains and looked out. 

The moon had set, but by the frosty starlight the outline of the greatsnow-laden trees and the wide sweep of white drive were still dimlyvisible. All was silent without as within. Not a branch moved or letfall its freight of snow. There was not a breath of wind stirring. I wason the point of getting back into bed, when I thought in the distance Iheard a sound. I listened intently. No! I must have been mistaken. Ah!again, and nearer! I held my breath. I could distinctly hear a stealthystep coming up the stairs. My room was the nearest to the staircase endof the corridor, and any one coming up the stairs must pass my door. With a presence of mind which, I am glad to say, rarely deserts me, Iblew out my candle, slipped to the door, and noiselessly opened it achink. 

Some one was coming down the corridor with the lightness of a cat, candle in hand, as a faint light showed me. Another moment, and I sawCharles, pale and haggard, still in evening-dress, coming towards me. Hewas without his shoes. He passed my door and went noiselessly into hisown room, a little farther down the passage. There was the faintestsuspicion of a sound, as of a key being gently turned in the lock, andthen all was still again, stiller than ever. 

What could Charles have been after? I wondered. He could not have beenreturning from seeing Denis, who was not only much better, but was inthe room beyond his own. And why had he still got on his evening clothesat four o'clock in the morning? I determined to ask him about it nextday, as I got back into bed again, and then, while wondering about itand trying to get warm, I fell fast asleep. I was only roused, afterbeing twice called, to find that it was broad daylight, and to hearbeing carried down the boxes of many of the guests who were leaving byan early train. 

I was late, but not so late as some. Breakfast was still going on. Evelyn and Ralph had been up to see their friends off, but General andMrs. Marston and Carr, who was staying on, came in after I did. LadyMary and Aurelia were having breakfast in their own rooms. I thinknothing is more dreary than a long breakfast-table, laid for largenumbers, with half a dozen picnicking at it among the débris left byearlier ravages. Evelyn, behind the great silver urn, looked pale andpreoccupied, and had very little to say for herself when I journeyed upto her end of the table and sat down by her. She asked me twice if Itook sugar, and was not bright and alert and ready in conversation, as Ithink girls should be. Carr, too, was eating his breakfast in silencebeside Mrs. Marston. 

It was not cheerful. And then Charles came in, listless and tired, andwithout an appetite. He sat down wearily on the other side of Evelyn, and watched her pour out his coffee without a word. 

"The Carews and Edmonts and Lady Delmour and her daughter have justgone, " said Evelyn, "and Mr. Denis. "

"Yes, " replied Charles, seeming to pull himself together; "Denis came tomy room before he went. He looked a wreck, poor fellow; but not worsethan some of us. These late hours, these friskings with energetic youngcreatures in the school-room, these midnight revels, are too much forme. I feel a perfect wreck this morning, too. "

He certainly looked it. 

"Have you had bad letters?" said Evelyn, in a low voice. 

He laughed a little--a grim laugh--and shook his head. "But I hadyesterday, " he added presently, in a low tone. "I shall have to try achange of air again soon, I am afraid. "

I was just going to ask Charles what he had been doing walking about inhis socks the night before, when the door opened, and Ralph, whoseabsence I had not noticed, came in. He looked much perturbed. It seemedhis father had been taken suddenly and alarmingly ill while dressing. Ina moment all was confusion. Evelyn precipitately left the room to go tohim, while Charles rushed round to the stables to send a groom onhorseback for the nearest doctor. Ralph followed him, and the remainderof the party gathered in a little knot round the fire, Mrs. Marstonexpressing the sentiment of each of us when she said that she thoughtvisitors were very much in the way when there was illness in the house, and that she regretted that she and her husband had arranged to stayover Sunday, to-day being Friday. 

"So have I, " said Carr; "but I am sure I had better have refused. Astranger in a sick-house is a positive nuisance. I think I shall go totown by an afternoon train, if there is one. "

"Upon my word I think we had better do the same, " said Mrs. Marston. "What do you say, Arthur?" and she turned to her husband. 

"I must go to-day, anyhow--on business, " said General Marston. 

"I hope no one is talking of leaving, " said Charles, who had returnedsuddenly, rather out of breath. 

As he spoke his eyes were fixed on Carr. 

"Yes, that is exactly what we were doing, " said Mrs. Marston. "Nothingis so tiresome as having visitors on one's hands when there is illnessin the house. Mr. Carr was thinking of going up to London by theafternoon train; and I have a very good mind to go away with Arthur, instead of staying on, and letting him come back here for me to-morrow, as we had intended. "

"Pray do not think of such a thing!" said Charles, really withunnecessary earnestness. "Mrs. Marston, pray do not alter your plans. Carr!" in a much sterner tone, "I must beg that you will not think ofleaving us to-day. Your friend Colonel Middleton is staying on, and wecannot allow you to desert us so suddenly. "

It was more like a command than an invitation; but Carr, usually soquick to take a slight, did not seem to notice it, and merely said thathe should be happy to go or stay, whichever was most in accordance withthe wishes of others, and took up the newspaper. He and Charles did notseem to get on well. I could see that Charles had not seemed to take tohim from the very first; and Carr certainly did not appear at ease inthe house. Perhaps Charles felt that he had rather failed in courtesyto him, for during the remainder of the morning he hardly let him out ofhis sight. He took him to see the stables, though Carr openly declaredthat he did not understand horses; he showed him his collection of Zuluweapons in the vestibule; he even started a game of billiards with himtill the arrival of the doctor. I did not think Carr took his attentionsin very good part, though he was too well-mannered to show it; but helooked relieved when Charles went up-stairs with the doctor, and pitchedhis cue into the rack at once, and came to the hall-fire where I wassitting, and where Aurelia presently joined us, fresh and smiling, inthe prettiest of morning-gowns. Every one met in the hall. It was in thecentre of the house, and every one coming up or down had to pass throughit. Just now it was not so tempting an abode as usual, for the flowersand part of the stage had already been removed, and the bare boards, with their wooden supports, gave an air of discomfort to the wholeplace. 

Aurelia opened wide eyes of horror at hearing Sir George was ill. Sheeven got out a tiny laced pocket-handkerchief; but before she had hadtime to weep much into it, and spoil her pretty eyes, the doctorreappeared, accompanied by Charles and Ralph, and we all learned to ourgreat relief that Sir George, though undoubtedly ill, was notdangerously so at present, though the greatest care would be necessary. Lady Mary had undertaken the nursing of her brother-in-law, and in herthe doctor expressed the same confidence which parents are wont to feelin a stern school-master. In the mean time the patient was to be keptvery quiet, and on no account to be disturbed. 

When the doctor had left, Ralph and Aurelia, who had actually seennothing of each other that morning, sauntered away together towards thelibrary. Charles challenged Carr to finish his game of billiards, andMarston and I retired up-stairs to the smoking-room, where we could talkover our Indian experiences, and perhaps doze undisturbed. We might havebeen so occupied for half an hour or more when a flying step came up thestairs, the door was thrown open, and Ralph rushed into the room. 

"General Marston! Colonel Middleton!" he gasped out, breathing hard, "will you, both of you, come to my father's room at once? He has sentfor you. "

"Good gracious! Is he worse?" I exclaimed. 

"No. Hush! Don't ask anything, but just come, "--and he turned and ledthe way to Sir George Danvers's room. 

We followed in wondering silence, and, after passing along numerouspassages, were ushered into a large oak-panelled room with a greatcarved bed in it, in the middle of which, bolt-upright, sat Sir GeorgeDanvers, pale as ivory, his light steel eyes (so like Charles's) seemingto be the only living thing about him. 

As we came in he looked at each of us in turn. 

"Where is Charles?" he said, speaking in a hoarse whisper. 

"Dear me! Sir George, " I said, sympathetically, "how you _have_ lostyour voice!"

He looked at me for a moment, and then turned to Ralph again. 

"Where is Charles?" he asked a second time, in the same tone. 

"Here!" said a quiet voice. And Charles came in, and shut the door. 

CHAPTER IX. 

The two pairs of steel eyes met, and looked fixedly at each other. 

A tap came to the door. 

Sir George winced, and made a sign to Ralph, who rushed to it and boltedit. 

"I am coming in, George, " said Lady Mary's voice. 

"Send her away, " came a whisper from the bed. 

This was easier said than done. But it _was_ done after a sufficientlylong parley; and Lady Mary retired under the impression that Ralph wassitting alone with his father, who thought he might get a little sleep. 

"Now, " whispered Sir George, motioning to Ralph. 

"The fact is, " said Ralph, "the jewels are gone! They have been stolenin the night. "

He bolted out with this one sentence, and then was silent. Marston and Istared at him aghast. 

"Is there no mistake?" said Marston at last. 

"None, " replied Ralph. "I put them in a drawer in the great inlaidwriting-table in the library last night, before everybody. I went forthem this morning, half an hour ago, at father's request. The lock wasbroken, and they were gone. "

There was another long silence. 

"I was a fool, of course, to put them there, " resumed Ralph. "Charlestold me so; but I thought they were as safe there as anywhere, if no oneknew--and no one did except the house party. "

"Were any of the servants about?" asked Marston. 

"Not one. They had all gone to bed except one of the footmen, who wasputting out the lamps in the supper-room, miles away. "

Another silence. 

"That is the dreadful part of it, " burst out Ralph. "They must have beentaken by some one staying in the house--some one who saw me put themthere. The first thing I did was to send for the house-maids, and theyassured me that they had found every shutter shut, and every doorlocked, this morning, as usual. Any one with time and wits _might_ havegot in through one of the library windows by taking out a pane andforcing the shutter. I suppose a practised hand might have done such athing; but I went outside and there was not a footstep in the snowanywhere near the library windows, or, for that matter, anywhere nearthe house at all, except at the side and front doors, which areimpracticable for any one to force an entrance by. "

"When did it leave off snowing?" asked Marston. 

"About three o'clock, " replied Ralph. "It must have snowed heavily tillthen, for there was not a trace of all the carriage-wheels on the drivewhen we went out last night, but our footprints down to the lodge areclear in the snow now. There has been no snow since three o'clock thismorning. "

"It all points to the same thing, " said Charles, quietly, speaking forthe first time. "The jewels were taken by some one staying in thehouse. "

"One of the servants--" began Marston. 

"No!" said Charles, cutting him short, "not one of the servants. "

"It is impossible it should have been one of them, " said Ralph, aftersome thought. "First of all, none of them saw the jewels put into thatdrawer; and, secondly, how could they suspect me of hiding them in aplace where I had never thought of putting them myself till that moment?Besides, that one drawer only was broken open--the centre drawer in theleft-hand set of drawers. All the others were untouched, though theywere all locked. No one who had not _seen_ the jewels put in would havefound them so easily. That is the frightful part of it. "

For a few minutes no one spoke. At last Marston raised his head from hishands. 

"There is no way out of it, " he said, very gravely. "The robbery wascommitted by one of the visitors staying in the house!"

"Yes!" said Charles. 

"Yes!" echoed a whisper from the bed. 

Charles looked up slowly and deliberately, and the eyes of father andson met again. 

"We do not often agree, father, " he said, in a measured voice. "I markthis exception to the rule with pleasure. "

"When I had made out as much as this, " continued Ralph, "father told meto call both of you and Charles, to consider what ought to be donebefore we make any move. "

"Have you an inventory of the jewels?" asked Marston at length. 

"None, " said Sir George, "unless Middleton had one from Sir John. "

I thereupon recapitulated in full all the circumstances of the bequest, finally adding that Sir John had never so much as mentioned aninventory. 

"So much the better for the thief, " said Marston, his chin in his hands. "It is not a case for a detective, " he added. 

"I think not, " said Charles. 

A kind of hoarse ghostly laugh came from the bed. "Charles is alwaysright, " whispered the sick man. "Quite unnecessary, I am sure. "

"Oh, I don't know, " I said, feeling I had not yet been of as muchassistance as I could have wished. "Now, I think detectives are ofuse--really useful, you know, in finding out things. There was adetective, I remember, trying to trace the people who murdered that poorlady at Jane's old house since my return. "

"But who could it have been? who could it have been?" burst out Ralph, unheeding. "They were all friends. It is frightful to suspect one ofthem. One could as easily suspect one's self. Which of them all couldhave done a thing like that? Out of them all, which was it?"

"Carr!" replied Charles, quietly, looking full at his father. 

If a bomb-shell had fallen among us at that moment it could not haveproduced a greater effect than that one word, uttered so deliberately. Sir George started in his bed, and clutched at the bedclothes with bothhands. My brain positively reeled. Carr! my friend Carr! introduced intothe family by myself, was being accused by Charles. I was speechlesswith indignation. 

"I am sorry, Middleton, " continued Charles; "I know he is your friend, but I can't help that. Carr took the jewels. I distrusted him from themoment he set foot in the house. "

"Where is he at this instant?" said Marston, getting up. "Is no one withhim?"

"There is no need to be anxious on his account, " replied Charles. "Itook him up to the smoking-room before I came here, and I turned the keyin the door. The key is here. " And he laid it on the table. 

Marston sat down again. 

"What are your grounds for suspecting Carr?" he asked. "Remember, thisis a very serious thing, Charles, that you have done in locking him up, if you have not adequate reason for it. "

"You had better leave Carr alone, Charles, " said Ralph, significantly. 

"Let him go on, " said Sir George. 

"I have no proof, " continued Charles; "I did not see him take them, butI am as certain of it as if I had seen it with my own eyes. The jewelscould only have been stolen by some one staying in the house. That iscertain. Who, excepting Carr, was a stranger among us? Who, exceptingCarr--"

"Stop, Charles, " said Ralph again. "Don't you know that Carr slept withme down at the lodge?"

Charles turned on his brother and gripped his shoulder. 

"Do you mean to say, " he said, sharply, "that Carr did not sleep in thehouse last night?"

"Dear me, Charles, that was an oversight on your part, " came SirGeorge's whisper. 

"No, " replied Ralph, "he did not. The house was full, and we had to puthim in that second small room through mine in the lodge. If Carr hadbeen dying to take them he had not the opportunity. He could not haveleft his room without passing through mine, and I never went to sleep atall. I had a sharp touch of neuralgia from the cold, which kept me awakeall night. "

"He got out through the window, " said Charles. 

"Nonsense!" said Ralph, getting visibly angry; "you are only makingmatters worse by trying to put it on him. Remember the size of thewindow. Besides, you know how the lodge stands, built against the gardenwall. When I came out this morning there was not a single footstep inthe snow, except those we had made as we went there the night before. Inoticed our footmarks particularly, because I had been afraid therewould be more snow. No one could by any possibility have left the houseduring the night. Even Jones himself had not been out, for there was alittle eddy of snow before the back door, and I remember calling to himthat he would want his broom. "

"The snow clinches the matter, Charles, " said Marston, gravely. "Youhave made a mistake. "

"Quite unintentional, I'm sure, " whispered Sir George. 

There was something I did not like about that whisper. It seemed toimply more than met the ear. 

Charles did not appear to hear him. He was looking fixedly before him, his hand had dropped from Ralph's shoulder, his face was quite gray. 

"Then, " he said, slowly, as if waking out of a dream, "it was _not_Carr. "

"No, " said Sir George; "I never thought it was. "

"Good God!" ejaculated Charles, sinking into a low chair by the fire, and shading his face with his hand. "Not Carr, after all!"

But my indignation could not be restrained a moment longer. I had onlybeen kept silent by repeated signs from Marston, and now I broke out. 

"And so, sir, you suspect my friend, " I said, "and insult him in yourfather's house by turning the key on him. You endeavor to throwsuspicion on a man who never injured you in the slightest degree. Youinsult _me_ in insulting my friend, sir. Suspicion is not always such aneasy thing to shake off as it has been in this instance. I, on my side, might ask what _you_ were doing walking about the passages in your socksat four o'clock this morning? In your socks, sir, still in your eveningclothes--"

I had spoken it anger, not thinking much what I was saying, and Istopped short, alarmed at the effect of my own words. 

"I knew it! I knew it!" gasped Sir George, in his hoarse, suffocatedvoice, and he fell back panting among his pillows. 

Charles took his hand from his face, and looked hard at me with astrange kind of smile. 

"At any rate we are quits, Middleton, " he said. "You have done it now, and no mistake. "

I did not quite see what I had done, but it soon became apparent. 

"I knew it!" gasped out the sick man again; "I knew it from the firstmoment that he tried to throw suspicion on Carr. "

"Sir George, " said Marston, gravely, "Charles made a mistake just now. Do not you, on your side, make another. Come, Charles, " turning to thelatter, who was now sitting erect, with flashing eyes, "tell us aboutit. What were you doing when Middleton saw you?"

"I was coming up-stairs, " said Charles, haughtily. 

"From the library?" asked Sir George. 

Charles bit his lip and remained silent. 

I would not have spoken to him for a good deal at that moment. He lookedpositively dangerous. 

"From the library, of course, " he said at last, controlling himself, andspeaking with something of his old careless manner, "laden with thespoils of my midnight depredations. Parental fondness will supply allminor details, no doubt; so, as the subject is a delicate one for me, Iwill withdraw, that it may be discussed more fully in my absence. "

"Stop, Charles, " said Marston; "the case is too serious for banter ofthis kind. My dear boy, " he added, kindly, "I am glad to see you angry, but nevertheless, you must condescend to explain. The longer you allowsuspicion to rest on yourself the longer it will be before it falls onthe right person. Come, what were you doing in the passage at that timeof night?"

Charles was touched, I could see. A very little kindness was too muchfor him. 

"It is no good, Marston, " he said, in quite a different voice--"I am notbelieved in this house. "

He turned away and leaned against the mantle-piece, looking into thefire. Ralph cleared his throat once or twice, and then suddenly went upto him, and laid his hand affectionately on his shoulder. 

"Fire away, old boy!" he said, in a constrained tone, and he chokedagain. 

Charles turned round and faced his brother, with the saddest smile Iever saw. 

"Well, Ralph!" he said, "I will tell you everything, and then you canbelieve me or not, as you like. I have never told you a lie, have I?"

"Not often, " replied Ralph, unwillingly. 

"You at least are truth itself, " said Charles, reddening; "and if youare biassed in your opinion of me, perhaps it is more the fault of thatexemplary Christian, Aunt Mary, than your own. According to her, I havetold lies enough to float a company or carry an election, and I neverlike to disappoint her expectations of me in that respect; but you Ihave never to my knowledge deceived, and I am not going to begin now. "

"You will be a clergyman yet, " whispered the sick parent. "There is agood living in the family. Charles, I shall live to see the ReverendCharles Danvers in a surplice, preaching his first sermon on the ninthcommandment. "

"At any rate, he is practising the fifth under difficulties at thismoment, " said Marston, as Charles winced and turned his back on theparental sick-bed. "Come, my boy, we are losing time. "

"Will somebody have the goodness to restrain Middleton if he getsexcited?" said Charles. "I am afraid he won't like part of what I havegot to say. "

"Nonsense, sir!" I replied, with warmth. "I hope I can restrain myselfas well as any man, even under such provocation as I have latelyreceived. You may depend on me, sir, that--"

"We lose time, " said Marston, seating himself by me, and cutting shortwhat I was saying in an exceedingly brusque manner. "Come, Charles, youshould not be interrupted. "

But he was. I interrupted him the whole time, in spite of continualefforts on the part of Marston to make me keep silence. I am not the mancalmly to let pass black insinuations against the character of a friend. No, I stood up for him. I am glad to think how I stood up for him, notonly metaphorically, but in the most literal sense of the term; for Ifound myself continually getting up, and Marston as often pulling medown again into my chair. 

"Am I to speak, or is Middleton?" said Charles at last, in despair. "Iwill do a solo, or I will keep silence; but really I am unequal to aduet. "

"Sir George, " said Marston, "will you have the goodness to desireColonel Middleton to be silent, or to leave the room till Charles hasfinished his story?"

I was justly annoyed at Marston's manner of speaking of me, but as I hadno intention to leave the room and miss what was going on, I merelybowed in answer to a civil request from Sir George, and took up anattitude of dignified silence. I felt that I had done my part invindicating my friend; and after all, no one, evidently, was accustomedto believe what Charles said. 

"As I was saying, " he continued, "I suspected Carr from the first. I didnot like the look of him, and I purposely pumped Middleton about himlast night at supper. "

I nearly burst out at the bare idea of Charles daring to say he hadpumped me; but, as will be seen, he could twist anything that was saidto such an extent that it was perfectly useless to contradict him anylonger. I said not a single word, and he went on:

"All Middleton told me confirmed me in my suspicions. Sir John had beenmurdered the night before Middleton sailed for England, a whisper of thejewels having no doubt gone abroad. Carr came on board next day, andmade friends with Middleton. Whether he had anything to do with themurder or not, God knows! but he found out--nay, Middleton openly toldhim--that he had jewels of great value in his possession, which hecarried about on his person. Carr was the only person aware of thatfact. What follows? Carr has Middleton's address in London. Middletongoes to the house, and finds that his sister has moved to the nextstreet. That house to which he first went is broken into, and the poorwoman in it is murdered, or dies of fright that same night. I mentionthis as coincidence number one. The following evening Middleton, havingby chance left the jewels at home, dines, and goes to the theatre byappointment with Carr. Unique cab accident occurs, in which Middleton isknocked on the head and rendered unconscious. Coincidence number two. Miss Middleton's house is broken into that same night on Middleton'sreturn to it. Coincidence number three. When I put all this togetherlast night, remembering that Carr, by Middleton's own account, was theonly person aware that he had jewels of great value in his keeping, Ifelt absolutely certain (as I feel still) that he had accepted theinvitation, and come down from London solely for the purpose of stealingthem. It was pure conjecture on my part, and I dared say nothing beyondbegging Ralph not to leave the jewels in the library--which, however, hedid. I went straight off to my room when the others went to smoke, but Idid not go to bed. The more I thought it over the more certain I feltthat Carr would not let slip such an opportunity, the more convincedthat an attempt would be made that very night. I did not know that hewas not sleeping in the house, but I knew Ralph was at the lodge, so Icould not go and consult with him, as I should otherwise have done. Ithought of going to Middleton, whose room was close to mine, but onsecond thoughts I gave up the idea. I am glad I did. At last Idetermined I would wait till the house was quiet, and that then I wouldgo down alone, and watch in the library in the dark. I lay down on mybed in my clothes to wait, and then--I had been up most of the nightbefore with Denis; I was dead beat with acting and dancing--by ill luckI fell asleep. When I woke up I found to my horror that it was close onfour o'clock. I instantly slipped off my shoes, and crept out of my roomand down the stairs. I could not get to the library from the hall, asthe stage blocked the way, and I had to go all the way round by thedrawing-room and morning-room. As I went I thought how easy it would befor Carr to force the lock of the drawer; and so, it flashed across me, could I. Oh, Ralph!" said Charles, "I went down solely to look afteryour property for you, but I _did_ think of it. I hope I should not havedone it, but I suddenly remembered how hard pressed I was for money, andI did think of the crescent, and how you would hardly miss it, andhow--but what does it matter now? When I got to the library I found Iwas too late. The lock of the drawer had been forced, and it was empty. There was nothing for it but to go back to my room. I felt as certainthat Carr had done it as that I am standing here; but I dared saynothing next morning, for fear of drawing an ever-ready parentalsuspicion on myself--which, however, Middleton did for me. All I coulddo was to keep Carr well in sight until the theft was found out, toprevent any possibility of his escaping, and then to accuse him. There!"said Charles, "that is the whole truth. Carr did not take the jewels;that is absolutely proved, and the sooner he is let out the better. Whotook them Heaven only knows! I don't. But I know who meant to, and thatwas Carr. "

"Charles, " said Ralph, with glistening eyes, "if ever I get them backyou shall have the crescent. "

"A very neat little story altogether, " said Sir George, "and the episodeof temptation very effectively thrown in. It does you credit, my son, and is a great relief to your old father's mind. "

"Thank you, Charles, " said Marston, getting up. "Sir George, it is closeon luncheon-time, and Carr must be let out at once. Now that Charles hasso completely cleared himself I don't see that anything more can be donefor the moment; and of one thing I am certain, namely, that you aremaking yourself much worse, and must keep absolutely quiet for the restof the day. If I may advise, I would suggest that Carr should be allowedto leave, as he wishes to do, by the afternoon train, and should not bepressed to stay. There is nothing more to be got out of him; and, considering the circumstances, I should say the sooner he is out of thehouse the better. As he has been wrongly suspected, I think the robberyhad better not be mentioned to any one, even the ladies in the house, until after he has left. "

"Aurelia knows, " said Ralph. "She was with me in the library. I left hercrying bitterly about them. "

"Let her cry, if she will only hold her tongue, " said Sir George, makinga last effort to speak, but evidently at the extreme point ofexhaustion. "And you, Marston, you are right about Carr. See that hegoes this afternoon. There is nothing more to be done at present. Charles, you will remain here, though I have no doubt you have anengagement in London. I cannot spare you just yet. "

Charles bowed, and he and Marston went out. I remained a second behindwith Ralph. 

"I see it quite clearly, " said Sir George. "I know Charles. He is sharpenough. He saw Carr meant mischief, and he was beforehand with him; and_he_ took what Carr meant to take. It was not badly imagined, but heshould have made certain Carr was sleeping in the house. It all turnedon that. He never reckoned on the possibility of Carr's being cleared. "

"Middleton is still here, " said Ralph, significantly, who was pouringout something for his father. 

"Is he? I thought he was gone!" said Sir George, so sharply, that Iconsidered it advisable to retire at once. 

Charles and Marston were talking together earnestly in the passage. 

"He does not believe a word I say, " said Charles, as I joined them;"and, what is more, I could see he had told Ralph he suspected me beforewe came in. Did not you see how Ralph tried to stop me when he thought Iwas committing myself by accusing Carr, who, it seems, was quite out ofthe question? I am glad you cut it short, Marston. He was making himselfworse every moment. "

"Come on with that key of yours, and let us go and let out Carr, "replied Marston, patting Charles kindly on the back, "or he will bekicking all the paint off the door. "

"Not he!" said Charles. "An honest man would have rung up the wholehousehold and nearly battered the door down by this time, thinking ithad been locked by mistake. Carr knows better. "

We had reached the smoking-room by this time, just as the gong wasbeginning to sound for luncheon, and under cover of the noise Charlesfitted the key into the key-hole and unlocked the door. He and Marstonwent slowly in, talking on some indifferent subject, and I followed. 

CHAPTER X

The room seemed strangely quiet after the stormy interview in thesick-chamber which we had just left. The pale winter sunlight wasstealing in aslant through the low windows. The fire had sunk to a deepred glow, and in an arm-chair drawn up in front of it, newspaper inhand, was Carr, evidently fast asleep. 

"'Oh, my prophetic soul!'" whispered Charles, nudging Marston; and thenhe went forward and shouted "Luncheon!" in a voice that would have wakedthe dead. 

Carr started up and rubbed his eyes. 

"Why, I believe you have been here ever since I left you here, hoursago, " said Charles, in a surprised tone, though really, under thecircumstances, it did not require a great stretch of the imagination tosuppose any such thing. 

"Yes, " said Carr, still rubbing his eyes. "Have you been gone long? Iexpect I fell asleep. "

"I rather thought you were inclined for a nap when I left you, " repliedCharles, airily; "and now let us go to luncheon. "

It was a very dismal meal. Lady Mary did not come down to it, andAurelia sat with red eyes, tearful and silent. Ralph was evidently outof favor, for she hardly spoke to him, and snubbed him decidedly when hehumbly tendered a peace-offering in the form of a potato. Evelyn, too, was silent, or made spasmodic attempts at conversation with Mrs. Marston, the only unconstrained person of the party. Evelyn and Aureliahad appeared together, and it was evident from Evelyn's expression thatAurelia had told her. What conversation there was turned upon SirGeorge's illness. 

"We must go by the afternoon train, my dear, " said Marston down thetable to his wife. "In Sir George's present state _all_ visitors are anincubus. "

Carr looked up. "I think I ought to go, too, " he said. "I wished toarrange to do so this morning, but Mr. Danvers, " glancing at Charles, "would not hear of it. I am sure, when there is illness in a house, strangers are always in the way. "

"I have seen my father since then, " replied Charles, "and I fear hisillness is much more serious than I had any idea of. That being thecase, I feel it would be wrong to press any one, even Middleton, to stayand share the tedium of a sick-house. "

After a few more civil speeches it was arranged that Carr should, afterall, leave by the train which he had proposed in the morning. It wasfound that there was still time for him to do so, but that was all. Hewas evidently as anxious to be off as the Danverses were that he shouldgo. The dog-cart was ordered, a servant despatched to the lodge in hothaste to pack his portmanteau, and in half an hour he was bidding usgood-bye, evidently glad to say it. Poor fellow! He little guessed, ashe shook hands with us, how shamefully he had been suspected, howvillanously he had been traduced behind his back. Somehow or other I hadnot had a moment of conversation with him since the morning, or a singlechance of telling him how I had stood up for him in his absence. EitherCharles or Marston were always at hand, and when he took leave of me Icould only shake his hand warmly, and tell him to come and see me againin town. I watched him spinning down the drive in the dog-cart, littlethinking how soon I should see him again, and in what circumstances. 

"We shall have more snow, " said Ralph, coming in-doors. "I feel it inthe air. "

General and Mrs. Marston were the next to leave, starting an hour later, and going in the opposite direction. I saw Marston turn aside, when hiswife was taking leave of the others, and go up to Charles. The younghand and the old one met, and were locked tight. 

"Good-bye, my dear boy, " said Marston. 

"Don't go, " said Charles, without looking up. 

"I must!" said Marston. "I am due at Kemberley to-night, on business;but, " in a lower tone, "I shall come back to-morrow, in case I can be ofany use. "

They were gone, and I was the only one remaining. It has occurred to mesince that perhaps they expected me to go too, but I never thought of itat the time. I had been asked for a week, and to go before the end of itnever so much as entered my head. 

There was no chance of going out. The early winter afternoon was alreadyclosing in, and a few flakes of snow were drifting like feathers in theheavy air, promising more to come. Every one seemed to have dispersed, Ralph up-stairs to his father, Charles out-of-doors somewhere in spiteof the weather. I remembered that I had not written to Jane since Ileft London, and went into the library to do so. As I came in I sawEvelyn sitting in a low chair by the fire, gazing abstractedly into it. She started when she saw me, and on my saying I wished to write someletters, showed me a writing-table near the fire, with pens, ink, andpaper. 

"You will find it very cold at the big table in the window, " she said, looking at it with its broken drawer, a chink open, with a visibleshudder. 

I installed myself near the fire, talking cheerfully the while, for itstruck me she was a little low in her spirits. She did not make muchresponse, and I was settling down to my letters when she suddenly said:

"Colonel Middleton!"

"Yes, Miss Derrick. "

"I am afraid I am interrupting your writing, but--"

I looked round. She was standing up, nervously playing with her rings. "But--I know I am not supposed to--but I know what happened last night;Aurelia told me. "

"It is very sad, isn't it?" I said. "But cheer up. I dare say we may getthem back yet. " And I nodded confidentially at her. "In the mean time, you know, you must not talk of it to any one. "

"Do you suspect any one in particular?" she asked, very earnestly, coming a step nearer. 

I hardly knew what to say. Carr, I need hardly mention, I had neversuspected for a moment; but Charles--Marston had evidently believed whatCharles had said, but I am by nature more cautious and less credulousthan Marston. Besides, I had not forgiven Charles yet for trying toincriminate Carr. Not knowing what to say, I shrugged my shoulders andsmiled. 

"You do suspect some one, then?"

"My dear young lady, " I replied, "when jewels are stolen, one naturallysuspects some one has taken them. "

"So I should imagine. Whom do you naturally suspect?"

I could not tell her that I more than suspected Charles. 

"I know nothing for certain, " I said. 

"But you have a suspicion?"

"I have a suspicion. "

She went to the door to see if it were shut, and then came back andsaid, in a whisper:

"So have I. "

"Perhaps we suspect the same person?" I said. 

She did not answer, but fixed her dark eyes keenly on mine. I had nevernoticed before how dark they were. 

I saw then that she knew, and that she suspected Charles, just as SirGeorge had done. 

I nodded. 

"Nothing is proved, " I said. 

"I dared not say even as much as this before, " she continued, hurriedly. "It is only the wildest, vaguest suspicion. I have nothing to take holdof. It is so horrible to suspect any one; but--"

She stopped suddenly. Her quick ear had caught the sound of a distantstep coming across the hall. In another moment Aurelia came in. 

"Are you there, Evelyn?" she said. "I was looking for you, to ask wherethe time-table lives. I want to look out my journey for to-morrow. Ralphought to do it, but he is up-stairs, " with a little pout. 

"You ought not to have quarrelled with him until he had made it out foryou, " said Evelyn, smiling. "It is a very cross journey, isn't it? Letme see. You are going to your uncle in Dublin, are not you? You hadbetter go to London, and start from there. It will be the shortest wayin the end. "

The two girls laid their heads together over the Bradshaw, Evelyn'sdark-soft hair making a charming contrast to Aurelia's yellow curls. Atlast the journey was made out and duly written down, and a post-carddespatched to the uncle in Dublin. 

"Have you seen Ralph anywhere?" asked Aurelia, when she had finished it. "I am afraid I was a little tiny wee bit cross to him this morning, andI am so sorry. "

Evelyn always seemed to stiffen when Aurelia talked about Ralph, and, under the pretext of putting her post-card in the letter-bag for her, she presently left the room, and did not return. 

Aurelia sat down on the hearth-rug, and held two plump little hands tothe fire. It was quite impossible to go on writing to Jane while she wasthere, and I gave it up accordingly. 

"I am glad Evelyn is gone, " she said, confidentially. "Do you know why Iam glad?"

I said I could not imagine. 

"Because, " continued Aurelia, nodding gravely at me, "I want to have avery, very, _very_ serious conversation with you, Colonel Middleton. "

I said I should be charmed, inwardly wondering what that little curlyhead would consider to be serious conversation. 

"Really serious, you know, " continued Aurelia, "not pretence. Aboutthat!" pointing with a pink finger at the inlaid writing-table. "Youknow I was with Ralph when he found it out, and I am afraid I was alittle cross to him, only really it was so hard, and they were solovely, and it _was_ partly his fault, now, wasn't it, for leaving themthere? He ought to have been more careful. "

"Of course he ought, " I said. I would not have contradicted her forworlds. 

"And you know I am to be married next month; and Aunt Alice in Dublin, who is getting my things, says as it is to be a winter wedding I am tobe married in a white _frisé_ velvet, and I did think the diamonds wouldhave looked so lovely with it. Wouldn't they?"

I agreed, of course. 

"But I shall never be married in them now, " she said, with a deep sigh. "And I was looking forward to the wedding so much, though I dare say Idid tell a naughty little story when I said I was _not_ to Ralph theother night. Of course Ralph is still left, " she added, as anafter-thought; "but it won't be so perfect, will it?"

I was morally certain Charles would have to give them up, so I said, reassuringly:

"Perhaps you may be married in them, after all. "

"Oh!" she said, clasping her hands together, "do you really think so? Doyou know anything? I have not seen Ralph since to ask him about it. Doyou think we shall really get them back?"

"I should not wonder. "

"Oh, Colonel Middleton, I see you know. You are a clever, wise man, andyou have found out something. Who is it? Do tell me!"

"Will you promise not to tell any one?"

"Mayn't I tell Ralph? I tell him everything. "

"Well, you may tell Ralph, because he knows already; but no one else, remember. The truth is, we are afraid it is Charles. "

There was a long pause. 

"I know Evelyn thinks so, " said Aurelia, in a whisper, "though she triesnot to show it, because--because--"

"Because what?"

"Well, of course, you can't have helped seeing, can you, that she andCharles--"

I had not seen it; indeed, I had fancied at times that Evelyn had aleaning towards Ralph; but I never care to seem slower than others innoticing these things, so I nodded. 

"And then, you know, people can't be married that haven't any money; andCharles and Evelyn have none, " said Aurelia. "Oh, I am glad Ralph iswell off. "

A light was breaking in on me. Perhaps it was not Charles after all. Perhaps--

"I am afraid Evelyn is very unhappy, " continued Aurelia. "Her room isnext to mine, and she walks up and down, and up and down, in the night. I hear her when I am in bed. Last night I heard her so late, so latethat I had been to sleep and had waked up again. Do you know, " and shecrept close up to me with wide, awe-struck eyes, "I am going awayto-morrow, and I don't like to say anything to any one but you; but Ithink Evelyn knows something. "

"Miss Derrick!" I said, beginning to suspect that she possibly knew agood deal more than any of us, and then suddenly remembering that shehad been on the point of telling me something and had been interrupted. I was getting quite confused. She certainly would not have wished toconfide in me if my new suspicion were correct. Considering there was amystery, it was curious how every one seemed to know something veryparticular about it. 

"Yes, " replied Aurelia, nodding once or twice. "I am sure she knowssomething. I went into her room before luncheon, and she was sittingwith her head down on the dressing-table, and when she looked up I sawshe had been crying. I don't know what to say about it to Ralph; but youknow, "--with a shake of the curls--"though people may think me only asilly little thing, yet I do notice things, Colonel Middleton. AuntAlice in Dublin often says how quickly I notice things. And I thought, as you were staying on, and seemed to be a friend, I would tell you thisbefore I went away, as you would know best what to do about it. "

Aurelia had more insight into character than I had given her credit for. She had hit upon the most likely person to follow out a clew, howeverslight, in a case that seemed becoming more and more complicated. Iinwardly resolved that I would have it out with Miss Derrick that veryevening. Lady Mary now came in, and servants followed shortly afterwardswith lamps. The dreary twilight, with its dim whirlwinds of drivingsnow, was shut out, the curtains were drawn, and tea made itsappearance. Evelyn presently returned, and Charles also, who civillywished Lady Mary good-morning, not having seen her till then. She handedhim his tea without a word in reply. It was evident that she, also, wasaware of the robbery, and it is hardly necessary to add that shesuspected Charles. 

"How is my father?" he asked, taking no notice of the frigidity of hermanner. 

"He is asleep at this moment, " she replied. "Ralph is remaining withhim. "

"He is better, then, I hope?"

"He is in a very critical state, and is likely to remain in it. Hisillness was quite serious enough, without having it increased by one ofhis own household. "

"Ah, I was afraid that had been the case, " returned Charles. "I knew youhad been doctoring him when he was out of sorts yesterday. But you mustnot reproach yourself, Aunt Mary. We are none of us infallible. No doubtyou acted for the best at the time, and I dare say what you gave him maynot do him any permanent injury. "

"If that is intended to be amusing, " said Lady Mary, her teacuptrembling in her hand, "I can only say that, in my opinion, wilfullymisunderstanding a simple statement is a very cheap form of wit. "

"I am so glad to hear you say so, " said Charles, rising, "as it was atyour expense. " With which Parthian shot he withdrew. 

I endeavored in vain to waylay Evelyn after tea, but she slipped awayalmost before it was over, and did not appear again till dinner-time. Inthe mean while my brain, fertile in expedients on most occasions, coulddevise no means by which I could speak to her alone, and withoutCharles's knowledge. I felt I must trust to chance. 

CHAPTER XI. 

When I came down before dinner I found Ralph and Charles talkingearnestly by the hall-fire, Ralph's hand on his brother's shoulder. 

"You see we are no farther forward than we were, " he was saying. 

"We shall have Marston back to-morrow, " said Charles, as the gong beganto sound. "We cannot take any step till then, especially if we don'twant to put our foot in it. I have been racking my brains all theafternoon without the vestige of a result. We must just hold our handsfor the moment. "

Dinner was announced, and we waited patiently for a few minutes, andimpatiently for a good many more, until Evelyn hurried down, apologizingfor being late, and with a message from Lady Mary that we were not towait for her, as she was dining up-stairs in her own room--a practice towhich she seemed rather addicted. 

"And where is Aurelia?" asked Ralph. 

"She is not coming down to dinner either, " said Evelyn. "She has a badheadache again, and is lying down. She asked me to tell you that shewishes particularly to see you this evening, as she is going awayto-morrow, and if she is well enough she will come down to themorning-room at nine; indeed, she said she would come down anyhow. "

After Ralph's natural anxiety respecting his ladylove had been relieved, and he had been repeatedly assured that nothing much was amiss, we wentin to dinner, and a more lugubrious repast I never remember beingpresent at. The meals of the day might have been classified thus:breakfast _dismal_; luncheon, _dismaller_ (or more dismal); dinner, _dismallest_ (or most dismal). There really was no conversation. Even I, who without going very deep (which I consider is not in good taste) havesomething to say on almost every subject--even I felt myself nonplussedfor the time being. Each of us in turn got out a few constrained words, and then relapsed into silence. 

Evelyn ate nothing, and her hand trembled so much when she poured out aglass of water that she spilled some on the cloth. I saw Charles waswatching her furtively, and I became more and more certain that Aureliawas right, and that Evelyn knew something about the mystery of the nightbefore. I must and would speak to her that very evening. 

"Bitterly cold, " said Ralph, when at last we had reached the dessertstage. "It is snowing still, and the wind is getting up. "

In truth, the wind was moaning round the house like an uneasy spirit. 

"That sound in the wind always means snow, " said Charles, evidently forthe sake of saying something. "It is easterly, I should think. Yes, "after a pause, when another silence seemed imminent, "there goes theeight o'clock train. It must be quite a quarter of an hour late, though, for it has struck eight some time. I can hear it distinctly. The stationis three miles away, and you never hear the train unless the wind is inthe east. "

"Come, Charles, not three miles--two miles and a half, " put in Ralph. 

"Well, two and a half from here down to the station, but certainly threefrom the station up here, " replied Charles; and so silence waslaboriously avoided by diligent small-talk until we returned to thedrawing-room, thankful that there at least we could take up a book, andbe silent if we wished. We all did wish it, apparently. Evelyn wassitting by a lamp when we came in, with a book before her, her elbow onthe table, shading her face with a slender delicate hand. She remainedmotionless, her eyes fixed upon the page, but I noticed after some timethat she had never turned it over. Charles may have read his newspaper, but if he did it was with one eye upon Evelyn all the time. Betweenwatching them both I did not, as may be imagined, make much progressmyself. How was I to manage to speak to Evelyn alone, and withoutCharles's knowledge?

At last Ralph, who had gone into the morning-room, opened thedrawing-room door and put his head in. 

"Aurelia has not come down yet, and it is a quarter past nine. I wishyou would run up, Evelyn, and see if she is coming. "

"She is sure to come!" replied Evelyn, without raising her eyes. "Shesaid she _must_ see you. "

Ralph disappeared again, and the books and papers were studied anew withunswerving devotion. At the end of another ten minutes, however, theimpatient lover reappeared. 

"It is half-past nine, " he said, in an injured tone. "Do pray run up, Evelyn. I don't think she can be coming at all. I am afraid she isworse. "

Evelyn laid down her book and left the room. Ralph sauntered back intothe morning-room, where we heard him beguiling his solitude with a fewchords on the piano. 

Presently Evelyn returned. She was pale even to the lips, and her voicefaltered as she said:

"She has not gone to bed, for there is a light in her room; but shewould not answer when I knocked, and the door is locked. "

"All of which circumstances are not sufficient to make you as white as aghost, " said Charles. "I think even if Aurelia has a headache, you wouldbear the occurrence with fortitude. My dear child, you do not act sowell off the stage as on it. There is something on your mind. Peopledon't upset water at dinner, and refuse all food except pellets ofpinched bread, for nothing. What is it?"

Evelyn sank into a chair, and covered her face with her trembling hands. 

"Yes, I thought so, " said Charles, kneeling down by her, and gentlywithdrawing her hands. "Come, Evelyn, what is it?"

"I dare not say. " And she turned away her face, and tried to disengageher hands, but Charles held them firmly. 

"Is it about what happened last night?" he asked, in a tone that waskind, but that evidently intended to have an answer. 

"Yes. "

"And do you know that I am suspected?"

"You, Charles? Never!" she cried, starting up. 

"Yes, I. Suspected by my own father. So, if you know anything, Evelyn--which I see you do--it is your duty to tell us, and to help usin every way you can. "

He had let go her hands now, and had risen. 

"I don't know anything for certain, " she said, "but--but we soon shall. Aurelia knows, and she is going to tell Ralph. "

"Miss Grant!" I exclaimed. "She knew nothing at tea-time. She was askingme about it. "

"It is since then, " continued Evelyn. "I went up to her room beforedinner to ask her for a fan that I had lent her. She was packing some ofher things, and the floor was strewn with packing-paper and parcels. Shegave me my fan, and was going on putting her things together, talkingall the time, when she asked me to hand her a glove-box on thedressing-table. As I did so my eye fell on a piece of paper lyingtogether with others, and I instantly recognized it as the same that hadbeen wrapped round the diamond crescent when Colonel Middleton firstshowed us the jewels. I should never have noticed it--for though it wasrice paper, it looked just like the other pieces strewn about--if I hadnot seen two little angular tears, which I suddenly remembered making init myself when General Marston asked me not to pull it to pieces, whichI suppose I had been absently doing. I made some sort of exclamation ofsurprise, and Aurelia turned round sharply, and asked me what was thematter. As I did not answer, she left her packing and came to the table. She saw in a moment what I was looking at. I had turned as red as fire, and she was quite white. 'I did not mean you to see that, ' she said, atlast, quietly taking up the paper. 'I meant no one to know until I hadshown it to Ralph. _Do you know where I found it?_' and she looked hardat me. I could only shake my head. I was too much ashamed of a suspicionI had had to be able to get out a word. 'I am very sorry, ' continuedAurelia, 'but I am afraid it will be my duty to tell Ralph, whatever theconsequences may be. I have been thinking it over, and I think he oughtto know. I am going to show it him to-night after dinner, ' and she putit in her pocket, and then began to cry. I did not know what to say ordo, I was so frightened at the thought of what was coming; and, as thedressing-bell rang at that moment, I was just leaving the room when shecalled me back. 

"'I can't come down to dinner, ' she said. 'I hate Ralph to see me withred eyes. Tell him I shall come down afterwards, at nine o'clock, andthat I want to see him particularly; only don't tell him what it isabout, or mention it to any one else. I did not mean any one to knowtill he did. '

"She began to cry afresh, and I made her lie down and put a shawl overher, and then left her, as I had still to dress, and I knew that AuntMary was not coming down. I was late as it was. "

"Is that all?" said Charles, who had been listening intently. 

"All, " replied Evelyn. "We shall soon know the worst now. "

"Very soon, " said Charles. "Ralph may come in here at any moment. Evelynand Middleton, will you have the goodness to come with me?" And he ledthe way into the hall. 

We could hear Ralph in the next room, humming over an old Irish melody, with an improvised accompaniment. 

"Now show me her room, " said Charles, "and please be quick about it. "

Evelyn looked at him astonished, and then led the way up-stairs, alongthe picture-gallery to another wing of the house. She stopped at lastbefore a door at the end of a passage, dimly lighted by a lamp at thefarther end. There was a light under the door, and a bright chink in thekey-hole, but though we listened intently we could hear nothing stirringwithin. 

"Knock again, " said Charles to Evelyn. "Louder!" as her hand failed her. 

There was no answer. As we listened the light within disappeared. 

"Bring that lamp from the end of the passage, " said Charles to Evelyn, and she brought it. 

"Hold it there, " he said; "and you, Middleton, stand aside. "

He took a few steps backward, and then flung himself against the doorwith his whole force. It cracked and groaned, but resisted. 

"The lock is old. It is bound to go, " he said, panting a little. 

"Really, Charles, " I remonstrated--"a lady's private apartment! MissDerrick, I wonder you allow this. "

Charles retreated again, and then made a fresh and even fierceronslaught on the door. There was a sound of splintering wood and ofbursting screws, and in another moment the door flew open inward, andCharles was precipitated head-foremost into the room, his evening-pumpsflourishing wildly in the air. In an instant he was on his feet again, gasping hard, and had seized the lamp out of Evelyn's hand. Before I hadtime to remonstrate on the liberty that he was taking, we were all threein the room. 

It was empty!

In one corner stood a box, half packed, with various articles ofclothing lying by it. On the dressing-table was a whole medley of littlefeminine knick-knacks, with a candlestick in the midst, the dead wickstill smoking in the socket, and accounting for the disappearance of thelight a few minutes before. The fire had gone out, but on a chair by itwas laid a little black lace evening-gown, evidently put out to be worn;while over the fender a dainty pair of silk stockings had been hung, andtwo diminutive black satin shoes were waiting on the hearth-rug. Thewhole aspect of the room spoke of a sudden and precipitate flight. 

"Bolted!" said Charles, when he had recovered his breath. "And so themystery is out at last! I might have known there was a woman at thebottom of it. Unpremeditated, though, " he continued, looking round. "Shemeant to have gone to-morrow; but your recognition of that paperfrightened her, though she turned it off well to gain time. No foolthat! She had only an hour, and she made the most of it, and got off, nodoubt, while we were at dinner, by the 8. 2 London train, which is thelast to-night; and after the telegraph office was closed, too! She knewnothing could be done till to-morrow. She has more wit than I gave hercredit for. "

"I distrusted her before, though I had no reason for it, but I neverthought she was gone, " said Evelyn, trembling violently, and stilllooking round the room. 

"I knew it, " said Charles, "from the moment I saw the light through thekey-hole. A key-hole with a key in it would not have shown half theamount of light through it; and a locked door without a key in it issafe to have been locked _from the outside_. Had she a maid with her?"

"No, " replied Evelyn, "she used to come to me next door when she wantedhelp--but not often--because I think she knew I did not like her, thoughI tried not to show it. "

"Well, we have seen the last of her, or I am much mistaken, " saidCharles. "And now, " he added, compressing his lips, "I suppose I must goand tell Ralph. "

"Oh, Ralph! Ralph!" gasped Evelyn, with a sudden sob; "and he was sofond of her!"

"And so you distrusted her before, Evelyn? And why did you not mentionthat fact a little sooner?"

"Without any reason for it? And when Ralph--Oh, I couldn't! I couldn't!"said the girl, crimsoning. 

Charles gazed intently at her as she turned away, pressing her handstightly together, and evidently struggling with some sudden emotion forwhich there really was no apparent reason. She was overwrought, Isuppose; and indeed the exertion of breaking in the door had been rathertoo much for Charles too; for, now that the excitement was over, hishand shook so much that he had to put down the lamp, and even his voicetrembled a little as he said:

"I don't think Ralph is very much to be pitied. He has had a narrowescape. "

"Don't come down again, either of you, " he continued a moment later, inhis usual voice. "I had better go and get it over at once. He will bewondering what has become of us if I wait much longer. Evelyn, good-night. Good-night, Middleton. If it is too early for you to go tobed, you will find a fire in the smoking-room. "

I bade Evelyn good-night, and followed Charles down the corridor. Hereplaced the lamp with a hand that was steady enough now, and wentslowly across the picture-gallery. The way to my room led me through italso. Involuntarily I stopped at the head of the great carved staircasewhich led into the hall, and watched him going down, step by step, withlagging tread. From the morning-room came the distant sound of a piano, and a man's voice singing to it; singing softly, as though no Nemesiswere approaching; singing slowly, as if there were time enough and tospare. But Nemesis had reached the bottom of the staircase; Nemesis, with a heavy step, was going across the silent hall--was even nowopening the door of the morning-room. The door was gently closed again, and then, in the middle of a bar, the music stopped. 

CHAPTER XII. 

I passed an uneasy night. The wind moaned wearily round the house, atone moment seeming to die away altogether, at another returning withredoubled fury, roaring down the wide chimney, shaking the wholebuilding. It dropped completely towards dawn, and after hours of fitfulslumber I slept heavily. 

In the gray of the early morning I was awakened by some one coming intomy room, and started up to find Charles standing by my bedside, dressed, and with a candle in his hand. His face was worn and haggard from wantof sleep. 

"I have come to speak to you before I go, Middleton, " he said, when Iwas thoroughly awake. "Ralph and I are off by the early train. Will youtell my father that we may not be able to return till to-morrow, ifthen; and may I count upon you to keep all you saw and heard secret tillafter our return?"

"Where are you going?"

"To London. We start in twenty minutes. I don't think it is the leastuse, but Ralph insists on going, and I cannot let him go alone. "

"My dear Charles, " I said (all my anger had vanished at the sight of hisworn face), "I will accompany you. "

"Not for worlds!" he replied, hastily. "It would be no good. Indeed, Ishould not wish it. "

But I knew better. 

"An old head is often of use, " I replied, rapidly getting into myclothes. "You may count on me, Charles. I shall be ready in tenminutes. "

Charles made some pretence at annoyance, but I was not to be dissuaded. I knew very well how invaluable the judgment of an elder man ofexperience could be on critical occasions; and besides, I always make apoint of seeing everything I can, on all occasions. In ten minutes I wasdown in the dining-room, where, beside a spluttering fire, the brothers, both heavily booted and ulstered, were drinking coffee by candle-light. A hastily laid breakfast was on the table, but it had not been touched. The gray morning light was turning the flame of the candles to a rustyyellow, and outside, upon the wide stone sills, the snow lay highagainst the panes. 

Ralph was sitting with bent head by the fire, stick and cap in hand, hisheavy boot beating the floor impatiently. He looked up as I came in, butdid not speak. The ruddy color in his cheeks was faded, his face wasdrawn and set. He looked ten years older. 

"We ought to be off, " he said at last, in a low voice. 

"No hurry, " replied Charles; "finish your coffee. "

I hastily drank some also, and told Charles that I was coming with them. 

"No!" said Charles. 

"Yes!" I replied. "You are going to London, and so am I. I have decidedto curtail my visit by a few days, under the circumstances. I shalltravel up with you. My luggage can follow. "

As soon as Charles grasped the idea that I was not going to return toStoke Moreton his opposition melted away; he even seemed to hail mydeparture with a certain sense of relief. 

"As you like, " he said. "You can leave at this unearthly hour if youwish, and travel with us as far as Paddington. "

I nodded, and went after my great-coat. Of course I had not theslightest intention of leaving them at Paddington; but I felt that thetime had not arrived to say so. 

"Here comes the dog-cart, " said Charles, as I returned. 

Ralph was already on his feet. But the dog-cart, with its great bayhorse, could not be brought up to the door. The snow had drifted heavilybefore the steps, and right up into the archway, and the cart had to goround to the back again before we could get in and start. Charles tookthe reins, and his brother got up beside him. The groom and I squeezedourselves into the back seat. I could see that I was only allowed tocome on sufferance, and that at the last moment they would have beenwilling to dispense with my presence. However, I felt that I shouldnever have forgiven myself if I had let them go alone. Charles was notthirty, and Ralph several years younger. An experienced man of fifty toconsult in case of need might be of the greatest assistance in anemergency. 

"Quicker!" said Ralph; "we shall miss the train. "

"No quicker, if we mean to catch it, " said Charles. "I allowed tenminutes extra for the snow. We shall do it if we go quietly, but not ifI let him go. An upset would clinch the matter. "

We drove noiselessly through the great gates with their stone lions oneither side, rampant in wreaths of snow, and up the village street, where life was hardly stirring yet. The sun was rising large and red, aball of dull fire in the heavy sky. It seemed to be rising on a deadworld. Before us (only to be seen on my part by craning round) stretchedthe long white road. At intervals, here and there among the shroudedfields, lay cottages half hidden by a white network of trees. Groups ofyellow sheep stood clustered together under hedge-rows, motionless inthe low mist, and making no sound. A lonely colt, with tail erect, ranbeside us on the other side of the hedge as far as his field would allowhim, his heavy hoofs falling noiseless in the snow. The cold wasintense. 

"There will be a drift at the bottom of Farrow hill, " said Ralph; "weshall be late for the train. "

And in truth, as we came cautiously down the hill, on turning a cornerwe beheld a smooth sheet of snow lapping over the top of the hedge onone side, like iced sugar on a cake, and sloping downward to the ditchon the other side of the road. 

"Hold on!" cried Charles, as I stood up to look; and in another momentwe were pushing our way through the snow, keeping as near the ditch aspossible--too near, as it turned out. But it was not to be. A few yardsin front of us lay the road--snowy, but practicable; but we could notreach it. We swayed backward and forward; we tilted up and down; Charleswhistled, and made divers consolatory and encouraging sounds to the bayhorse; but the bay horse began to plunge--he made a side movement--onewheel crunched down through the ice in the ditch, and all was over--atleast, all in the cart were. We fell soft--I most providentiallyalighting on the groom, who was young, and inclined to be plump, andthus breaking a fall which to a heavy man of my age might have beenserious. Charles and Ralph were up in a moment. 

"I thought I could not do it; but it was worth a trial, " said Charles, shaking himself. "George, look after the horse and cart, and take themstraight back. Now, Ralph, we must run for it if we mean to catch thetrain. Middleton, you had better go back in the cart. " And off they set, plunging through the snow without further ceremony. I watched the twodark figures disappearing, aghast with astonishment. They werepositively leaving me behind! In a moment my mind was made up; and, leaving the gasping young groom to look after the horse and cart, I setoff to run too. It was only a chance, of course; but in this weather thetrain might be late. It was all the way downhill. I thought I could doit, and I did. My feet were balled with snow; I was hotter than I hadbeen for years; I was completely out of breath; but when I puffed intothe little road-side station, five minutes after the train was due, Icould see that it was not yet in, and that Ralph and Charles werewaiting on the platform. 

"My word, Middleton!" said Charles, coming to meet me. "I thought I hadseen the last of you when I left you reclining on George in the drift. Ido believe you have got yourself into this state of fever-heat purely tobe of use to us two; and I treated you very cavalierly, I am sure. Letby-gones be by-gones, and let us shake hands while you are in thismelting mood. "

I could not speak, but we shook hands cordially; and I hurried off toget my ticket. 

"You can only book to Tarborough!" he called after me, "where we change, and catch the London express. "

The station-master gave me my ticket, and then approached Charles, andtouched his cap. 

"Might any of you gentlemen be going to London, sir?" he inquired. 

"All three of us. "

"I don't think you will get on, sir. The news came down this morningthat the evening express from Tarborough last night was thrown off therails by a drift, and got knocked about, and I don't expect the line isclear yet. There will be no trains running till later in the day, I amafraid. "

"The night express?" said Ralph, suddenly. 

"Do you mean the 9 train, which you can catch by the 8. 2 from here?"

"Yes, sir. "

"She was in it!" said Ralph, in a hoarse voice, as the man walked away. 

"How late the train is!" said Charles; "quarter of an hour already. Isay, Jervis, " calling after him, "any particulars about the accident?Serious?"

"Oh dear no, sir, not to my knowledge. Never heard of anything but thatthe train had been upset, and had stopped the traffic. "

"Not many people travelling in such weather, at any rate. I dare saythere was not a creature who went from here by the last train lastnight?"

"Only two, sir. One of the young gentlemen from the rectory, and a younglady, who was very near late, poor thing, and all wet with snow. Ah, there she is, at last!" as the train came in sight; and he went throughthe ceremony of ringing the bell, although we were the only travellerson the platform. 

It was only an hour's run to Tarborough, where we were to join the mainline. 

"What are we to do now?" said Charles, as the chimneys of Tarboroughhove in sight, and the train slackened. "Ten to one we shall not be ableto get on to London!"

"Nor she either, " said Ralph. "I shall see her! I shall see her here!"

There was an air of excitement about the whole station as we drew upbefore the platform. Groups of railway officials were clusteredtogether, talking eagerly; the bar-maids were all looking out of therefreshment-room door; policemen were stationed here and there; andoutside the iron gates of the station a little crowd of people werewaiting in the trodden yellow snow, peering through the bars. 

We got out, and Charles went up to a respectable-looking man in black, evidently an official of some consequence, and asked what was thematter. The man informed him that a special had been sent down the linewith workmen to clear the rails, and that its return, with thepassengers in the ill-fated express, was expected at any moment. 

"You don't mean to say the wretched passengers have been there allnight?" exclaimed Charles. From the man's account it appeared that thetravellers had taken refuge in a farm near the scene of the accident, and, the snow-storm continuing very heavily, it had not been thoughtexpedient to send a train down the line to bring them away till afterdaybreak. "It has been gone an hour, " he said, looking at the clock;"and it is hardly nine yet. Considering how late we received notice ofthe accident--for the news had to travel by night, and on foot for aconsiderable distance--I don't think there has been much delay. "

"Will all the passengers come back by this train?" asked Ralph. 

"Yes sir. "

"We will wait, " said Ralph; and he went and paced up and down the mostdeserted part of the platform. The man followed him with his eyes. 

"Anxious about friends, sir?" he asked Charles. 

"Yes, " I heard Charles say, as I went off to warm myself by thewaiting-room fire, keeping a sharp lookout for the arrival of the train. When I came out some time later, wondering if it were ever going toarrive at all, I found Charles and the man in black walking up and downtogether, evidently in earnest conversation. When I joined them theyceased talking (I never can imagine why people generally do when I comeup), and the latter said that he would make inquiry at thebooking-office, and left us. 

"Who is that man?" I asked. 

"How should I know?" said Charles, absently. "He says he has been aLondon detective till just lately, but he is an inspector of police now. Well?" as the man returned. 

"Booking-clerk can't remember, sir; but the clerk at the telegraphoffice remembers a young lady leaving a telegram last night, to be senton first thing this morning. "

"Has it been sent yet?"

"Yes, sir; some time. "

"Where was it sent to?"

"That is against rules, sir. The clerk has no right to give information. Anyhow, it is as good as certain, from what you say, that the party wasin the train, and at all events you will not be kept in doubt muchlonger;" and he pointed to the long-expected puff of white smoke in thedirection in which all eyes had been so anxiously turned. The train cameslowly round a broad curve and crawled into the station. Ralph had comeup, and his eyes were fixed intently upon it. The hand he laid onCharles's arm shook a little as he whispered, in a hoarse voice, "I mustspeak to her alone before anything is said. "

"You shall, " replied Charles; and he moved forward a little, and waitedfor the passengers to alight. I felt that any chance of escape which layin eluding those keen light eyes would be small indeed. 

Then ensued a scene of confusion, a Babel of tongues, as the passengerspoured out upon the platform. "What was the meaning of it all?" hotlydemanded an infuriated little man before he was well out of thecarriage. "Why had a train been allowed to start if it was to beoverturned by a snow-drift? What had the company been about not to makeitself aware of the state of the line? What did the railway officialsmean by--" etc. But he was not going to put up with such scandaloustreatment. He should cause an inquiry to be made; he should write to the_Times_, he should--in short, he behaved like a true Englishman inadverse circumstances, and poured forth abuse like water. Othersfollowed--some angry, some silent, all cold and miserable. A stout womanin black, who had been sent for to a dying child, was weeping aloud; adazed man with bound-up head and a terrified wife were pounced uponimmediately by expectant friends, and borne off with voluble sympathy. One or two people slightly hurt were helped out after the others. Thetrain was emptied at last. Aurelia was not there. Charles went down thelength of the train looking into each carriage, and then came back, answering Ralph's glance with a shake of the head. The man in black, whoseemed to have been watching him, came up. 

"Have _all_ come back by this train?" Charles asked. 

"All, sir, except, "--and he hesitated--"except a few. The doctor whowent has not returned; and the guard says there were some of thepassengers, badly hurt, that he would not allow to be moved from thefarm when the train came for them. The engine-driver and one or twoothers were--"

Charles made a sign to him to be silent. 

"How far is it?" he asked. 

"Twenty miles, sir. "

"Are the roads practicable?"

"No, sir. At least they would be very uncertain once you got into thelanes. "

"We can walk along the line, " said Ralph. "That must be clear. Let usstart at once. "

"Could not the station-master send us down on an engine?" asked Charles. "We would pay well for it. "

The police-inspector shook his head, but Charles went off to inquire, nevertheless, and he followed him. I thought him a very pushing, inquisitive kind of person. I have always had a great dislike to theidle curiosity which is continually prying into the concerns of others. Ralph and I walked up and down, up and down, the now deserted platform. I spoke to him once or twice, but he hardly answered; and after a time Igave it up, and we paced in silence. 

At last Charles returned. His request for an engine had been refused, but a further relay of workmen was being sent down the line in a coupleof hours' time, and he had obtained leave for himself and us to go withthem. After two long interminable hours of that everlasting pacing wefound ourselves in an open truck, full of workmen, steaming slowly outof the station. At the last moment the man in black jumped in, andaccompanied us. 

The pace may have been great, but to us it seemed exasperatingly slow, and in the open truck the cold was piercing. The workmen, who laughedand talked among themselves, appeared to take no notice of it; but I sawthat Charles was shivering, and presently he made his brother light hispipe, and began to smoke hard himself. 

Ralph's pipe, however, went out unheeded in his fingers. He sat quitestill with his back against the side of the truck, his eyes fixed uponthe gray horizon. Once he turned suddenly to his brother, and said, asif unable to keep silence on what was in his mind, "What was herobject?"

Charles shook his head. 

"They were hers already!" he went on. "She would have had them all. Ifshe had had debts, I would have paid them. What could her object havebeen?" And seemingly, without expecting a reply, he relapsed intosilence. 

We had left the suburbs now, and were passing through a lonely country. Here and there a village of straggling cottages met the eye, clusteringround their little church. In places the hedge-rows alone marked the lieof the hidden lanes; in others men were digging out the roads throughdrifts of snow, and carts and horses were struggling painfully along. Inone place a little walking funeral was laboring across the fields from alonely cottage, in the direction of the church, high on the hill, thebell of which was tolling through the quiet air. The sound reached us aswe passed, and seemed to accompany us on our way. I heard the mentalking among themselves that there had been no snow-storm like to thisfor thirty years; and as they spoke some of them began shading theireyes, and trying to look in the direction in which we were going. 

We had now reached a low waste of unenclosed land, with sedge and gorsepricking up everywhere through the snow, and with long lines of pollardsmarking the bed of a frozen stream. Near the line was a desertedbrick-kiln, surrounded by long uneven mounds and ridges of ice, withthree poplars mounting guard over it. Flights of rooks hung over thebarren ground, and wheeled in the air with discordant clamor as wepassed--the only living moving things in the utter desolation of thescene. As I looked there was an exclamation from one of the workmen, andthe engine began to slacken. We were there at last. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The engine and trucks stopped, the men shouldered their tools andtumbled out, and we followed them. A few hundred paces in front of uswas a railway bridge, over which a road passed, and under which the railwent at a sharp curve. The snow had drifted heavily against the bridge, with its high earth embankment, making manifest at a glance the cause ofthe disaster. 

The bridge was crowded with human figures, and on the line below menwere working in the drift, amid piles of débris and splintered wood. Thewrecked train had all been slightly draped in snow; the engine alone, barely cold, lying black and grim, like some mighty giant, formidable indeath. A sheet of glass ice near it showed how the boiler had burst. Some of the hindermost carriages were still standing, or had fallencomparatively uninjured; but others seemed to have leaped upon theirfellows, and ploughed right through them into the drift. It was wellthat it began to snow as we reached the spot. There were traces ofdismal smears on the white ground which it would be seemly to hide. 

Our friend in black went forward and asked a few questions of the man incharge, and presently returned. 

"The remainder of the passengers are at the farm, " he said, pointing toa house at a little distance; and without further delay we began toscramble up the steep embankment, and clamber over the stone-wall of thebridge into the road. My mind was full of other things, but I rememberstill the number of people assembled on the bridge, and how a man wasstanding up in his donkey-cart to view the scene. It was Saturday, andthere were quantities of village school-boys sitting astride on the lowwall, or perched on adjacent hurdles, evidently enjoying the spectacle, jostling, bawling, eating oranges, and throwing the peel at the engine. Some older people touched their hats sympathetically, and one went andopened a gate for us into a field, through which many feet seemed tohave come and gone; but for the greater number the event was evidentlyregarded as an interesting variation in the dull routine of every-daylife; and to the school-boys it was an undoubted treat. 

Ralph and Charles walked on in front, following the track across thefield. It was not particularly heavy walking after what we had hadearlier in the day, but Ralph stumbled perpetually, and presentlyCharles drew his arm through his own, and the two went on together, thepolice-inspector following with me. 

In a few minutes we reached the farm, and entered the farm-yard, whichwas the nearest way to the house. A little knot of calves, intrenched ona mound of straw in the centre of the yard, lowered their heads andlooked askance at us as we came in, and a party of ducks retreatedhastily from our path with a chorus of exclamations, while a thin colliedog burst out of a barrel at the back door, and made a series ofgymnastics at the end of a chain, barking hoarsely, as if he had notspared himself of late. 

An elderly woman with red arms met us at the door, and, on a whisperfrom the police-inspector, first shook her head, and then, in answer toa further whisper, nodded at another door, and, a voice calling her fromwithin, hastily disappeared. 

The inspector opened the door she had indicated and went in, I with him. Charles, who had grown very grave, hung back with Ralph, who seemed toomuch dazed to notice anything in heaven above or the earth beneath. Thedoor opened into an out-house, roughly paved with round stones, wherebarrels, staves, and divers lumber had been put away. There was straw inthe farther end of it, out of which a yellow cat raised two gleamingeyes, and then flew up a ladder against the wall, and disappeared amongthe rafters. In the middle of the floor, lying a little apart, werethree figures with sheets over them. Instinctively we felt that we werein the presence of death. I looked back at Charles and Ralph, who werestill standing outside in the falling snow. Charles was bareheaded, butRalph was looking absently in front of him, seeming conscious ofnothing. The inspector made me a sign. He had raised one of the sheets, and now withdrew it altogether. My heart seemed to stand still. _It wasAurelia!_ Aurelia changed in the last great change of all, but stillAurelia. The fixed artificial color in the cheek consorted ill with thebloodless pallor of the rest of the face, which was set in a look ofsurprise and terror. She was altered beyond what should have been. Shelooked several years older. But it was still Aurelia. Those littlegloved hands, tightly clinched, were the same which she had held to thelibrary fire as we talked the day before; even the dress was the same. Alas! she had been in too great a hurry to change it before she left, orher thin shoes. Poor little Aurelia! And then--I don't know how it was, but in another moment Ralph was kneeling by her, bending over her, taking the stiffened hands in his trembling clasp, imploring the deafears to hear him, calling wildly to the pale lips to speak to him, whichhad done with human speech. I could not bear it, and I turned away andlooked out through the open door at the snow falling. The inspector cameand stood beside me. In the silence which followed we could hear Charlesspeaking gently from time to time; and when at last we both turnedtowards them again, Ralph had flung himself down on an old bench at thefarther end of the out-house, with his back turned towards us, his armsresting on a barrel, and his head bowed down upon them. He neither spokenor moved. 

Charles left him, and came towards us, and he and the inspector spokeapart for a moment, and then the latter dropped on his knees beside thedead woman, and, after looking carefully at a dark stain on one of thewrists, turned back the sleeve. Crushed deep into the round white armgleamed something bright. It was an emerald bracelet which we both knew. Charles cast a hasty glance at Ralph, but he had not moved, and he drewme beside him, so as to interpose our two figures between him and theinspector. The latter quietly turned down the sleeve and recomposed thearm. 

"I knew she would have them on her, if she had them at all, " he said, ina low voice. "We need look no farther at present. Not one will bemissing. They are all there. "

He gazed long and earnestly at the dead face, and then to my horror hesuddenly unfastened the little hat. I made an involuntary movement as ifto stop him, but Charles laid an iron grip upon me, and motioned to meto be still. The stealthy hand quietly pushed back the fair curls uponthe forehead, and in another moment they fell still farther back, showing a few short locks of dark hair beneath them, which so completelyaltered the dead face that I could hardly recognize it as belonging tothe same person. The inspector raised his head, and looked significantlyat Charles. Then he quietly drew forward the yellow hair over theforehead again, replaced the hat, and rose to his feet. Charles and Iglanced apprehensively at Ralph, but he had not stirred. As we looked, ahurried step came across the yard, a hand raised the latch of the door, and some one entered abruptly. It was Carr. For one moment he stood inthe door-way, for one moment his eyes rested horror-struck on the deadwoman, then darted at us, from us to the inspector, who was coollywatching him, and--he was gone! gone as suddenly as he had come; goneswiftly out again into the falling snow, followed by the wild barking ofthe dog. 

Charles, who had had his back to the door, turned in time to see him, and he made a rush for the door, but the inspector flung himself in hisway, and held him forcibly. 

"Let me go! Let me get at him!" panted Charles, struggling furiously. 

"I shall do no such thing, sir. It can do no good, and might do harm. Heis armed, and you are not; and he would not be over-scrupulous if hewere pushed. Besides, what can you accuse him of? Intent to rob? For hedid not do it. If you have lost anything, remember, you have found itagain. If you caught him a hundred times, you have no hold on him. Iknow him of old. "

"You?"

"Yes; I have known him by sight long enough. He is not a new hand by anymeans--nor she either, as to that, poor thing. "

"But what on earth brought him here?"

"He was waiting for news of her in London, most likely, and he knew shewould have the jewels on her, and came down when he got wind of theaccident. "

"Knew she would have the jewels! Then do you mean to say there wascollusion between the two?"

The inspector glanced furtively at Ralph, but he had never stirred, orraised his head since he had laid it down on his clinched hands. 

"They are both well known to the police, " he said at last, "and I thinkit probable there was collusion between them, considering they were _manand wife_. "

CONCLUSION. 

I am told that I ought to write something in the way of a conclusion tothis account of the Danvers jewels, as if the end of the last chapterwere not conclusion enough. Charles, who has just read it, saysespecially that his character requires what he calls "an elegantfinish, " and suggests that a slight indication of a young and lovelyheiress in connection with himself would give pleasure to the thoughtfulreader. But I do not mean at the last moment to depart from the exacttruth, and dabble in fiction just to make a suitable conclusion. If Imust write something more, I must beg that it will be kept in mind thatif further details concerning the robbery are now added against my ownjudgment, they will rest on Charles's authority--not mine--as anything Iafterwards heard was only through Charles, whose information I neverconsider reliable in the least degree. 

 * * * * *

It was not till three months later that I saw him again, on a wet Aprilafternoon. I was still living in London with Jane when he came to seeme, having just returned from a long tour abroad with Ralph. 

Sir George, he said, was quite well again, but the coolness betweenhimself and his father had dropped almost to freezing-point since it hadcome to light that he had been innocent after all. His father could notforgive his son for putting him in the wrong. 

"I seldom disappoint him in matters of this kind, " he said. "Indeed, Imay say I have, as a rule, surpassed his expectations, and I must becareful never to fall short of them in this way again. But ah! MissMiddleton, I am sure you will agree with me how difficult it is topreserve an even course without relaxing a little at times. "

"My dear Mr. Charles, " said Jane, beaming at him over her knitting, butnot quite taking him in the manner he intended, "you are young yet, butdon't be downhearted. I am sure by your face that as you grow olderthese deviations, which you so properly regret, will grow fewer andfewer, until, as life goes on, they will gradually cease altogether. "

"I consider it not improbable myself, " said Charles, with a faint smile, and he changed the conversation. I really cannot put down here all thathe proceeded to say in the most cold-blooded manner concerning Carr andAurelia, or as he _would_ call them, Mr. And Mrs. Brown, _alias_Sinclair, _alias_ Tibbits. I for one don't believe a word of it; and Idon't see how he could have found it all out, as he said he had, throughthe police, and people of that kind. I don't consider it is at allrespectable consorting with the police in that way; but then Charlesnever was respectable, as I told Jane after he left, arousing excitedfeelings on her part which made me regret having mentioned it. 

According to him, Carr, who had never been seen or heard of since theday after the accident, was a professional thief, who had probably goneto ---- in India with the express design of obtaining possession of SirJohn's jewels, which had, till near the time of his death, been safelystowed away in a bank in Calcutta. He and his wife usually workedtogether; but on this occasion she had, by means of her engaging mannersand youthful appearance, struck up an acquaintance abroad with Lady MaryCunningham, who, it will be remembered, had jewels of considerablevalue, with a view to those jewels. Ralph she had used as her tool, andengaged herself to him in the expectation that on her return to Englandshe might, by means of her intimacy with the family, have an opportunityof taking them--Lady Mary having left them, while abroad, with herbanker in London. The opportunity came while she was at Stoke Moreton;but in the mean while Sir John's priceless legacy had arrived, havingeluded her husband's vigilance. (That certainly was true. The jewelswere safe enough as long as I had anything to do with them. ) Herhusband, who followed them, saw that he was suspected, and threw thegame into her hands, devoting himself entirely to putting his owninnocence beyond a doubt; in which, with Ralph's assistance, hesucceeded. 

"I see now, " continued Charles, "why she spilled her tea when Carrarrived. She was taken by surprise on seeing him enter the room, havinghad, probably, no idea that he was the friend whom you had telegraphedfor. I suspect, too, that same evening, after the ball, when she andCarr went together to find the bag, it was to have a last word to enablethem to play into each other's hands, being aware, if I rememberrightly, that father had gone to bed in company with the key of thesafe, and that, consequently, the jewels might be left within easierreach than usual. No doubt she weighed the matter in her own mind, anddecided to give up all thought of Lady Mary's jewels, and to securethose which were ten times their value. She could not have taken bothwithout drawing suspicion upon herself. Like a wise woman she left thesmaller, and went in for the larger prize; a less clever one would havetried for both, and have failed. She failed, it is true, by anoversight. She could never have noticed that the piece of paper wrappedround the crescent was peculiar in any way, or she would not have leftit on the table among the others. She turned it off well when Evelynrecognized it, and made the most of her time. She was within an ace ofsuccess, but fate was against her. And Carr lost no time, either, forthat matter; for I have since found out that the telegram she sent wasto Birmingham, where he was no doubt hiding, bidding him meet her inLondon earlier than had been arranged. Of course he set off for thescene of the accident directly he heard of it, having received nofurther communication from her. We arrived only ten minutes before him. For my part, I admired _her_ more than I ever did before, when the truthabout her came out. I considered her to be a pink-and-white nonentity, without an idea beyond a neat adjustment of pearl-powder, and then foundthat she possessed brains enough to outwit two minds of no mean calibre, namely, yours, Middleton, and my own. Evelyn was the only person who hadthe slightest suspicion of her, and that hardly amounted to more than aninstinct, for she owned that she had no reason to show for it. "

"I wonder Lady Mary was so completely taken in by her to start with, " Isaid. 

"I don't, " replied Charles. "I have even heard of elderly men beingtaken in by young ones. Besides, suspicious people are always liable todistrust their own nearest relatives, especially their prepossessingnephews, and then lay themselves open to be taken in by entirestrangers. She wanted to get Ralph married, and she took a fancy to thisgirl, who was laying herself out to be taken a fancy to. In short, shetrusted to her own judgment, and it failed her, as usual. I wrote verykindly to her from abroad, telling her how sincerely I sympathized withher in her distress at finding how entirely her judgment had been atfault, how lamentably she had been deceived from first to last, and howmuch trouble she had been the innocent means of bringing on the family. I have had no reply. Dear Aunt Mary! That reminds me that she is inLondon now; and I think a call from me, and a personal expression ofsympathy, might give her pleasure. " And he rose to take his leave. 

I had let Charles go without contradicting a word he had said, because, unfortunately, I was not in a position to do so. As I have said before, I am not given to suspecting a friend, even though appearances may beagainst him; and I still believed in Carr's innocence, though I must ownthat I was sorry that he never answered any of the numerous letters Iwrote to him, or ever came to see me in London, as I had particularlyasked him to do. Of course I did not believe that he was married toAurelia, for it was only on the word of a stranger and apolice-inspector, while I knew from his own lips that he was engaged toa countrywoman of his own. However, be that how it may, my own rootedconviction at the time, which has remained unshaken ever since, is thatin some way he became aware that he was unjustly suspected, and being, like all Americans, of a sensitive nature, he retired to his nativeland. Anyhow, I have never seen or heard anything of him since. I amaware that Jane holds a different opinion, but then Charles hadprejudiced her against him--so much so that it has ended by becoming asubject on which we do not converse together. 

 * * * * *

I saw Charles again a few months later on a sultry night in July. I wasleaving town the next day to be present at Ralph's wedding, and Jane andI were talking it over towards ten o'clock, the first cool time in theday, when he walked in. He looked pale and jaded as he sat down wearilyby us at the open window and stroked the cat, which was taking the airon the sill. He said that he felt the heat, and he certainly look verymuch knocked up. I do not feel heat myself, I am glad to say. 

"I am going abroad to-morrow, " he said, after a few remarks on othersubjects. "It is not merely a question of pleasure, though I shall beglad to be out of London; but I have of late become an object of suchincreasing interest to those who possess my autograph that I havedecided on taking change of air for a time. "

"Do you mean to say you are not going down to Stoke Moreton for Ralph'swedding?" I exclaimed. "I thought we should have travelled together, aswe once did six months ago. "

"I can't go, " said Charles, almost sharply. "I have told Ralph so. "

"I am sure he will be very much disappointed, and Evelyn too; and thewedding being from her uncle's house, as she has no home of her own, will make your absence all the more marked. "

"It _must_ be marked, then; but the young people will survive it, andAunt Mary will be thankful. She has not spoken to me since I made thatlittle call upon her in the spring. When I pass her carriage in the Rowshe looks the other way. "

"I am glad Ralph has consoled himself, " I said. "A good and charmingwoman like Evelyn, and a nice steady fellow like Ralph, are bound to behappy together. "

"Yes, " said Charles, "I suppose they are. She deserves to be happy. Shealways liked Ralph, and he _is_ a good fellow. The model young men makeall the running nowadays. In novels the good woman always marries thescapegrace, but it does not seem to be the case in real life. "

"Anyhow, not in this instance, " I remarked, cheerfully. 

"No, not in this instance, as you so justly observe, " he replied, with apassing gleam of amusement in his restless, tired eyes. "And now, "producing a small packet, "as I am not going myself, I want to give mywedding-present to the bride into your charge. Perhaps you will take itdown to-morrow, and give it into her own hands, with my best wishes. "

"Might we see it first?" said Jane, with all a woman's curiosity, evidently scenting a jewel-case from afar. 

Charles unwrapped a small morocco case, and, touching a spring, showedthe diamond crescent, beautifully reset and polished, blazing on its redsatin couch. 

"Ralph said I should have it, and he sent it me some time since, " hesaid, turning it in his hand; "but it seems a pity to fritter it away inpaying bills; and, " in a lower tone, "I should like to give it toEvelyn. I hear she has refused to wear any of Sir John's jewels on herwedding-day, but perhaps, if you were to ask her--she and I are oldfriends--she might make an exception in favor of the crescent. "

And she did. 

 * * * * *

SIR CHARLES DANVERS. 

CHAPTER I. 

"Dear heart, Miss Ruth, my dear, now don't ye be a-going yet, and methat hasn't set eyes on ye this month and more--and as hardly hears abody speak from morning till night. "

"Come, come, Mrs. Eccles, I am always finding people sitting here. Iexpect to see the latch go every minute. "

"Well, and if they do; and some folks are always a-dropping in, anda-setting theirselves down, and a clack-clacking till a body can't get abit of peace! And the things they say! Eh? Miss Ruth, the things I haveheard folks say, a setting as it might be there, in poor Eccles his oldchair by the chimley, as the Lord took him in. "

To the uninitiated, Mrs. Eccles's allusion might have seemed to refer tophotography. But Ruth knew better; a visitation from the Lord beingsynonymous in Slumberleigh Parish with a fall from a ladder, a stroke ofparalysis, or the midnight cart-wheel that disabled Brown when returninglate from the Blue Dragon "not quite hisself. "

"Lor'!" resumed Mrs. Eccles, with an extensive sigh, "there's a deal oftalk in the village now, " glancing inquisitively at the visitor, "abouthim as succeeds to old Mr. Dare; but I never listen to their tales. "

They made a pleasant contrast to each other, the neat old woman, withher shrewd spectacled eyes and active, hard-worked fingers, and theyoung girl, tranquil, graceful, sitting in the shadow, with her slenderungloved hands in her lap. 

They were not sitting in the front parlor, because Ruth was an oldacquaintance; but Mrs. Eccles _had_ a front parlor--a front parlor withthe bottled-up smell in it peculiar to front parlors; a parlor with areal mahogany table, on which photograph albums and a few select volumeswere symmetrically arranged round an inkstand, nestling in a very choicewool-work mat; a parlor with wax-flowers under glass shades on themantle-piece, and an avalanche of paper roses and mixed paper herbs inthe fireplace. 

Ruth knew that sacred apartment well. She knew the name of each of thebooks; she had expressed a proper admiration for the wax-flowers; shehad heard, though she might have forgotten, for she was but young, theprice of the "real Brussels" carpet, and so she might safely bepermitted to sit in the kitchen, and watch Mrs. Eccles darning her son'ssocks. 

I am almost afraid Ruth liked the kitchen best, with its tiled floor andpatch of afternoon sun; with its tall clock in the corner, its line ofstraining geraniums in the low window-shelf, and its high mantle-piececrowned by two china dogs with red lozenges on them, holding baskets intheir mouths. 

"Yes, a deal of talk there is, but nobody rightly seems to know anythingfor certain, " continued Mrs. Eccles, spreading out her hand in the heelof a fresh sock, and pouncing on a modest hole. "Ye see, we never gave athought to _him_, with that great hearty Mr. George, his eldest brother, to succeed when the old gentleman went. And such a fine figure of a manin his clothes as poor Mr. George used to be, and such a favorite withhis old uncle. And then to be took like that, horseback riding at polar, only six weeks after the old gentleman. But I can't hear as anybody'sset eyes on his half-brother as comes in for the property now. He nevercame to Vandon in his uncle's lifetime. They say old Mr. Dare couldn'tbide the French madam as his brother took when his first wife died--aforeigner, with black curls; it wasn't likely. He was always partial toMr. George, and he took him up when his father died; but he never wouldhave anything to say to this younger one, bein' nothin' in the world, sofolks say, but half a French, and black, like his mother. I wondernow--" began Mrs. Eccles, tentatively, with her usual love ofinformation. 

"I wonder, now, " interposed Ruth, quietly, "how the rheumatism isgetting on? I saw you were in church on Sunday evening. "

"Yes, my dear, " began Mrs. Eccles, readily diverted to a subject of suchinterest as herself. "Yes, I always come to the evening service now, though I won't deny as the rheumatics are very pinching at times. But, dear Lord! I never come up to the stalls near the chancel, so you ain'tlikely to see me. To see them Harrises always a-goin' up to the verytop, it does go agen me. I don't say as it's everybody as ought to takethe lowest place. The Lord knows I'm not proud, but I won't go into themchairs down by the font myself; but to see them Harrises, that to mycertain knowledge hasn't a bite of butcher's meat in their heads butonst a week, a-settin' theirselves up--"

"Now, Mrs. Eccles, you know perfectly well all the seats are free in theevening. "

"And so they may be, Miss Ruth, my dear--and don't ye be a-getting upyet--and good Christians, I'm sure, the quality are to abide it. And itdid my heart good to hear the Honorable John preaching as he did in hisnew surplice (as Widder Pegg always puts too much blue in the surplicesto my thinking), all about rich and poor, and one with another. Abeautiful sermon it was; but I wouldn't come up like they Harrises. There's things as is suitable, and there's things as is not. No, I keepto my own place; and I had to turn out old Bessie Pugh this very lastSunday night, as I found a-cocked up there, tho' I was not a matter offive minutes late. Bessie Pugh always was one to take upon herself, and, as I often says to her, when I hear her a-goin' on about free grace andthe like, 'Bessie, ' I says, 'if I was a widder on the parish, and not somuch as a pig to fat up for Christmas, and coming to church reg'lar onLoaf Sunday, which it's not that I ain't sorry for ye, but _I_ wouldn'ttake upon myself, if I was you, to talk of things as I'd better leave tothem as is beholden to nobody and pays their rent reg'lar. I've nopatience--But eh, dear Miss Ruth! look at that gentleman going down theroad, and the dog too. Why, ye haven't so much as got up! He's gone. Hewas a foreigner, and no mistake. Why, good Lord! there he is coming backagain. He's seen me through the winder. Mercy on us! he's opening thegate; he's coming to the door!"

As she spoke, a shadow passed before the window, and some one knocked. 

Mrs. Eccles hastily thrust her darning-needle into the front of herbodice, the general _rendezvous_ of the pins and needles of theestablishment, and proceeded to open the door and plant herself in frontof it. 

Ruth caught a glimpse of an erect light gray figure in the sunshine, surmounted by a brown face, and the lightest of light gray hats. Closebehind stood a black poodle of a dignified and self-engrosseddeportment, wearing its body half shaved, but breaking out in rufflesround its paws, and a tuft at the end of a stiffly undemonstrative tail. 

"The key of the church is kep' at Jones's, by the pump, " said Mrs. Eccles, in the brusque manner peculiar to the freeborn Briton whenbrought in contact with a foreigner. 

"Thank you, madam, " was the reply, in the most courteous of tones, andthe gray hat was off in a moment, showing a very dark, cropped head, "but I do not look for the church. I only ask for the way to the houseof the pastor, Mr. Alwynn. "

Mrs. Eccles gave full and comprehensive directions in a very high key, accompanied by much gesticulation, and then the gray hat was replaced, and the gray figure, followed by the black poodle, marched down thelittle garden path again, and disappeared from view. 

Mrs. Eccles drew a long breath, and turned to her visitor again. 

"Well, my dear, and did ye ever see the like of that? And his head, MissRuth! Did ye take note of his head? Not so much as a shadder of aparting. All the same all the way over; and asking the way to therectory. Why, you ain't never going yet? Well, good-bye, my dear, andGod bless ye! And now, " soliloquized Mrs. Eccles, as Ruth finallyescaped, "I may as well run across to Jones's, and see if _they_ knowanything about the gentleman, and if he's put up at the inn. "

 * * * * *

It was a glorious July afternoon, but it was hot. The roads were white, and the tall hedge-rows gray with dust. A wagon-load of late hay, with aswarm of children just out from school careering round it, was coming upthe road in a dim cloud of dust. Ruth, who had been undecided which wayto take, beat a hasty retreat towards the church-yard, deciding that, ifshe must hesitate, to do so among cool tombstones in the shade. Sheglanced up at the church clock, as she selected her tombstone under oneof the many yew-trees in the old church-yard. Half-past four, andalready an inner voice was suggesting _tea!_ To miss five o'clock tea ona thirsty afternoon like this was not to be thought of for a moment. Shehad no intention of going back to tea at Atherstone, where she wasstaying with her cousins, Mr. And Mrs. Danvers. Two alternativesremained. Should she go to Slumberleigh Hall, close by, and see theThursbys, who she knew had all returned from London yesterday, or shouldshe go across the fields to Slumberleigh Rectory, and have tea withUncle John and Aunt Fanny?

She knew that Sir Charles Danvers, Ralph Danvers's elder brother, wasexpected at Atherstone that afternoon. His aunt, Lady Mary Cunningham, was also staying there, partly with a view of meeting him. Ralph Danvershad not seen his brother, nor Lady Mary her nephew, for some time, and, judging by the interest they seemed to feel in his visit, Ruth haddetermined not to interrupt a family meeting, in which she imagined shemight be _de trop_. 

"My fine tact, " she thought, "will enable them to have a quiet talkamong themselves till nearly dinner-time. But I must not neglect myselfany longer. The Hall is the nearer, and the drive is shady; but, to putagainst that, Mabel will insist on showing me her new gowns, and Mrs. Thursby will make her usual remarks about Aunt Fanny. No; in spite ofthat burning expanse of glebe, I will go to tea at the rectory. I havenot seen Uncle John for a week, and--who knows?--perhaps Aunt Fanny maybe out. "

So the gloves were put on, the crisp white dress shaken out, the parasolput up, and Ruth took the narrow church path across the fields up toSlumberleigh Rectory. 

For many years since the death of her parents, Ruth Deyncourt had livedwith her grandmother, a wealthy, witty, and wise old lady, whose househad been considered one of the pleasantest in London by those to whompleasant houses are open. 

Lady Deyncourt, a beauty in her youth, a beauty in middle life, a beautyin her old age, had seen and known all the marked men of the last twogenerations, and had reminiscences to tell which increased in point andflavor, like old wine, the longer they were kept. She had frequented asa girl the Misses Berrys' drawing-room, and people were wont to say thathers was the nearest approach to a _salon_ which remained after theMisses Berry disappeared. She had married a grave politician, a risingman, whom she had pushed into a knighthood, and at one time into theministry. If he had died before he could make her the wife of a premier, the disappointment had not been without its alleviations. She had neverpossessed much talent for domestic life, and, the yoke once removed, shehad not felt the least inclination to take it upon herself again. As awidow, her way through life was one long triumphal procession. She haddaughters--dull, tall, serious girls, with whom she had nothing incommon, whom she educated well, brought out, laced in, and then married, one after another, relinquishing the last with the utmost cheerfulness, and refusing the condolences of friends on her lonely position with herusual frankness. 

But her son, her only son, she had loved. He was like her, andunderstood her, and was at ease with her, as her daughters had neverbeen. The trouble of her life was the death of her son. She got over it, as she got over everything; but when several years afterwards his widow, with whom, it is hardly necessary to say, she was not on speaking terms, suddenly died (being a faint-hearted, feeble creature), Lady Deyncourtimmediately took possession of her grandchildren--a boy and twogirls--and proceeded as far as in her lay to ruin the boy for life. 

"A woman, " she was apt to remark in after years, "is not intended bynature to manage any man except her husband. I am a warning to themothers, aunts, and grandmothers, particularly the grandmothers, of thefuture. A husband is a sufficient field for the employment of a woman'swhole energies. I went beyond my sphere, and I am punished. "

And when Raymond Deyncourt finally disappeared in America for the lasttime, having been fished up therefrom on several occasions, each time inworse case than the last, she excommunicated him, and cheerfully alteredher will, dividing the sixty thousand pounds she had it in her power toleave, between her two granddaughters, and letting the fact becomeknown, with the result that Anna was married by the end of her secondseason; and if at the end of five seasons Ruth was still unmarried, shehad, as Lady Deyncourt took care to inform people, no one to thank forit but herself. 

But in reality, now that Anna was provided for, Lady Deyncourt was in nohurry to part with Ruth. She liked her as much as it was possible forher to like any one--indeed, I think she even loved her in a way. Shehad taken but small notice of her while she was in the school-room, forshe cared little about girls as a rule; but as she grew up tall, erect, with the pale, stately beauty of a lily, Lady Deyncourt's heart went outto her. None of her own daughters had been so distinguished-looking, soornamental. Ruth's clothes always looked well on her, and she had aknack of entertaining people, and much taste in the arrangement offlowers. Though she had inherited the Deyncourt earnestness ofcharacter, together with their dark serious eyes, and a certain annoyingrigidity as to right and wrong, these defects were counterbalanced byflashes of brightness and humor which reminded Lady Deyncourt of herselfin her own brilliant youth, and inclined her to be lenient, when in herdaughters' cases she would have been sarcastic. The old woman and theyoung one had been great friends, and not the less so, perhaps, becauseof a tacit understanding which existed between them that certainsubjects should be avoided, upon which, each instinctively felt, theywere not likely to agree. And if the shrewd old woman of the world eversuspected the existence of a strength of will and depth of character inRuth such as had, in her own early life, been a source of annoyance andperplexity to herself in her dealings with her husband, she was skilfulenough to ignore any traces of it that showed themselves in hergranddaughter, and thus avoided those collisions of will, the result ofwhich she felt might have been doubtful. 

And so Ruth had lived a life full of varied interests, and amonginteresting people, and had been waked up suddenly in a gray and frosteddawn to find that chapter of her life closed. Lady Deyncourt, who neverthought of travelling without her maid and footman, suddenly went on along journey alone one wild January morning, starting, without anyprevious preparation, for a land in which she had never professed muchinterest heretofore. It seemed a pity that she should have to die whenshe had so thoroughly acquired the art of living, with little trouble toherself, and much pleasure to others; but so it was. 

And then, in Ruth's confused remembrance of what followed, all the worldseemed to have turned to black and gray. There was no color anywhere, where all had been color before. Miles of black cloth and crape seemedto extend before her; black horses came and stamped black hoof-marks inthe snow before the door. Endless arrangements had to be made, endlessletters to be written. Something was carried heavily down-stairs, all inblack, scoring the wall at the turn on the stairs in a way which wouldhave annoyed Lady Deyncourt exceedingly if she had been there to see it, but she had left several days before it happened. The last pale shadowof the kind, gay little grandmother was gone from the great frontbedroom up-stairs. Mr. Alwynn, one of Ruth's uncles, came up from thecountry and went to the funeral, and took Ruth away afterwards. Her ownsister Anna was abroad with her husband, her brother Raymond had notbeen heard of for years. As she drove away from the house, and looked upat the windows with wide tearless eyes, she suddenly realized that thisdeparture was final, that there would be no coming back, no home leftfor her in the familiar rooms where she and another had lived so longtogether. 

Mr. Alwynn was by her side in the carriage, patting her cold hands andtelling her not to cry, which she felt no inclination to do; and then, seeing the blank pallor in her face, he suddenly found himself fumblingfor his own pocket-handkerchief. 

CHAPTER II. 

On this particular July afternoon Mr. Alwynn, or, as his parishionerscalled him, "The Honorable John, " was sitting in his arm-chair in thelittle drawing-room of Slumberleigh Rectory. Mrs. Honorable John waspouring out tea; and here, once and for all, let it be known that meals, particularly five o'clock tea, will occupy a large place in thischronicle, not because of any importance especially attaching to them, but because in the country, at least in Slumberleigh, the day is notdivided by hours but by the meals that take place therein, and to writeof Slumberleigh and its inhabitants with disregard to their divisions oftime is "impossible, and cannot be done. "

So I repeat, boldly, Mr. And Mrs. Alwynn were at tea. They were alonetogether, for they had no children, and Ruth Deyncourt, who had beenliving with them since her grandmother's death in the winter, was nowstaying with her cousin, Mrs. Ralph Danvers, at Atherstone, a couple ofmiles away. 

If it had occasionally crossed Mr. Alwynn's mind during the last fewmonths that he would have liked to have a daughter like Ruth, he hadkept the sentiment to himself, as he did most sentiments in the companyof his wife, who, while she complained of his habit of silence, made upfor it nobly herself at all times and in all places. It had often beenthe subject of vague wonder among his friends, and even at times to Mr. Alwynn himself, how he had come to marry "Fanny, my love. " Mr. Alwynndearly loved peace and quiet, but these dwelt not under the same roofwith Mrs. Alwynn. Nay, I even believe, if the truth were known, he likedorder and tidiness, judging by the exact arrangement of his own study, and the rueful glances he sometimes cast at the litter of wools andletters on the newspaper-table, and the gay garden hats and goloshes, hidden, but not concealed, under the drawing-room sofa. Conversationabout the dearness of butchers' meat and the enormities of servantspalled upon him, I think, after a time, but he had taken his wife'sstyle of conversation for better for worse when he took her gaylydressed self under those ominous conditions, and he never showedimpatience. He loved his wife, but I think it grieved him whensmart-colored glass vases were strewn among the cherished bitsof old china and enamel which his soul loved. He did not likechromo-lithographs, or the framed photographs which Mrs. Alwynn calledher "momentums of travel, " among his rare old prints, either. He borethem, but after their arrival in company with large and inappropriatenails, and especially after the cut-glass candlesticks appeared on thedrawing-room chimney-piece, he ceased to make his little occasionalpurchases of old china and old silver. The curiosity shops knew him nomore, or if he still at times brought home some treasure in his hat-box, on his return from Convocation, it was unpacked and examined in private, and a little place was made for it among the old Chelsea figures on thebookcase in his study, which had stood, ever since he had inherited themfrom his father, on the drawing-room mantle-piece, but had been silentlyremoved when a pair of comic china elephants playing on violins hadappeared in their midst. 

Mr. Alwynn sighed a little when he looked at them this afternoon, andshook his head; for had he not brought back in his empty soup-tin an oldearthen-ware cow of Dutch extraction, which he had long coveted on theshelf of a parishioner? He had bought it very dear, for when in all hislife had he ever bought anything cheap? And now, as he was tenderlywiping a suspicion of beef-tea off it, he wondered, as he looked roundhis study, where he could put it. Not among the old Oriental china, where bits of Wedgwood had already elbowed in for want of roomelsewhere. Among his Lowestoft cups and saucers? Never! He would rathernot have it than see it there. He had a vision of a certain bracket, discarded from the hall, and put aside by his careful hands in thelowest drawer of the cupboard by the window, in which he kept littlestores of nails and string and brown paper, among which "Fanny, my love"performed fearful ravages when minded to tie up a parcel. 

Mr. Alwynn nailed up the bracket under an old etching and placed the cowthereon, and, after contemplating it over his spectacles, went into thedrawing-room to tea with his wife. 

Mrs. Alwynn was a stout, florid, good-humored-looking woman, with abattered fringe, considerably younger than her husband in appearance, and with a tendency to bright colors in dress. 

"Barnes is very poorly, my dear, " said Mr. Alwynn, patiently fishing outone of the lumps of sugar which his wife had put in his tea. He took onelump, but she took two herself, and consequently always gave him two. "I should say a little strong soup would--"

At this juncture the front door-bell rang, and a moment afterwards "Mr. Dare" was announced. 

The erect, light gray figure which had awakened the curiosity of Mrs. Eccles came in close behind the servant. Mrs. Alwynn received a deep bowin return for her look of astonishment; and then, with an eagerexclamation, the visitor had seized both Mr. Alwynn's hands, regardlessof the neatly folded slice of bread and butter in one of them, and wasshaking them cordially. 

Mr. Alwynn looked for a moment as astonished as his wife, and the blank, deprecating glance he cast at his visitor showed that he was at a loss. 

The latter let go his hands and spread his own out with a suddengesture. 

"Ah, you do not know me, " he said, speaking rapidly; "it is twenty yearsago, and you have forgotten. You do not remember Alfred Dare, the littleboy whom you saw last in sailing costume, the little boy for whom youcut the whistles, the son of your old friend, Henry Dare?"

"Good gracious!" ejaculated Mr. Alwynn, with a sudden flash of memory. "Henry's other son. I remember now. It _is_ Alfred, and I remember thewhistles too. You have your mother's eyes. And, of course, you have cometo Vandon now that your poor brother--We have all been wondering whenyou would turn up. My dear boy, I remember you perfectly now; but it isa long time ago, and you have changed very much. "

"Between eight years and twenty-eight there is a great step, " repliedDare, with a brilliant smile. "How could I expect that you shouldremember all at once? But _you_ are not changed. I knew you the firstmoment. It is the same kind, good face which I remember well. "

Mr. Alwynn blushed a faint blush, which any word of praise could alwayscall up; and then, reminded of the presence of Mrs. Alwynn by a shortcough, which that lady always had in readiness wherewith to recall himto a sense of duty, he turned to her and introduced Dare. 

Dare made another beautiful bow; and while he accepted a cup of tea fromMrs. Alwynn, Mr. Alwynn had time to look attentively at him with hismild gray eyes. He was a slight, active-looking young man of middleheight, decidedly un-English in appearance and manner, with dark rovingeyes, mustaches very much twirled up, and a lean brown face, that wasexceedingly handsome in a style to which Mr. Alwynn was not accustomed. 

And this was Henry Dare's second son, the son by his French wife, whohad been brought up abroad, of whom no one had ever heard or cared tohear, who had now succeeded, by his half-brother's sudden death, toVandon, a property adjoining Slumberleigh. 

The eager foreign face was becoming familiar to Mr. Alwynn. Dare waslike his mother; but he sat exactly as Mr. Alwynn had seen his fathersit many a time in that very chair. The attitude was the same. Ah, butthat flourish of the brown hands! How unlike anything Henry would havedone! And those sudden movements! He was roused by Dare turning quicklyto him again. 

"I am telling Mrs. Alwynn of my journey here, " he began; "of how I missmy train; of how I miss my carriage, sent to meet me from the inn; ofhow I walk on foot up the long hills; and when I get there they think Iam no longer coming. I arrived only last night at Vandon. To-day I walkover to see my old friend at Slumberleigh. "

Dare leaned forward, laying the tips of his fingers lightly against hisbreast. 

"You seem to have had a good deal of walking, " said Mr. Alwynn, rathertaken aback, but anxious to be cordial; "but, at any rate, you will notwalk back. You must stay the night, now you are here; mustn't he, Fanny?"

Dare was delighted--beaming. Then his face became overcast. His eyebrowswent up. He shook his head. Mr. And Mrs. Alwynn were most kind, but--hebecame more and more dejected--a bag, a simple valise--

It could be sent for. 

Ah! Mr. Alwynn was too good. He revived again. He showed his even whiteteeth. He was about to resume his tea, when suddenly a tall white figurecame lightly in through the open French window, and a clear voice began:

"Oh, Uncle John, there is such a heathen of a black poodle makingexcavations in the flower-beds! Do--"

Ruth stopped suddenly as her eyes fell upon the stranger. Dare roseinstinctively. 

"This is Mr. Dare, Ruth, " said Mr. Alwynn. "He has just arrived atVandon. "

Ruth bowed. Dare surpassed himself, and was silent. All his smiles andflow of small-talk had suddenly deserted him. He began patting his dog, which had followed Ruth in-doors, and a moment of constraint fell uponthe little party. 

"She is shy, " said Dare to himself. "She is adorably shy. "

Ruth's quiet, self-possessed voice dispelled that pleasing illusion. 

"I have had a very exhausting afternoon with Mrs. Eccles, Aunt Fanny, and I have come to you for a cup of tea before I go back to Atherstone. "

"Why did you walk so far this hot afternoon, my dear? and how are Mrs. Danvers and Lady Mary? and is any one else staying there? and, my dear, _are_ the dolls finished?"

"They are, " said Ruth. "They are all outrageously fashionable. EvenMolly is satisfied. There is to be a school-feast here to-morrow, " sheadded, turning to Dare, who appeared bewildered at the turn theconversation was taking. "All our energies for the last fortnight havebeen brought to bear on dolls. We have been dressing dolls morning, noon, and night. "

"When is it to be, this school-feast?" said Dare, eagerly. "I will buyone--three dolls!"

After a lengthy explanation from Mrs. Alwynn as to the nature of aschool-feast as distinct from a bazaar, Ruth rose to go, and Mr. Alwynnoffered to accompany her part of the way. 

"And so that is the new Mr. Dare about whom we have all beenspeculating, " she said, as they strolled across the fields together. "Heis not like his half-brother. "

"No; he seems to be entirely a Frenchman. You see, he was educatedabroad, and that makes a great difference. He was a very nice little boytwenty years ago. I hope he will turn out well, and do his duty by theplace. "

The neighboring property of Vandon, with its tumble-down cottages, itsneglected people, and hard agent, were often in Mr. Alwynn's thoughts. 

"Oh, Uncle John, he will, he must! You must help him and advise, " saidRuth, eagerly. "He ought to stay and live on the place, and look intothings for himself. "

"I am afraid he will be poor, " said Mr. Alwynn, meditatively. 

"Anyhow, he will be richer than he was before, " urged Ruth, "and it ishis duty to do something for his own people. "

When Ruth had said it was a duty, she imagined, like many another youngsoul before her, that nothing remained to be said, having yet to learnhow much beside often remained to be done. 

"We shall see, " said Mr. Alwynn, who had seen something of hisfellow-creatures; and they walked on together in silence. 

The person whose duty Ruth had been discussing so freely looked afterthe two retreating figures till they disappeared, and then turned toMrs. Alwynn. 

"You and Mr. Alwynn also go to the school-feast to-morrow?"

Mrs. Alwynn, a little nettled, explained that of course she went, thatit was her _own_ school-feast, that Mrs. Thursby, at the Hall, hadnothing to do with it. (Dare did not know who Mrs. Thursby was, but helistened with great attention. ) She, Mrs. Alwynn, gave it herself. Herown cook, who had been with her five years, made the cakes, and her owndonkey-cart conveyed the same to the field where the repast was held. 

"Miss Deyncourt, will she be there?" asked Dare. 

Mrs. Alwynn explained that all the neighborhood, including the Thursbys, would be there; that she made a point of asking the Thursbys. 

"I also will come, " said Dare, gravely. 

CHAPTER III. 

Atherstone was a rambling, old-fashioned, black-and-white house, halfcovered with ivy, standing in a rambling, old-fashioned garden--acharming garden, with clipped yews, and grass paths, and stragglingflowers and herbs growing up in unexpected places. In front of thehouse, facing the drawing-room windows, was a bowling-green, acrosswhich, at this time of the afternoon, the house had laid a cool greenshadow. 

Two ladies were sitting under its shelter, each with her work. 

It was hot still, but the shadows were deepening and lengthening. Awayin the sun hay was being made and carried, with crackings of whips anddistant voices. Beyond the hay-fields lay the silver band of the river, and beyond again the spire of Slumberleigh Church, and a glimpse amongthe trees of Slumberleigh Hall. 

"Ralph has started in the dog-cart to meet Charles. They ought to behere in half an hour, if the train is punctual, " said Mrs. Ralph. 

She was a graceful woman, with a placid, gentle face. She might bethirty, but she looked younger. With her pleasant home and her pleasanthusband, and her child to be mildly anxious about, she might well lookyoung. She looked particularly so now as she sat in her fresh cottondraperies, winding wool with cool, white hands. 

The handiwork of some women has a hard, masculine look. If they sew, itis with thick cotton in some coarse material; if they knit, it is withcricket-balls of wool, which they manipulate into wiry stockings andcomforters. Evelyn's wools, on the contrary, were always soft, fleecy, liable to weak-minded tangles, and so turning, after long periods oftime, into little feminine futilities for which it was difficult todivine any possible use. 

Lady Mary Cunningham, her husband's aunt, made no immediate reply to hersmall remark. Evelyn Danvers was not a little afraid of that lady, and, in truth, Lady Mary, with her thin face and commanding manner, was avery imposing person. Though past seventy, she sat erect in her chair, her stick by her side, some elaborate embroidery in her delicate oldringed hands. Her pale, colorless eyes were as keen as ever. Her whitehair was covered by a wonderful lace cap, which no one had eversucceeded in imitating, that fell in soft lappets and graceful foldsround the severe, dignified face. Molly, Evelyn's little daughter, stoodin great awe of Lady Mary, who had such a splendid stick with a silvercrook of her very own, and who made remarks in French in Molly'spresence which that young lady could not understand, and felt that itwas not intended she should. She even regarded with a certain venerationthe cap itself, which she had once met in equivocal circumstances, journeying with a plait of white hair towards Lady Mary's rooms. 

It was the first time since their marriage, of which she had notapproved, that Lady Mary had paid a visit to Ralph and Evelyn atAtherstone. Lady Mary had tried to marry Ralph, in days gone by, to awoman who--but it was an old story and better forgotten. Ralph hadmarried his first cousin when he had married Evelyn, and Lady Mary hadstrenuously objected to the match, and had even gone so far as tothreaten to alter certain clauses in her will, which she had made infavor of Ralph, her younger nephew, at a time when she was at daggersdrawn with her eldest nephew, Charles, now Sir Charles Danvers. But thatwas an old story, too, and better forgotten. 

When Charles succeeded his father some three years ago, and when, aftereight years, Molly had still remained an only child, and one of thewrong kind, of no intrinsic value to the family, Lady Mary decided thatby-gones should be by-gones, and became formally reconciled to Charles, with whom she had already found it exceedingly inconvenient, andconsequently unchristian, not to be on speaking terms. As long as he wasthe scapegrace son of Sir George Danvers her Christian principlesremained in abeyance; but when he suddenly succeeded to the baronetcyand Stoke Moreton, the air of which suited her so well, and, moreover, to that convenient _pied à terre_, the house in Belgrave Square, sheallowed feelings, which she said she had hitherto repressed withdifficulty, their full scope, expressed a Christian hope that, now thathe had come to this estate, Charles would put away Bohemian things, andinstantly set to work to find a suitable wife for him. 

At first Lady Mary felt that the task which she had imposed upon herselfwould (D. V. ) be light indeed. Charles received her overtures with thesame courteous demeanor which had been the chief sting of their formerwarfare. He paid his creditors, no one knew how, for his father had leftnothing to him unentailed; and once out of money difficulties, he seemedin no hurry to plunge into them again. If he had not as yet thoroughlytaken up the life of an English country gentleman, for want of thatnecessary adjunct which Lady Mary was so anxious to supply, at least helived in England and in good society. In short, Lady Mary was fond oftelling her friends Charles had entirely reformed, hinting, at the sametime, that she had been the humble instrument, in the hands of anall-wise Providence, which had turned him back into the way in which theEnglish aristocracy should walk, and from which he had deviated so long. But one thing remained--to marry him. Every one said Charles _must_marry. Lady Mary did not say it, but with her whole soul she meant it. What she intended to do, she, as a rule, performed--occasionally at theexpense of those who were little able to afford it, but still the thingwas (always, of course, by the co-operation of Providence) done. Ralphcertainly had proved an exception to the rule. He had married Evelynagainst Lady Mary's will, and consequently without the blessing ofProvidence. After that, of course, she had never expected there would bea son, and with each year her anxiety to see Charles safely married hadincreased. He had seemed so amenable that at first she could hardlybelieve that the steed which she had led to waters of such divers meritwould refuse to drink from any of them. If rank had no charm for him, which apparently it had not, she would try beauty. When beauty failed, even beauty with money in its hand, Lady Mary hesitated, and then fellback on goodness. But either the goodness was not good enough, or, asLady Mary feared, it was not sufficiently High Church to be reallygenuine: even goodness failed. For three years she had strained everynerve, and at the end of them she was no nearer the object in view thanwhen she began. 

An inconvenient death of a sister, with whom she had long sincequarrelled about church matters (and who had now gone where her folly indiffering from Lady Mary would be fully, if painfully, brought home toher), had prevented Lady Mary continuing her designs this year inLondon. But if thwarted in one direction, she knew how to throw herenergies into another. The first words she uttered indicated what thatdirection was. 

Evelyn's little remark about the dog-cart, which had gone to meetCharles, had so long remained without any response that she was about tocoin another of the same stamp, when Lady Mary suddenly said, with adecision that was intended to carry conviction to the heart of hercompanion:

"It is an exceedingly suitable thing. "

Evelyn evidently understood what it was that was so suitable, but shemade no reply. 

"A few years ago, " continued Lady Mary, "I should have looked higher. Ishould have thought Charles might have done better, but--"

"He never could do better than--than--" said Evelyn, with a little mildflutter. "There is no one in the world more--"

"Yes, yes, my dear--of course we all know that, " returned the elderlady. "She is much too good for him, and all the rest of it. A few yearsago, I was saying, I might not have regarded it quite in the light I donow. Charles, with his distinguished appearance and his position, mighthave married anybody. But time passes, and I am becoming seriouslyanxious about him; I am, indeed. He is eight-and-thirty. In two years hewill be forty; and at forty you never know what a man may not do. It isa critical age, even when they are married. Until he is forty, a man maybe led under Providence into forming a connection with a woman ofsuitable age and family. After that age he will never look at any girlout of her teens, and either perpetrates a folly or does not marry atall. If the Danvers family is not to become extinct, or to be draggeddown by a _mésalliance_, measures must be taken at once. "

Evelyn winced at the allusion to the extinction of the Danvers family, of which Charles and Ralph were the only representatives. She feltkeenly having failed to give Ralph a son, and the sudden smart of theold hurt added a touch of sharpness to her usually gentle voice as shesaid, "I cannot see what _has_ been left undone. "

"No, my dear, " said Lady Mary, more suavely, "you have fallen in with myviews most sensibly. I only hope Ralph--"

"Ralph knows nothing about it. "

"Quite right. It is very much better he should not. Men never can bemade to look at things in their proper light. They have no power ofseeing an inch in front of them. Even Charles, who is less dense thanmost men, has never been allowed to form an idea of the plans which fromtime to time I have made for him. Nothing sets a man more against amarriage than the idea that it has been put in his way. They like tothink it is all their own doing, and that the whole universe will betaken by surprise when the engagement is given out. Charles is noexception to the rule. Our duty is to provide a wife for him, and thenallow him to think his own extraordinary cleverness found her forhimself. How old is this cousin of yours, Miss Deyncourt?"

"About three-and-twenty. "

"Exceedingly suitable. Young, and yet not too young. She is notbeautiful, but she is decidedly handsome, and very high-bred-looking, which is better than beauty. I know all about her family; good blood onboth sides; no worsted thread. I forget if there is any money. "

This was a pious fraud on Lady Mary's part, as she was, of course, awareof the exact sum. 

"Lady Deyncourt left her thirty thousand pounds, " said Evelyn, unwillingly. She hated herself for the part she was taking in her aunt'splans, although she had been so unable to support her feeble oppositionby any show of reason that it had long since melted away before theconsuming fire of Lady Mary's determined authority. 

"Twelve hundred a year, " said that lady. "I fear Lady Deyncourt was far, very far, from the truth, but she seems to have made an equitable will. I am glad Miss Deyncourt is not entirely without means; and she hasprobably something of her own as well. The more I see of that girl themore convinced I am that she is the very wife for Charles. There is noobjection to the match in any way, unless it lies in that disreputablebrother, who seems to have entirely disappeared. Now, Evelyn, mark mywords. You invited her here at my wish, after I saw her with thatdreadful Alwynn woman at the flower-show. You will never regret it. I amseventy-five years of age, and I have seen something of men and women. Those two will suit. "

"Here comes the dog-cart, " said Evelyn, with evident relief. 

"Where is Miss Deyncourt?"

"She went off to Slumberleigh some time ago. She said she was going tothe rectory, I believe. "

"It is just as well. Ah! here is Charles. "

A tall, distinguished-looking man in a light overcoat came slowly roundthe corner of the house as she spoke, and joined them on the lawn. Evelyn went to meet him with, evident affection, which met with asevident a return, and he then exchanged a more formal greeting with hisaunt. 

"Come and sit down here, " said Evelyn, pulling forward a garden-chair. "How hot and tired you look!"

"I am tired to death, Evelyn. I went to London in May a comparativelyyoung man. Aunt Mary said I ought to go, and so, of course, I went. Ihave come back not only sadder and wiser--that I would try to bear--butvisibly aged. "

He took off his hat as he spoke, and wearily pushed back the hair fromhis forehead. Lady Mary looked at him over her spectacles with gravescrutiny. She had not seen her nephew for many months, and she was notpleased with what she saw. His face looked thin and worn, and she evenfeared she could detect a gray hair or two in the light hair andmustache. His tired, sarcastic eyes met hers. 

"I was afraid you would think I had _gone off_, " he said, half shuttinghis eyes in the manner habitual to him. "I fear I took your exhortationstoo much to heart, and overworked myself in the good cause. "

"A season is always an exhausting thing, " said Lady Mary; "and I daresay London is very hot now. "

"Hot! It's more than hot. It is a solemn warning to evil-doers; aforetaste of a future state. "

"I suppose everybody has left town by this time?" continued Lady Mary, who often found it necessary even now to ignore parts of her nephew'sconversation. 

"By everybody I know you mean _one_ family. Yes, they are gone. LeftLondon to-day. Consequently, I also conveyed my remains out of town, feeling that I had done my duty. "

"Where is Ralph?" asked Evelyn, rising, dimly conscious that Charles andhis aunt were conversing in an unknown tongue, and feeling herself _detrop_. 

"I left him in the shrubbery. A stoat crossed the road before thehorse's nose as we drove up, and Ralph, who seems to have been speciallyinvented by Providence for the destruction of small vermin, was inattendance on it in a moment. I had seen something of the kind before, so I came on. "

Evelyn laid down her work, and went across the lawn, and round thecorner of the house, in the direction of the shrubbery, from which thevoice of her lord and master "rose in snatches, " as he plunged in andout among the laurels. 

"And how is Lord Hope-Acton?" continued Lady Mary, with an air ofelaborate unconcern. "I used to know him in old days as one of the bestwaltzers in London. I remember him very slim and elegant-looking; but Isuppose he is quite elderly now, and has lost his figure? or so some onewas saying. "

"Not lost, but gone before, I should say, to judge by appearances, " saidCharles, meditatively, gazing up into the blue of the summer sky. 

The mixed impiety and indelicacy of her nephew's remark caused a suddentwitch to the High Church embroidery in Lady Mary's hand; but she wenton a moment later in her usual tone:

"And Lady Hope-Acton. Is she in stronger health?"

"I believe she was fairly well; not robust, you know, but, like otherfond mothers with daughters out, 'faint yet pursuing. '"

Lady Mary bit her lip; but long experience had taught her that it waswiser to refrain from reproof, even when it was so urgently needed. 

"And their daughter, Lady Grace. How beautiful she is! Was she lookingas lovely as usual?"

"More so, " replied Charles, with conviction. "Her nose is evenstraighter, her eyelashes even longer than they were last summer. I donot hesitate to say that her complexion is--all that her fancy paintsit. "

"You are so fond of joking, Charles, that I don't know when you areserious. And you saw a good deal of her?"

"Of course I did. I leaned on the railings in the Row, and watched herriding with Lord Hope-Acton, whose personal appearance you feel such aninterest in. At the meeting of the four-in-hands, was not she on thebox-seat beside me? At Henley, were we not in the same boat? AtHurlingham, did we not watch polo together, and together drink our tea?At Lord's, did not I tear her new muslin garment in helping her up oneof those poultry-ladders on the Torringtons' drag? Have I not taken herin to dinner five several times? Have I not danced with her at ballsinnumerable? Have I not, in fact, seen as much of her as--of severalothers?"

"Oh, Charles!" said Lady Mary, "I wish you would talk seriously for onemoment, and not in that light way. Have you spoken?"

"In a light way, I should say I had spoken a good deal; but _seriously_, no. I have never ventured to be serious. "

"But you will be. After all this, you _will_ ask her?"

"Aunt Mary, " replied Charles, with gentle reproach, "a certain delicacyshould be observed in probing the exact state of a man's youngaffections. At five-and-thirty (I know I am five-and-thirty, because youhave told people so for the last three years) there exists a certainreticence in the youthful heart which declines to lay bare its inmostfeelings even for an aunt to--we won't say peck at, but speculate upon. I have told you all I know. I have done what I was bidden to do, up to acertain point. I am now here to recruit, and restore my wasted energies, and possibly to heal (observe, I say possibly) my wounded affections inthe intimacy of my family circle. That reminds me that that littleungrateful imp Molly has not yet made the slightest demonstration of joyat my arrival. Where is she?" and without waiting for an answer, whichhe was well aware would not be forthcoming, Charles rose and strolledtowards the house with his hands behind his back. 

"Molly!" he called, "Molly!" standing bareheaded in the sunshine, undera certain latticed window, the iron bars of which suggested a nurserywithin. 

There was a sudden answering cackle of delight, and a little brown headwas thrust out amid the ivy. 

"Come down this very moment, you little hard-hearted person, and embraceyour old uncle. "

"I'm comin', Uncle Charles, I'm comin';" and the brown head disappeared, and a few seconds later a white frock and two slim black legs rushedround the corner, and Molly precipitated herself against the waistcoatof "Uncle Charles. "

"What do you mean by not coming down and paying your respects sooner?"he said, when the first enthusiasm of his reception was over, lookingdown at Molly with a great kindness in the keen light eyes which hadlooked so apathetic and sarcastic a moment before. 

As he spoke, Ralph Danvers, a square, ruddy man in gray knickerbockers, came triumphantly round from the shrubbery, holding by its tail a minutecorpse with out-stretched arms and legs. 

"Got him!" he said, smiling, and wiping his brow with honest pride. "See, Charles? See, Molly? Got him!"

"Don't bring it here, Ralph, please. We are going to have tea, " cameEvelyn's gentle voice from the lawn; and Ralph and the terrier Vicretired to hang the body of the slain upon a fir-tree on the backpremises, the recognized long home of stoats and weasels at Atherstone. 

Molly, in the presence of Lady Mary and the stick with the silver crook, was always more or less depressed and shy. She felt the pale cold eye ofthat lady was upon her, as indeed it generally was, if she moved orspoke. She did not therefore join in the conversation as freely as washer wont in the family circle, but sat on the grass by her uncle, watching him with adoring eyes, trying to work the signet ring off hisbig little finger, which in the memory of man--of Molly, I mean--hadnever been known to work off, while she gave him the benefit of smallpieces of local and personal news in a half whisper from time to time asthey occurred to her. 

"Cousin Ruth is staying here, Uncle Charles. "

"Indeed, " said Charles, absently. 

His eyes had wandered to Evelyn taking Ralph his cup of tea, and givinghim a look with it which he returned--the quiet, grave look of mutualconfidence which sometimes passes between married people, and which forthe moment makes the single state seem very single indeed. 

Molly saw that he had not heard, and that she must try some moreexciting topic in order to rivet his attention. 

"There was a mouse at prayers yesterday, Uncle Charles. "

"There _wasn't_?"

Uncle Charles was attending again now. 

Molly gave an exact account of the great event, and of how "Nanny" hadgathered her skirts round her, and how James had laughed, only fatherdid not see him, and how--There was a great deal more, and the storyended tragically for the mouse, whose final demise under a shovel, whenprayers were over, Molly described in graphic detail. 

"And how are the guinea-pigs?" asked Charles, putting down his cup. 

"Come and see them, " whispered Molly, insinuating her small handdelightedly into his big one; and they went off together, each happy inthe society of the other. Charles was introduced to the guinea-pigs, which had multiplied exceedingly since he had presented them, the onenamed after him being even then engaged in rearing a large family. 

Then, after Molly had copiously watered her garden, and Charles'sunsuspecting boots at the same time, objects of interest still remainedto be seen and admired; confidences had to be exchanged; inner pocketsin Charles's waistcoat to be explored; and it was not till thedressing-bell and the shrill voice of "Nanny" from an upper windowrecalled them, that the friends returned towards the house. 

As they turned to go in-doors Charles saw a tall white figure skimmingacross the stretches of low sunshine and long shadow in the field beyondthe garden, and making swiftly for the garden gate. 

"Oh, Molly! Molly!" he said, in a tone of sudden consternation, squeezing the little brown hand in his. "_Who_ is that?"

Molly looked at him astonished. A moment ago Uncle Charles had beentalking merrily, and now he looked quite sad. 

"It's only Ruth, " she said, reassuringly. 

"Who is Ruth?"

"Cousin Ruth, " replied Molly. "I told you she was here. "

"She's not _staying_ here?"

"Yes, she is. She is rather nice, only she says the guinea-pigs smellnasty, which isn't true. She _will_ be late, "--with evident concern--"ifshe is going to be laced up; and I know she is, because I saw it on herbed. She doesn't see us yet. Let us go and meet her. "

"Run along, then, " said Charles, in a lone of deep dejection, loosingMolly's hand. "I think I'll go in-doors. "

CHAPTER IV. 

"I've done Uncle Charles a button-hole, and put it in his water-bottle, "said Molly, in an important _affairé_ whisper, as she came into Ruth'sroom a few minutes before dinner, where Ruth and her maid werestruggling with a black-lace dress. "Mrs. Jones, you must be very quick. Why do you have pins in your mouth, Mrs. Jones? James has got his coaton, and he is going to ring the bell in one minute. I told him you hadonly just got your hair done; but he said he could not help that. UncleCharles, "--peeping through the door--"is going down now, and he's got ona beautiful white waistcoat. He's brought that nice Mr. Brown with himthat unpacks his things and plays on the concertina. Ah! there's thebell;" and Molly hurried down to give a description of the exact stageat which Ruth's toilet had arrived, which Ruth cut short by appearinghard upon her heels. 

"It is a shame to come in-doors now, isn't it?" said Charles, as he wasintroduced and took her in to dinner in the wake of Lady Mary and Ralph. "Just the first cool time of the day. "

"Is it?" said Ruth, still rather pink with her late exertions. "When Iheard the dressing-bell ring across the fields, and the last gate wouldnot open, and I found the railings through which I precipitated myselfhad been newly painted, I own I thought it had never been so hot allday. "

"How trying it is to be forgotten!" said Charles, after a pause. "Wehave met before, Miss Deyncourt; but I see you don't remember me. I gaveyou time to recollect me by throwing out that little remark about theweather, but it was no good. "

Ruth glanced at him and looked puzzled. 

"I am afraid I don't, " she said at last. "I have seen you playing poloonce or twice, and driving your four-in-hand; but I thought I only knewyou by sight. When did we meet before?"

"You have no recollection of a certain ball after some theatricals atStoke Moreton, which you and your sister came to as little girls inpigtails?"

"Of course I remember that. And were you there?"

"Was I there? Oh, the ingratitude of woman! Did not I dance three timeswith each of you, and suggest chicken at supper instead of lobstersalad? Does not the lobster salad awaken memories? Surely you have notforgotten that?"

Ruth began to smile. 

"I remember now. So you were the kind man, name unknown, who took suchcare of Anna and me? How good-natured you were!"

"Thanks! You evidently do remember now, if you say that. I recognizedyou at once, when I saw you again, by your likeness to your brotherRaymond. You were very like him then, but much more so now. How is he?"

Ruth's dark gray eyes shot a sudden surprised glance at him. People hadseldom of late inquired after Raymond. 

"I believe he is quite well, " she replied, in a constrained tone. "Ihave not heard from him for some time. "

"It is some years since I met him, " said Charles, noting but ignoringher change of tone. "I used to see a good deal of him before he wentto--was it America? I heard from him about three years ago. He wasprospecting, I think, at that time. "

Ruth remembered that Charles had succeeded his father about three yearsago. She remembered also Raymond's capacities for borrowing. A suddeninstinct told her what the drift of that letter had been. The bloodrushed into her face. 

"Oh, he didn't--did he?"

The other three people were talking together; Lady Mary, opposite, wasjoining with a bland smile of inward satisfaction in the discussionbetween Ralph and Evelyn as to the rival merits of "Cochin Chinas" and"Plymouth Rocks. "

"If he did, " said Charles, quietly, "it was only what we had often donefor each other before. There was a time, Miss Deyncourt, when yourbrother and I both rowed in the same boat; and both, I fancy, split onthe same rock. It was not so long since--"

There was a sudden silence. The chicken question was exhausted. Itdropped dead. Charles left his sentence unfinished, and, turning to hisbrother, the conversation became general. 

 * * * * *

In the evening, when the others had said good-night, Charles and Ralphwent out into the cool half-darkness to smoke, and paced up and down onthe lawn in the soft summer night. The two brothers had not met for sometime, and in an undemonstrative way they had a genuine affection foreach other, which showed itself on this occasion in walking abouttogether without exchanging a word. 

At last Charles broke the silence. "I thought, when I settled to comedown here, you said you would be alone!" There was a shade of annoyancein his tone. 

"Well, now, that is just what I said at the time, " said Ralph, sleepily, with a yawn that would have accommodated a Jonah, "only I was told I didnot understand. They always say I don't understand if they're set onanything. I thought you wanted a little peace and quietness. I said so;but Aunt Mary settled we must have some one. I say, Charles, " with achuckle of deep masculine cunning, "you just look out. There's somemystery up about Ruth. I believe Aunt Mary got Evelyn to ask her herewith an eye to business. "

"I would not do Aunt Mary the injustice to doubt _that_ for a moment, "replied Charles, rather bitterly; and they relapsed into silence andsmoke. 

Presently Ralph, who had been out all day, yawned himself into thehouse, and left Charles to pace up and down by himself. 

If Lady Mary, who was at that moment composing herself to slumber in thebest spare bedroom, had heard the gist of Ralph's remarks to hisbrother, I think she would have risen up and confronted him then andthere on the stairs. As it was, she meditated on her couch with muchsatisfaction, until the sleep of the just came upon her, little reckingthat the clumsy hand of brutal man had even then torn the veil from hercarefully concealed and deeply laid feminine plans. 

Charles, meanwhile, remained on the lawn till late into the night. Aftertwo months of London smuts and London smoke and London nights, the calmscented darkness had a peculiar charm for him. The few lights in thewindows were going out one by one, and thousands and thousands werecoming out in the quiet sky. Through the still air came the sound of acorn-crake perpetually winding up its watch at regular intervals in afield hard by. A little desultory breeze hovered near, and just rousedthe sleepy trees to whisper a good-night. And Charles paced and paced, and thought of many things. 

Only last night! His mind went back to the picture-gallery where he andLady Grace had sat, amid a grove of palms and flowers. Through the openarchway at a little distance came a flood of light, and a surging echoof plaintive, appealing music. It was late, or rather early, for morningwas looking in with cold, dispassionate eyes through the long windows. The gallery was comparatively empty for a London gathering, for thebalconies and hall were crowded, and the rooms were thinning. To allintents and purposes they were alone. How nearly--how nearly he hadasked for what he knew would not have been refused! How nearly he haddecided to do at once what might still be put off till to-morrow! And he_must_ marry; he often told himself so. She was there beside him on theyellow brocade ottoman. She was much too good for him; but she likedhim. Should he do it--now? he asked himself, as he watched the slendergloved hand swaying the feather fan with monotonous languor. 

But when he took her back to the ball-room, back to an expectant, tiredmother, he had not done it. He should be at their house in Scotlandlater. He thought he would wait till then. He breathed a long sigh ofrelief, in the quiet darkness now, at the thought that he had not doneit. He had a haunting presentiment that neither in the purple heather, any more than in a London ball-room, would he be able to pass beyondthat "certain point" to which, in divers companionship, with or withoutassistance, he had so often attained. 

For Charles was genuinely anxious to marry. He regarded with thegreatest interest every eligible and ineligible young woman whom he cameacross. If Lady Mary had been aware of the very serious light in whichhe had considered Miss Louisa Smith, youngest daughter of a certaincurate Smith, who in his youth had been originally extracted from arefreshment-room at Liverpool to become an ornament of the Church, thatlady would have swooned with horror. But neither Miss Louisa Smith, withher bun and sandwich ancestry, nor the eighth Lord Breakwater's youngand lovely sister, though both willing to undertake the situation, wereeither of them finally offered it. Charles remained free as air, and adreadful stigma gradually attached to him as a heartless flirt and aperverter of young girls' minds from men of more solid worth. A man whopleases easily and is hard to please soon gets a bad nameamong--mothers. I don't think Lady Hope-Acton thought very kindly ofhim, as she sped up to Scotland in the night mail. 

Perhaps he was not so much to blame as she thought. Long ago, ten longyears ago, in the reckless days of which Lady Mary had then made somuch, and now made so little, poor Charles had been deeply in love witha good woman, a gentle, quiet girl, who after a time had married hisbrother Ralph. No one had suspected his attachment--Ralph and Evelynleast of all--but several years elapsed before he found time to visitthem at Atherstone; and I think his fondness for Molly had its origin inhis feeling for her mother. Even now it sometimes gave him a momentarypang to meet the adoration in Molly's eyes which, with their darklashes, she had copied so exactly from Evelyn's. 

And now that he could come with ease on what had been forbidden ground, he had seen of late clearly, with the insight that comes ofdispassionate consideration, that Evelyn, the only woman whom he hadever earnestly loved, whom he would have turned heaven and earth to havebeen able to marry, had not been in the least suited to him, and that tohave married her would have entailed a far more bitter disappointmentthan the loss of her had been. 

Evelyn made Ralph an admirable wife. She was so placid, so gentle, and--with the exception of muddy boots in the drawing-room--sounexacting. It was sweet to see her read to Molly; but did she nevertake up a book or a paper? What she said was always gracefully putforth; but oh! in old days, used she in that same gentle voice to uttersuch platitudes, such little stereotyped remarks? Used she, in the palmydays that were no more (when she was not Ralph's wife), so mildly but sofirmly to adhere to a pre-conceived opinion? Had she formerly such fixedopinions on every subject in general, and on new-laid eggs and thepropriety of chicken-hutches on the lawn in particular? Disillusion maybe for our good, like other disagreeable things, but it is seldompleasant at the time, and is apt to leave in all except the mostconceited natures (whose life-long mistakes are committed for ourlearning) a strange self-distrustful caution behind, which is mortallyafraid of making a second mistake of the same kind. 

Charles suddenly checked his pacing. 

And yet surely, surely, he said to himself, there were in the worldsomewhere good women of another stamp, who might be found for diligentseeking. 

He turned impatiently to go in-doors. 

"Oh, Molly! Molly!" he said, half aloud, gazing at the darkened windowsbehind which the body of Molly was sleeping, while her little soul wasfrisking away in fairy-land, "why did you complicate matters by being alittle girl?" With which reflection he brought his meditations to aclose for the night. 

CHAPTER V. 

Molly awoke early on the following morning, and early informed the restof the household that the weather was satisfactory. She flew into Ruth'sroom with the hot water, to wake her and set her mind at rest on asubject of such engrossing interest; she imparted it repeatedly toCharles through his key-hole, until a low incoherent muttering convincedher that he also was rejoicing in the good news. She took all the dollsout of the baskets in which Ruth's careful hands had packed them theevening before, in the recognized manner in which dolls travel withoutdetriment to their toilets, namely, head downward, with theirorange-top-boots turned upward to the sky. In short, Molly busiedherself in the usual ways in which an only child finds employment. 

It really was a glorious day. Except in Molly's eyes it was almost toogood a day for a school-feast; too good a day, Ruth thought, as shelooked out, to be spent entirely in playing at endless games of "SallyWater" and "Oranges and Lemons, " and in pouring out sweet tea in a tent. She remembered a certain sketch at Arleigh, an old deserted house in theneighborhood, which she had long wished to make. What a day for asketch! But she shut her eyes to the temptation of the evil one, andwent out into the garden, where Molly's little brown hands weredevastating the beds for the approaching festival, and Molly's shrillvoice was piping through the fresh morning air. 

There had been rain in the night, and to-day the earth had all herdiamonds on, just sent down reset from heaven. The trees came outresplendent, unable to keep their leaves still for very vanity, anddropping gems out of their settings at every rustle. No one had beenforgotten. Every tiniest shrub and plant had its little tiara to show;rare jewels, cut by a Master Hand, which at man's rude touch, or, forthat matter, Molly's either, slid away to tears. 

"You don't mean to say, Molly, " said Charles, later in the day, when allthe dolls had been passed in review before him, and he had criticisedeach, "that you are going to leave me all day by myself? What shall I dobetween luncheon and tea-time, when I have fed the guinea-pigs andwatered the 'blue-belia, ' as you call it--Where has that imp disappearedto now? I think, " with a glance at Ruth, who was replacing the cottonwool on the doll's faces, "I really think, though I own I fancied I hada previous engagement, that I shall be obliged to come to theschool-feast too. "

"Don't, " said Ruth, looking up suddenly from her work with gray seriouseyes. "Be advised. No man who respects himself makes himself common byattending village school-feasts and attempting to pour out tea, which heis never allowed to do in private life. "

"I could hand buns, " suggested Charles. "You take a gloomy view of yourfellow-creatures, Miss Deyncourt. I see you underrate my powers withplates of buns. "

"Far from it. I only wished to keep you from quitting your propersphere. "

"What, may I ask, is my proper sphere?"

"Not to come to school-feasts at all; or, if you feel that is beyondyou, only to arrive when you are too late to be of any use; to standabout with a hunting-crop in your hand--for, of course, you will come onhorseback--and then, after refreshing all of us workers by a fewwell-chosen remarks, to go away again at an easy canter. "

"I think I could do that, if it would give pleasure; and I am mostgrateful to you for pointing out my proper course to me. I have observedit is the prerogative of woman in general not only to be absolutelyconvinced as to her own line of action, but also to be able to point outthat of man to his obtuser perceptions. "

"I believe you are perfectly right, " said Ruth, becoming serious. "Ifmen, especially prime-ministers, were to apply to almost any woman Iknow (except, of course, myself) for advice as to the administration ofthe realm or their own family affairs, I have not the slightest doubtthat not one of them would be sent empty away, but would be furnishedinstantly with a complete guide-book as to his future movements on thisside the grave. "

"Oh, some people don't stop there, " said Charles. "Aunt Mary, in myyoung days, used to think nothing of the grave if I had displeased her. She still revels in a future court of justice, and an eternalcat-o'-nine tails beyond the tomb. Well, Molly, so here you are, backagain! What's the last news?"

The news was the extraordinary arrival of five new kittens, which, according to Molly, the old stable cat had just discovered in a loft, and took the keenest personal interest in. Charles was dragged away, only half acquiescent, to help in a decision that must instantly be cometo, as to which of the two spotted or the three plain ones should bekept. 

It was a day of delight to Molly. She had the responsibility and honorof driving Ruth and the dolls in her own donkey-cart to the scene ofaction, where the school children, and some of the idlest or mostgood-natured of Mrs. Alwynn's friends, were even then assembling, andwhere Mrs. Alwynn herself was already dashing from point to point, buzzing like a large "bumble" bee. 

As the donkey-cart crawled up a gray figure darted out of the tent, andflew to meet them from afar. Dare, who had been on the lookout for themfor some time, offered to lift out Molly, helped out Ruth, held thebaskets, wished to unharness the donkey, let the wheel go over hispatent leather shoe, and in short made himself excessively agreeable, ifnot in Ruth's, at least in Molly's eyes, who straightway entered intoconversation with him, and invited him to call upon herself and theguinea-pigs at Atherstone at an early date. 

Then ensued the usual scene at festivities of this description. Tea waspoured out like water (very like warm water), buns, cakes, and bread andbutter were eaten, were crumbled, were put in pockets, were stampedunderfoot. Large open tarts, covered with thin sticks of pastry, calledby the boys "the tarts with the grubs on 'em, " disappeared apace, beingconstantly replaced by others made in the same image, from which theprotecting but adhesive newspaper had to be judiciously peeled. When thelast limit of the last child had been reached, the real work of the daybegan--the games. Under a blazing sun, for the space of two hours, "Sally Water" or "Nuts in May" must be played, with an occasional changeto "Oranges and Lemons. "

Ruth, who had before been staying with the Alwynns at the time of theirschool-feast, hardened her heart, and began that immoral but populargame of "Sally Water. "

 "Sally, Sally Water, come sprinkle your pan; Rise up a husband, a handsome young man. Rise, Sally, rise, and don't look sad, You shall have a husband, good or bad. "

The last line showing how closely the state of feeling of villagesociety, as regards the wedded state, resembles the view taken of it inthe highest circles. 

Other games were already in full swing. Mrs. Alwynn, flushed and shrill, was organizing an infant troop. A good-natured curate was laying up forhimself treasure elsewhere, by a present expenditure of half-pencesecreted in a tub of bran. Dare, not to be behind-hand, took to swinginglittle girls with desperate and heated good-nature. His bright smile andgenial brown face soon gained the confidence of the children; and thenhe swung them as they had never been swung before. It was positively thefirst time that some of the girls had ever seen their heels above theirheads. And his powers of endurance were so great. First his coat andthen his waistcoat were cast aside as he warmed to his work, until atlast he dragged the sleeve of his shirt out of the socket, and had toretire into private life behind a tree, in company with Mrs. Eccles anda needle and thread. But he reappeared again, and was soon swept into agame of cricket that was being got up among the elder boys; bowled theschool-master; batted brilliantly and with considerable flourish for afew moments, only to knock his own wickets down with what seemedsingular want of care; and then fielded with cat-like activity and anentire oblivion of the game, receiving a swift ball on his own person, only to choke, coil himself up, and recover his equanimity and the ballin a moment. 

All things come to an end, and at last the Slumberleigh church clockstruck four, and Ruth could sink giddily onto a bench, and push backthe few remaining hair-pins that were left to her, and feebly endeavor, with a pin eagerly extracted by Dare from the back of his neck, to jointhe gaping ruin of torn gathers in her dress, so daintily fresh twohours ago, so dilapidated now. 

"There they come!" said Mrs. Alwynn, indignantly, who was fanningherself with her pocket-handkerchief, which stout women ought to beforbidden by law to do. "There are Mrs. Thursby and Mabel. Just likethem, arriving when the games are all over! And, dear me! who is thatwith them? Why, it is Sir Charles Danvers. I had no idea he was stayingwith them. Brown particularly told me they had not brought back anyfriend with them yesterday. Dear me! How odd! And Brown--"

"Sir Charles Danvers is staying at Atherstone, " said Ruth. 

"At Atherstone, is he? Well, my dear, this is the first I have heard ofit, if he is. I don't see what there is to make a secret of in _that_. Most natural he should be staying there, I should have thought. And, ifthat's one of Mabel's new gowns, all I can say is that yours is quite asnice, Ruth, though I know it is from last year, and those full fronts asfashionable as ever. "

As Mr. And Mrs. Alwynn went forward to meet the Thursbys, Charlesstrolled up to Ruth, and planted himself deliberately in front of her. 

"You observe that I am here?" he said. 

"I do. "

"At the proper time?"

"At the proper time. "

"And in my sphere? I have tampered with no buns, you will remark, andteapots have been far from me. "

"I am exceedingly rejoiced my little word in season has been of suchuse. "

"It has, Miss Deyncourt. The remark you made this morning I consideredhonest, though poor, and I laid it to heart accordingly. But, " with achange of tone, "you look tired to death. You have been out in the suntoo long. I am going off now. I only came because I met the Thursbys, and they dragged me here. Come home with me through the woods. You haveno idea how agreeable I am in the open air. It will be shady all theway, and not half so fatiguing as being shaken in Molly's donkey-cart. "

"In the donkey-cart I must return, however, if I die on the way, " saidRuth, with a tired smile. "I can't leave Molly. Besides, all is notover yet. The races and prizes take time; and when at last they aredismissed, a slice of--"

"No, Miss Deyncourt, _no_! Not more food!"

"A slice of cake will be applied _externally_ to each of the children, which rite brings the festivities to a close. There! I see the dolls arebeing carried out. I must go;" and a moment later Ruth and Molly andDare, who had been hovering near, were busily unpacking and shaking outthe dolls; and Charles, after a little desultory conversation with MabelThursby, strolled away, with his hands behind his back and his nose inthe air in the manner habitual to him. 

And so the day wore itself out at last; and after a hymn had beenshrieked the children were dismissed, and Ruth and Molly at length droveaway. 

"Hasn't it been delicious?" said Molly. "And my doll was chosen first. Lucy Bigg, with the rash on her face, got it. I wish little Sarah hadhad it. I do love Sarah so very much; but Sarah had yours, Ruth, withthe real pocket and the handkerchief in it. That will be a surprise forher when she gets home. And that new gentleman was so kind about theteapots, wasn't he? He always filled mine first. He's coming to see mevery soon, and to bring a curious black dog that he has of his very own, called--"

"Stop, Molly, " said Ruth, as the donkey's head was being sawed roundtowards the blazing high-road; "let us go home through the woods. I knowit is longer, but I can't stand any more sun and dust to-day. "

"You do look tired, " said Molly, "and your lips are quite white. My lipsturned white once, before I had the measles, and I felt very curiousinside, and then spots came all over. You don't feel like spots, do you, Cousin Ruth? We will go back by the woods, and I'll open the gates, andyou shall hold the reins. I dare say Balaam will like it better too. "

Molly had called her donkey Balaam, partly owing to a misapprehension ofScripture narrative, and partly owing to the assurance of Charles, whenin sudden misgiving she had consulted him on the point, that Balaam_had_ been an ass. 

Balaam's reluctant underjaw was accordingly turned in the direction ofthe woods, and, little thinking the drive might prove an eventful one, Ruth and Molly set off at that easy amble which a well-fed pampereddonkey will occasionally indulge in. 

CHAPTER VI. 

After the glare and the noise, the shrill blasts of penny trumpets, andthe sustained beating of penny drums, the silence of the Slumberleighwoods was delightful to Ruth; the comparative silence, that is to say, for where Molly was, absolute silence need never be feared. 

Long before the first gate had been reached Balaam had, of course, returned to the mode of procedure which suited him and his race best, and it was only when the road inclined to be downhill that he could beurged into anything like a trot. 

"Never mind, " said Molly, consolingly to Ruth, as he finally settledinto a slow lounge, gracefully waving his ears and tail at the army offlies which accompanied him, "when we get to the place where the firsare, and the road goes between the rocks, it's downhill all the way, andwe'll gallop down. "

But it was a long way to the firs, and Ruth was in no hurry. It was anideal afternoon, verging towards evening; an afternoon of golden lightsand broken shadows, of vivid greens in shady places. It must have beenon such a day as this, Ruth thought, that the Almighty walked in thegarden of Eden when the sun was low, while as yet the tree of knowledgewas but in blossom, while as yet autumn and its apples were far off, long before fig-leaves and millinery were thought of. 

On either side the bracken and the lady-fern grew thick and high, almostoverlapping the broad moss-grown path, across which the young rabbitspopped away in their new brown coats, showing their little white liningsin their lazy haste. A dog-rose had hung out a whole constellation ofpale stars for Molly to catch at as they passed. A family ofhoneysuckles clung, faint and sweet, just beyond the reach of the littlehand that stretched after them in turn. 

They had reached the top of an ascent that would have been level toanything but the mean spirit of a donkey, when Molly gave a start. 

"Cousin Ruth, there's something creeping among the trees--don't you hearit? Oh-h-h!"

There really was a movement in the bracken, which grew too thick andhigh to allow of anything being easily seen at a little distance. 

"If it's a lion, " said Molly, in a faint whisper, "and I feel in myheart it is, he must have Balaam. "

Balaam at this moment pricked his large ears, and Molly and Ruth bothheard the snapping of a twig, and saw a figure slip behind a tree. Molly's spirits rose, and Ruth's went down in proportion. The woods werelonely, and they were nearing the most lonely part. 

"It's only a man, " said Ruth, rather sharply. "I expect it is one of thekeepers. " (Oh, Ruth!) "Come, Molly, we shall never get home at thisrate. Whip up Balaam, and let us trot down the hill. "

Much relieved about Balaam's immediate future, Molly incited him to areally noble trot, and did not allow him to relapse even on the flatwhich followed. Through the rattling and the jolting, however, Ruthcould still hear a stealthy rustle in the fern and under-wood. The manwas following them. 

"He's coming after us, " whispered Molly, with round frightened eyes, "and Balaam will stop in a minute, I know. Oh, Cousin Ruth, what shallwe do?"

Ruth hesitated. They were nearing the steep pitch, where the firsoverhung the road, which was cut out between huge bowlders of rock andsandstone. The ground rose rough and precipitous on their right, andfell away to their left. Just over the brow of the hill, out of sight, was, as she well knew, the second gate. The noise in the brushwood hadceased. Turning suddenly, her quick eye just caught sight of a figuredisappearing behind the slope of the falling ground to the left. He wasa lame man, and he was running. In a moment she saw that he was making ashort cut, with the intention of waylaying them at the gate. He wouldget there long before they would; and even then Balaam was beginning theascent, which really was an ascent this time, at his slowest walk. 

Molly's teeth were chattering in her little head. 

"Now, Molly, " said Ruth, sharply, "listen to me, and don't be a baby. He'll wait for us at the gate, so he can't see us here. Get out thismoment, and we will both run up the hill to the keeper's cottage at thetop of the bank. We shall get there first, because he is lame. "

They had passed the bracken now, and were among the moss and sandstonebeneath the firs. Ruth hastily dragged Molly out of the cart withoutstopping Balaam, who proceeded, twirling his ears, leisurely withoutthem. 

"Oh, my poor Balaam!" sobbed Molly, with a backward glance at thatunconscious favorite marching towards its doom. 

"There is no time to think of poor Balaam now, " replied Ruth. "Run on infront of me, and don't step on anything crackly. "

"Never in this world, " thought Ruth, "will I come alone here with Mollyagain. Never again will I--"

But it was stiff climbing, and the remainder of the resolution was lost. 

They are high to the right above the white gate now. The keeper'scottage is in sight, built against a ledge of rock, up to which widerough steps have been cut in the sandstone. Ruth looks down at the gatebelow. He is waiting--the dreadful man is waiting there, as sheexpected; and Balaam, toying with a fern, is at that moment coming roundthe corner. She sees that he takes in the situation instantly. There isbut one way in which they can have fled, and he knows it. In a moment hecomes halting and pounding up the slope. He sees their white dressesamong the firs. Run, Molly! run, Ruth! Spare no expense. If your newblack sash catches in the briers, let it catch; heed it not, for he ismaking wonderful play with that lame leg up the hill. It is an evenrace. Now for the stone steps! How many more there are than there everwere before! Quick through the wicket, and up through the littlekitchen-garden. Molly is at the door first, beating upon it, and callingwildly on the name of Brown. 

And then Ruth's heart turns sick within her. The door is locked. Throughthe window, which usually blossoms with geraniums, she can see the blackfireplace and the bare walls. No Brown within answers to Molly's cries. Brown has been turned away for drinking. Mrs. Brown, who hung a slender"wash" on the hedge only last week, has departed with her lord. Brown'scottage is tenantless. The pursuer must have known it when he breastedthe hill. A mixed sound, as of swearing and stumbling, comes from thedirection of the stone steps. The pursuer is evidently intoxicated, probably lunatic!

"Quick, Molly!" gasps Ruth, "round by the back, and then cut downtowards the young plantation, and make for the road again. Don't stopfor me. "

The little yard, the pigsty, the water-butt, fly past. Past fly theempty kennels. Past does _not_ fly the other gate. Locked; padlocked!It is like a bad dream. Molly, with a windmill-like exhibition of blacklegs, gives Ruth a lead over. Now for it, Ruth! The bars are closetogether and the gate is high. It is not a time to stick at trifles. What does it matter if you can get over best by assuming a masculineequestrian attitude for a moment on the top bar? There! And now, downthe hill again, away to your left. Take to your heels, and be thankfulthey are not high ones. Never mind if your hair is coming down. You havea thousand good qualities, Ruth, high principles and a tenderconscience, but you are not a swift runner, and you have not played"Sally Water" all day for nothing. Molly is far in front now. A heavytrampling is not far behind; nay, it is closer than you thought. Andyour eyes are becoming misty, Ruth, and armies of drums are beatingevery other sound out of your ears--that shouting behind you, forinstance. The intoxicated, murderous lunatic is close behind. Oneminute! Two minutes! How many more seconds can you keep it up? Throughthe young plantation, down the hill, into the sandy road again, thesandy, uphill road. How much longer can you keep it up?

 * * * * *

Charles strolled quietly homeward, enjoying the beauties of nature, andreflecting on the quantity of rabbit-shooting that Mr. Thursby mustenjoy. He may also have mused on Lady Grace, for anything that can beknown to the contrary, and have possibly made a mental note that if ithad been she whom he had asked to walk home with him, instead of Ruth, he would not have been alone at that moment. Be that how it may, heleisurely pursued his path until a fallen tree beside the bank looked soinviting that (Evelyn and Ralph having gone out to friends at adistance) Charles, who was in no hurry to return to Lady Mary, seatedhimself thereon, with a cigarette to bear him company. 

To him, with rent garments and dust upon her head, and indeed all overher, suddenly appeared Molly; Molly, white with panic, breathless, unable to articulate, pointing in the direction from which she had come. In a moment Charles was tearing down the road at full speed. A tall, swaying figure almost ran against him at the first turn, and Ruth onlyavoided him to collapse suddenly in the dry ditch, her face in the bank, and a yard of sash biting the dust along the road behind her. 

Her pursuer stopped short. Charles made a step towards him and stoppedshort also. The two men stood and looked at each other withoutspeaking. 

When Ruth found herself in a position to make observations shediscovered that she was sitting by the road-side, with her head restingagainst--was it a tweed arm or the bank? She moved a little, and foundthat first impressions are apt to prove misleading. It was the bank. Sheopened her eyes to see a brown, red-lined hat on the ground beside her, half full of water, through which she could dimly discern the goldensubmerged name of the maker. She seemed to have been contemplating itwith vague interest for about an hour, when she became aware that someone was dabbing her forehead with a wet silk handkerchief. 

"Better?" asked Charles's voice. 

"Oh!" gasped Ruth, suddenly trying to sit up, but finding the attemptresulted only in the partial movement of a finger somewhere in thedistance. "Have I really--surely, surely, I was not so abject as to_faint_?"

"Truth, " said Charles, with a reassured look in his quick, anxious eyes, "obliges me to say you did. "

"I thought better of myself than that. "

"Pride goes before a fall or a faint. "

"Oh, dear!" turning paler than ever. "Where is Molly?"

"She is all right, " said Charles, hastily, applying thepocket-handkerchief again. "Don't alarm yourself, and pray don't try toget up. You can see just as much of the view sitting down. Molly hasgone for the donkey-cart. "

"And that dreadful man?"

"That dreadful man has also departed. By-the-way, did you see his face?Would you know him again if the policeman succeeds in finding him?"

"No; I never looked round. I only saw, when he began to run to cut usoff at the gate, that he was lame. "

"H'm!" said Charles, reflectively. Then more briskly, with a new accessof dabbing, "How is the faintness going on?"

"Capitally, " replied Ruth, with a faint, amused smile; "but if it doesnot seem ungrateful, I should be very thankful if I might be spared therest of the water in the hat, or if it might be poured over me at once, if you don't wish it to be wasted. "

"Have I done too much? I imagined my services were invaluable. Let mehelp you to find your own handkerchief, if you would like a dry one fora change. Ah, what a good shot into that labyrinth of drapery! You havefound it for yourself. You are certainly better. "

"But my self-respect, " replied Ruth, drying her face, "is gone forever!"

"I lost mine years ago, " said Charles, carefully dusting Ruth's hat, "but I got over it. I had no idea those bows were supported by a wireinside. One lives and learns. "

"I never did such a thing before, " continued Ruth, ruefully. "I havealways felt a sort of contempt for girls who scream or faint just whenthey ought not. "

"For my part, I am glad to perceive you have some little feminineweakness. Your growing solicitude also as to the state of your back hairis pleasing in the extreme. "

"I am too confused and shaken to retaliate just now. You are quite rightto make hay while the sun shines; but, when I am myself again, beware!"

"And your gown, " continued Charles. "What yawning gulfs, what chasmsappear! and what a quantity of extraneous matter you have brought awaywith you--reminiscences of travel--burrs, very perfect specimens ofburrs, thistledown, chips of fir, several complete spiders' webs; andyour sash, which seems to have a particularly adhesive fringe, is amuseum in itself. Ah, here comes that coward of little cowards, Molly, with Balaam and the donkey-cart!"

Molly, who had left Ruth for dead, greeted her cousin with a transportof affection, and then proceeded to recount the fearful risks thatBalaam had encountered by being deserted, and the stoic calm with whichhe had waited for them at the gate. 

"He's not a common donkey, " she said, with pride. "Get in, Ruth. Are youcoming in, Uncle Charles? There's just room for you to squeeze inbetween Ruth and me--isn't there, Ruth? Oh, you're not going to walkbeside, are you?"

But Charles was determined not to let them out of his sight again, andhe walked beside them the remainder of the way to Atherstone. Heremained silent and preoccupied during the evening which followed, poredover a newspaper, and went off to his room early, leaving Ralph dozingin the smoking-room. 

It was a fine moonlight night, still and clear. He stood at the openwindow looking out for a few minutes, and then began fumbling in adilapidated old travelling-bag such as only rich men use. 

"Not much, " he said to himself, spreading out a few sovereigns and somesilver on the table, "but it will do. "

He put the money in his pocket, took off his gold hunting watch, andthen went back to the smoking-room. 

"I am going out again, Ralph, as I did last night. If I come in late, you need not take me for a burglar. "

Ralph murmured something unintelligible, and Charles ran down-stairs, and let himself out of the drawing-room French window, that long Frenchwindow to the ground, which Evelyn had taken a fancy to in a neighbor'sdrawing-room, and which she could never be made to see was not inkeeping with the character of her old black-and-white house. He put theshutter back after he had passed through, and carefully drawing thewindow to behind him, without actually closing it, he took a turn or twoupon the bowling-green, and then walked off in the direction of theSlumberleigh woods. 

After the lapse of an hour or more he returned as quietly as he hadgone, let himself in, made all secure, and stole up to his room. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Vandon was considered by many people to be the most beautiful house in----shire. 

In these days of great brand-new imitation of intensely old houses, where the amount of ground covered measures the purse of the builder, itis pleasant to come upon a place like Vandon, a quiet old manor-house, neither large nor small, built of ancient bricks, blent to a dim purpleand a dim red by that subtle craftsman Time. 

Whoever in the years that were no more had chosen the place whereon tobuild had chosen well. Vandon stood on the slope of a gentle hill, looking across a sweep of green valley to the rising woods beyond, whichin days gone by had been a Roman camp, and where the curious might stilltrace the wide ledges cut among the regular lines of the trees. 

Some careful hand had planned the hanging gardens in front of the house, which fell away to the stream below. Flights of wide stone steps leddown from terrace to terrace, each built up by its south wall coveredwith a wealth of jasmine and ivy and climbing roses. But all was wildand deserted now. Weeds had started up between the stone slabs of thesteps, and the roses blossomed out sweet and profuse, for it was thetime of roses, amid convolvulus and campion. The quaint old dove-cotnear the house had almost disappeared behind the trees that had crowdedup round it, and held aloft its weathercock in silent protest at theirencroachment. The stables close at hand, with their worn-out clock andsilent bell, were tenantless. The coach-houses were full of useless oldchariots and carriages. Into one splendid court coach the pigeons hadfound their way through an open window, and had made nests, somewhat tothe detriment of the green-and-white satin fittings. 

Great cedars, bent beneath the weight of years, grew round the house. The patriarch among them had let fall one of his gnarled supplicatingarms in the winter, and there it still lay where it had fallen. 

Anything more out of keeping with the dignified old place than its ownercould hardly be imagined, as he stood in his eternal light gray suit(with a badge of affliction lightly borne on his left arm), looking athis heritage, with his cropped head a little on one side. 

The sun was shining, but, like a smile on a serious face, Vandon caughtthe light on all its shuttered windows, and remained grave, looking outacross its terraces to the forest. 

"If it were but a villa on the Mediterranean, or a house in London, " hesaid to himself; "but I have no chance. " And he shrugged his shoulders, and wandered back into the house again. But, if the outside oppressedhim, the interior was not calculated to raise his spirits. 

Dare had an elegant taste, which he had never hitherto been able togratify, for blue satin furniture and gilding; for large mirrors andpainted ceilings of lovers and cupids, and similar small deer. The oldsquare hall at Vandon, with its great stained glass windows, representing the various quarterings of the Dare arms, about which heknew nothing and cared less, oppressed him. So did the black polishedoak floor, and the walls with their white bass-reliefs of twistingwreaths and scrolls, with busts at intervals of Cicero and Dante, andother severe and melancholy personages. The rapiers upon the high whitechimney-piece were more to his taste. He had taken them down the firstday after his arrival, and had stamped and cut and thrust in the mostapproved style, in the presence of Faust, the black poodle. 

Dare was not the kind of man to be touched by it; but to many mindsthere would have been something pathetic in seeing a house, which hadevidently been an object of the tender love and care of a by-gonegeneration, going to rack and ruin from neglect. Careful hands hadembroidered, in the fine exquisite work of former days, marvellouscoverlets and hangings, which still adorned the long suites of emptybedrooms. Some one had taken an elaborate pleasure in fitting up thoserooms, had put _pot-pourri_ in tall Oriental jars in the passages, hadcovered the old inlaid Dutch chairs with dim needle-work. 

The Dare who had lived at court, whose chariot was now the refuge ofpigeons, whose court suits, with the tissue paper still in the sleeves, yet remained in one of the old oak chests, and whose jewelled swordsstill hung in the hall, had filled one of the rooms with engravings ofthe royal family and ministers of his day. The Dare who had been anadmiral had left his miniature surrounded by prints of the navalengagements he had taken part in, and on the oak staircase a tatteredflag still hung, a trophy of unremembered victory. 

But they were past and forgotten. The hands which had arranged theirmemorials with such pride and love had long since gone down to idleness, and forgetfulness also. Who cared for the family legends now? They, too, had gone down into silence. There was no one to tell Dare that the oldblue enamel bowl in the hall, in which he gave Faust refreshment, hadbeen brought back from the loot of the Winter Palace of Pekin; or thatthe drawer in the Reisener table in the drawing-room was full oftreasured medals and miniatures, and that the key thereof was rusting ina silver patch-box on the writing-table. 

The iron-clamped boxes in the lumber-room kept the history to themselvesof all the silver plate that had lived in them once upon a time, although the few odd pieces remaining hinted at the splendor of what hadbeen. In one corner of the dining-room the mahogany tomb still stood ofa great gold racing cup, under the portrait of the horse that had wonit; but the cup had followed the silver dinner service, had followed thediamonds, had followed in the wake of a handsome fortune, leaving theafter generations impoverished. If their money is taken from them, somefamilies are left poor indeed, and to this class the Dares belonged. Itis curious to notice the occasional real equality underlying theapparent inequality of different conditions of life. The unconsciouspoverty, and even bankruptcy, of some rich people in every kind ofwealth except money affords an interesting study; and it seems doublyhard when those who have nothing to live upon, and be loved andrespected for, except their money, have even that taken from them. AsDare wandered through the deserted rooms the want of money of hispredecessors, and consequently of himself, was borne in upon him. Itfell like a shadow across his light pleasure-loving soul. He hadexpected so much from this unlooked-for inheritance, and all he hadfound was a melancholy house with a past. 

He went aimlessly through the hall into the library. It was there thathis uncle had lived; there that he had been found when death came tolook for him; among the books which he had been unable to carry awaywith him at his departure; rare old tomes and first editions, longshelves of dead authors, who, it is to be hoped, continue to write inother worlds for those who read their lives away in this. Old Mr. Dare'sinterests and affections had all been bound in morocco and vellum. Avolume lay open on the table, where the old man had put it down besidethe leather arm-chair where he had sat, with his back to the light, summer and winter, winter and summer, for so many years. 

No one had moved it since. A wavering pencil-mark had scored the pagehere and there. Dare shut it up, and replaced it among its brethren. How_triste_ and silent the house seemed! He wondered what the old uncle hadbeen like, and sauntered into the staircase hall, much in need ofvarnish, where the Dares that had gone before him lived. But these weretoo ancient to have his predecessor among them. He went into the longoak-panelled dining-room, where above the high carved dado were moreDares. Perhaps that man with the book was his namesake, the departedAlfred Dare. He wondered vaguely how he should look when he also tookhis place among his relations. Nature had favored him with a bettermustache than most men, but he had a premonitory feeling that the verymustache itself, though undeniable in real life, would look out ofkeeping among these bluff, frank, light-haired people, of whom it seemedhe--he who had never been near them before--was the livingrepresentative. 

A sudden access of pleasurable dignity came over him as he sat on thedining-table, the great mahogany dining-table, which still showedvestiges of a by-gone polish, and was heavily dented by long years ofhammered applause. These ancestors of his! He would not disgrace them. Afew minutes ago he had been wondering whether Vandon might not be let. Now, with one of the rapid transitions habitual to him, he resolved thathe would live at Vandon, that in all things he would be as they hadbeen. He would become that vague, indefinable, to him mythicalpersonage--a "country squire. " Fortunately, he had a neat leg for astocking. It was lost, so to speak, in his present mode of dress; but hefelt that it would appear to advantage in the perpetual knickerbockerswhich he supposed it would be his lot to wear. It would also become hisduty and his pleasure to marry. For those who tread in safety theslippery heights of married life he felt a true esteem. It would be astrain, no doubt, a great effort; but at this moment he was capable ofanything. The finger of duty was plain. And with that adorable MissRuth, with or without a fortune--Alas! he trusted she had a fortune, for, as he came to think thereon, he remembered that he was desperatelypoor. As far as he could make out from his agent, a grim, silent man, who had taken an evident dislike to him from the first, there was nomoney anywhere. The rents would come in at Michaelmas; but the interestof heavy mortgages had to be paid, the estate had to be kept up. Therewas succession duty; there were debts--long outstanding debts--whichcame pouring in now, which Waters spread before him with an iron smile, and which poor Dare contemplated with his head on one side, and solemn, arched eyebrows. When Dare was not smiling he was always preternaturallysolemn. There was no happy medium in his face, or consequently in hismind, which was generally gay, but, if not, was involved in a tragicgloom. 

"These bills, my friend, " he would say at last, tapping them in deepdejection, and raising his eyebrows into his hair, "how do we pay them?"

But Waters did not know. How should he, Waters, know? Waters only knewthat the farmers would want a reduction in these bad times--Mr. Daremight be sure of _that_. And what with arrears, and one thing andanother, he need not expect more than two-thirds of his rents when theydid arrive. Mr. Dare might lay his account for _that_. 

The only money which Dare received to carry on with, on his accession tothe great honor and dignity of proprietor of Vandon, was brought to himby the old dairywoman of the house, a faithful creature, who producedout of an old stocking the actual coins which she had received for thebutter and cheese she had sold, of which she showed Dare an account, chalked up in some dead language on the dairy door. 

She was a little doubled-up woman, who had served the family all herlife. Dare's ready smile and handsome face had won her heart before hehad been many days at Vandon, in spite of "his foreign ways, " and hefound himself constantly meeting her unexpectedly round corners, whereshe had been lying in wait for him, each time with a secret revelationto whisper respecting what she called the "goin's on. "

"You'll not tell on me, sir, but it's only right you should know as Mrs. Smith" (the house-keeper, of whom Dare stood in mortal terror) "has themfine damask table-cloths out for the house-keeper's room; I see 'emmyself; and everything going to rag and ruin in the linen closet!" Or, "Joseph has took in another flitch this very day, sir, as Mrs. Smithsent for, and the old flitch all cut to waste. Do'e go and look at theflitches, sir, and the hams. They're in the room over the stables. Andit's always butter, butter, butter, in the kitchen! Not a bit o'dripping used! There's not a pot of dripping in the larder, or so muchas a skin of lard. Where does it all go to? You ask Mrs. Smith; and howshe sleeps in her bed at night I don't know!"

Dare listened, nodded, made his escape, and did nothing. In the villageit was as bad. Time, which had dealt so kindly with Vandon itself, hadtaken the straggling village in hand too. Nothing could be morepicturesque than the crazy black-and-white houses, with lichen on theirbroken-in thatch, and the plaster peeling off from between the irregularbeams of black wood; nothing more picturesque--and nothing moremiserable. 

When Time puts in his burnt umbers and brown madders with a lavish hand, and introduces his beautiful irregularities of outline, and his artisticdisrepair, he does not look to the drainage, and takes no thought forholes in the roof. 

Dare could not go out without eager women sallying out of cottages as hepassed, begging him just to come in and walk up-stairs. They would sayno more--but would the new squire walk up-stairs? And Dare would stumbleup and see enough to promise. Alas! how much he promised in those earlydays. And in the gloaming, heavy dull-eyed men met him in the lanescoming back from their work, and followed him to "beg pardon, sir, " andlay before the new squire things that would never reach him throughWaters--bitter things, small injustices, too trivial to seem worthy ofmention, which serve to widen the gulf between class and class. Theylooked to Dare to help them, to make the crooked straight, to begin anew régime. They looked to the new king to administer his little realm;the new king, who, alas! cared for none of these things. And Darepromised that he would do what he could, and looked anxious andinterested, and held out his brown hand, and raised hopes. But he had nomoney--no money. 

He spoke to Waters at first; but he soon found that it was no good. Thehouses were bad? Of course they were bad. Cottage property did not pay;and would Mr. Dare kindly tell him where the money for repairing themwas to come from? Perhaps Mr. Dare might like to put a little of hisprivate fortune into the cottages and the drains and the new pumps? Darewinced. His fortune had not gone the time-honored way of the fortunes ofspirited young men of narrow means with souls above a sordid economy, but still it had gone all the same, and in a manner he did not care tothink of. 

It was after one of these depressing interviews with Waters that Ralphand Evelyn found the new owner of Vandon, when they rode over togetherto call, a day or two after the school-feast. Poor Dare was sitting onthe low ivy-covered wall of the topmost terrace, a prey to the deepestdejection. If he had lived in Spartan days, when it was possible toconceal gnawing foxes under wearing apparel, he would have made no useof the advantages of Grecian dress for such a purpose. Captivated byEvelyn's gentleness and sympathetic manner (strangers always thoughtEvelyn sympathetic), and impressed by Ralph's kindly, honest face, hesoon found himself telling them something of his difficulties, of themaze in which he found himself, of the snubs which Waters hadadministered. 

Ralph slapped himself with his whip, whistled, and gave other masculinesigns of interest and sympathy. Evelyn looked from one to the other, amiably distressed in her well-fitting habit. After a long conversation, in which Evelyn disclosed that Ralph was possessed of the mostextraordinary knowledge and experience in such matters, the twogood-natured young people, seeing he was depressed and lonely, beggedhim to come and stay with them at Atherstone the very next day, when hemight discuss his affairs with Ralph, if so disposed, and take counselwith him. Dare accepted with the most genuine pleasure, and his speakingcountenance was in a moment radiant with smiles. Was not the littleMolly of the school-feast their child? and was not Miss Deyncourtlikewise staying with them?

When his visitors departed, Dare took a turn at the rapiers; then openedthe piano with the internal derangement, and sang to his ownaccompaniment a series of little confidential French songs, which wouldhave made the hair of his ancestors stand on end, if painted hair coulddo such a thing. And the "new squire, " as he was already called, shrugged his shoulders, and lowered his voice, and spread out hisexpressive rapid hands, and introduced to Vandon, one after another, some of those choice little ditties, French and English, which had madehim such a favorite companion in Paris, so popular in a certain societyin America. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

"Sir Charles!"

"Miss Deyncourt!"

"I fear, " with a glance at the yellow-back in his hand, "I aminterrupting a studious hour, but--"

"Not in the least, I assure you, " said Charles, shutting his novel. "What is regarded as study by the feminine intellect is to the masculinemerely relaxation. I was 'unbending over a book, ' that was all. "

The process of "unbending" was being performed in the summer-house, whither he had retired after Evelyn and Ralph had started on theirafternoon's ride to Vandon, in which he had refused to join. 

"I thought I should find you here, " continued Ruth, frankly. "I havebeen wishing to speak to you for several days, but you are as a rule sosurrounded and encompassed on every side by Molly that I have not had anopportunity. "

It had occurred to Charles once or twice during the last few days thatMolly was occasionally rather in the way. Now he was sure of it. As Ruthappeared to hesitate, he pulled forward a rustic contorted chair forher. 

"No, thanks, " she said. "I shall not long interrupt the unbendingprocess. I only came to ask--"

"To ask!" repeated Charles, who had got up as she was standing, and cameand stood near her. 

"You remember the first evening you were here?"

"I do. "

"And what we spoke of at dinner?"

"Perfectly. "

"I came to ask you how much you lent Raymond?" Ruth's clear, earnesteyes were fixed full upon him. 

At this moment Charles perceived Lady Mary at a little distance, propelling herself gently over the grass in the direction of thesummer-house. In another second she had perceived Charles and Ruth, andhad turned precipitately, and hobbled away round the corner withsurprising agility. 

"Confound her!" inwardly ejaculated Charles. 

"I wish to know how much you lent him, " said Ruth again, as he did notanswer, happily unconscious of what had been going on behind her back. 

"Only what I was well able to afford. "

"And has he paid it back since?"

"I am sure he understood I should not expect him to pay it back atonce. "

"But he has had it three years. "

Charles did not answer. 

"I feel sure he is not able to pay it. Will you kindly tell me how muchit was?"

"No, Miss Deyncourt; I think not. "

"Why not?"

"Because--excuse me, but I perceive that if I do you will instantly wishto pay it. "

"I do wish to pay it. "

"I thought so. "

There was a short silence. 

"I still wish it, " said Ruth at last. 

Charles was silent. Her pertinacity annoyed and yet piqued him. Beingunmarried, he was not accustomed to opposition from a woman. He had nointention of allowing her to pay her brother's debt, and he wished shewould drop the subject gracefully, now that he had made that factevident. 

"Perhaps you don't know, " continued Ruth, "that I am very well off. " (Asif he did not know it! As if Lady Mary had not casually mentioned Ruth'sfortune several times in his hearing!) "Lady Deyncourt left me twelvehundred a year, and I have a little of my own besides. You may not beaware that I have fourteen hundred and sixty-two pounds per annum. "

"I am very glad to hear it. "

"That is a large sum, you will observe. "

"It is riches, " assented Charles, "if your expenditure happens to beless. "

"It does happen to be considerably less in my case. "

"You are to be congratulated. And yet I have always understood thatsociety exacts great sacrifices from women in the sums they feel obligedto devote to dress. "

"Dress is an interesting subject, and I should be delighted to hear yourviews on it another time; but we are talking of something else just atthis moment. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Charles, quickly, who did not quite like beingbrought back to the case in point. "I--the truth was, I wished to turnyour mind from what we were speaking of. I don't want you to countsovereigns into my hand. I really should dislike it very much. "

"You intend me to think from that remark that it was a small sum, " saidRuth, with unexpected shrewdness. "I now feel sure it was a large one. It ought to be paid, and there is no one to do it but me. I know thatwhat is firmness in a man is obstinacy in a woman, so do not on yourside be too firm, or, who knows? you may arouse some of that obstinacyin me to which I should like to think myself superior. "

"If, " said Charles, with sudden eagerness, as if an idea had just struckhim, "if I let you pay me this debt, will you on your side allow me tomake a condition?"

"I should like to know the condition first. "

"Of course. If I agree, "--Charles's light gray eyes had become keen andintent--"if I agree to receive payment of what I lent Deyncourt threeyears ago, will you promise not to pay any other debt of his, or ever tolend him money without the knowledge and approval of your relations?"

Ruth considered for a few minutes. 

"I have so few relations, " she said at length, with rather a sad smile, "and they are all prejudiced against poor Raymond. I think I am the onlyfriend he has left in the world. I am afraid I could not promise that. "

"Well, " said Charles, eagerly, "I won't insist on relations. I knowenough of those thorns in the flesh myself. I will say instead, 'naturaladvisers. ' Come, Miss Deyncourt, you can't accuse me of firmness now!"

"My natural advisers, " repeated Ruth, slowly. "I feel as if I ought tohave natural advisers somewhere; but who are they? Where are they? Icould not ask my sister or her husband for advice. I mean, I could nottake it if I did. I should think I knew better myself. Uncle John?Evelyn? Lord Polesworth? Sir Charles, I am afraid the truth is I havenever asked for advice in my life. I have always tried to do what seemedbest, without troubling to know what other people thought about it. Butas I am anxious to yield gracefully, will you substitute the word'friends' for 'natural advisers'? I hope and think I have friends whom Icould trust. "

"Friends, then, let it be, " said Charles. "Now, " holding out his hand, "do you promise never, et cetera, et cetera, without first consultingyour _friends_?"

Ruth put her hand into his. 

"I do. "

"That is right. How amiable we are both becoming! I suppose I must nowinform you that two hundred pounds is the exact sum I lent yourbrother. "

Ruth went back to the house, and in a few minutes returned with a checkin her hand. She held it towards Charles, who took it, and put it in hispocket-book. 

"Thank you, " she said, with gratitude in her eyes and voice. 

"We have had a pitched battle, " said Charles, relapsing into his oldindifferent manner. "Neither of us has been actually defeated, for wenever called out our reserves, which I felt would have been hardly fairon you; but we do not come forth with flying colors. I fear, from yourair of elation, you actually believe you have been victorious. "

"I agree with you that there has been no defeat, " replied Ruth; "but Iwon't keep you any longer from your studies. I am just going out drivingwith Lady Mary to have tea with the Thursbys. "

"Miss Deyncourt, don't allow a natural and most pardonable vanity todelude you to such an extent. Don't go out driving the victim of a falseimpression. If you will consider one moment--"

"Not another moment, " replied Ruth; "our bugles have sung truce, and Iam not going to put on my war-paint again for any consideration. Therecomes the carriage, " as a distant rumbling was heard. "I must not keepLady Mary waiting;" and she was gone. 

Charles heard the carriage roll away again, and when half an hour laterhe sauntered back towards the house, he was surprised to see Lady Marysitting in the drawing-room window. 

"What! Not gone, after all!" he exclaimed, in a voice in which surprisewas more predominant than pleasure. 

"No, Charles, " returned Lady Mary in her measured tones, looking slowlyup at him over her gold-rimmed spectacles. "I felt a slight return of myold enemy, and Miss Deyncourt kindly undertook to make my excuses toMrs. Thursby. "

No one knew what the old enemy was, or in what manner his mysteriousassaults on Lady Mary were conducted; but it was an understood thingthat she had private dealings with him, in which he could make himselfvery disagreeable. 

"Has Molly gone with her?"

"No; Molly is making jam in the kitchen, I believe. Miss Deyncourt mostgood-naturedly offered to take her with her; but, "--with a shake of thehead--"the poor child's totally unrestrained appetites and lamentableself-will made her prefer to remain where she was. "

"I am afraid, " said Charles, meditatively, as if the idea were entirelya novel one, "Molly is getting a little spoiled among us. It is naturalin you, of course; but there is no excuse for me. There never is. Thereare, I confess, moments when I don't regard the child's immortal welfaresufficiently to make her present existence less enjoyable. What a roundof gayety Molly's life is! She flits from flower to flower, so to speak;from me to cook and the jam-pots; from the jam-pots to some freshdelight in the loft, or in your society. Life is one long feast toMolly. Whatever that old impostor the Future may have in store for her, at any rate she is having a good time now. "

There was a shade of regretful sadness in Charles's voice that ruffledhis aunt. 

"The child is being ruined, " she said, with resigned bitterness. 

"Not a bit of it. I was spoiled as a child, and look at me!"

"You _are_ spoiled. I don't spoil you; but other people do. Societydoes. And the result is that you are so hard to please that I don'tbelieve you will ever marry. You look for a perfection in others whichis not to be found in yourself. "

"I don't fancy I should appear to advantage side by side withperfection, " said Charles, in his most careless manner; and he rose, andwandered away into the garden. 

He was irritated with Lady Mary, with her pleased looks during the lastfew days, with her annoying celerity that afternoon in the garden. Itwas all the more annoying because he was conscious that Ruth amusedand interested him in no slight degree. She had the rare qualityof being genuine. She stood for what she was, without effort orself-consciousness. Whether playful or serious, she was always real. Beneath a reserved and rather quiet manner there lurked a piquantunconventionality. The mixture of earnestness and humor, which were soclosely interwoven in her nature that he could never tell which wouldcome uppermost, had a strange attraction for him. He had grownaccustomed to watch for and try to provoke the sudden gleam of fun inthe serious eyes, which always preceded a retort given with an air ofthe sweetest feminine meekness, which would make Ralph rub himself allover with glee, and tell Charles, chuckling, he "would not get muchchange out of Ruth. "

If only she had not been asked to Atherstone on purpose to meet him. Ifonly Lady Mary had not arranged it; if only Evelyn did not know it; ifonly Ralph had not guessed it; if only he himself had not seen it fromthe first instant! Ruth and Molly were the only two unconscious personsin the house. 

"I wonder, " said Charles to himself, "why people can't allow me tomanage my own affairs? Oh, what a world it is for unmarried men withmoney! Why did I not marry fifteen years ago, when every woman with astraight nose was an angel of light; when I felt a noble disregard forsuch minor details as character, mind, sympathy, if the hair and theeyes were the right shade? Why did I not marry when I was out of favorwith my father, when I was head over ears in debt, and when at least Icould feel sure no one would marry me for my money? Molly, " as thatyoung lady came running towards him with lingering traces of jam uponher flushed countenance, "you have arrived just in time. Uncle Charleswas getting so dull without you. What have you been after all thistime?"

"Cook and me have made thirty-one pots and a little one, " said Molly, inserting a very sticky hand into Charles's. "And your Mr. Brown helped. Cook told him to go along at first, which wasn't kind, was it? but hestayed all the same; and I skimmed with a big spoon, and she poured itin the pots. Only they aren't covered up with paper yet, if you want tosee them. And oh! Uncle Charles, what _do_ you think? Father and motherhave come back from their ride, and that nice funny man who was at theschool-feast is coming here to-morrow, and I shall show him myguinea-pigs. He said he wanted to see them very much. "

"Oh, he did, did he? When was that?"

"At the school-feast. Oh!" with enthusiasm, "he was so nice, UncleCharles, so attentive, and getting things when you want them; and thewheel went over his foot when he was shaking hands, and he did not minda bit; and he filled our teapots for us--Ruth's big one, you know, thatholds such a lot. "

"Oh! He filled the big teapot, did he?"

"Yes, and mine too; and then he helped us to unpack the dolls. He was sokind to me and Cousin Ruth. "

"Kind to Miss Deyncourt, was he?"

"Yes; and when we went away he ran and opened the gate for us. Oh, therecomes Cousin Ruth back again in the carriage. I'll run and tell her he'scoming. She _will_ be glad. "

"Aunt Mary is right, " said Charles, watching his niece disappear. "Mollyhas formed a habit of expressing herself with unnecessary freedom. Decidedly she is a little spoiled. "

CHAPTER IX. 

Dare arrived at Atherstone the following afternoon. Evelyn and Ralph, who had enlarged on the state of morbid depression of the lonelyinhabitant of Vandon, were rather taken aback by the jaunty appearanceof the sufferer when he appeared, overflowing with evident satisfactionand small-talk, his face wreathed with smiles. 

"He bears up wonderfully, " said Charles aside to Ruth, later in theevening, as Dare warbled a very discreet selection of his best songsafter dinner. "No one knows better than myself that many a breakingheart beats beneath a smiling waistcoat, but unless we had been toldbeforehand we should never have guessed it in his case. "

Dare, who was looking at Ruth, and saw Charles go and sit down by her, brought his song to an abrupt conclusion, and made his way to her also. 

"You also sing, Miss Deyncourt?" he asked. "I am sure, from your face, you sing. "

"I do. "

"Thank Heaven!" said Charles, fervently. "I did you an injustice. Ithought you were going to say 'a little. ' Every singing young lady Iever met, when asked that question, invariably replied 'a little. '"

"I leave my friends to say that for me, " said Ruth. 

"Perhaps you yourself sing a _little_?" asked Dare, wishing Charleswould leave Ruth's ball of wool alone. 

"No, " said Charles; "I have no tricks. " And he rose and went off to thenewspaper-table. Dare's songs were all very well, but really his voicewas nothing so very wonderful, and he was not much of an acquisition inother ways. 

Then Dare took his opportunity. He dropped into Charles's vacant chair;he wound wool; he wished to learn to knit; his inquiring mind craved forinformation respecting shooting-stockings. He talked of music; ofsongs--Italian, French, and English; of American nigger melodies. WouldMiss Deyncourt sing? Might he accompany her? Ah! she preferred thesimple old English ballads. He _loved_ the simple English ballad. 

And Ruth, nothing loath, sang in her fresh, clear voice one song afteranother, Dare accompanying her with rapid sympathy and ease. 

Charles put down his paper and moved slightly, so that he had a betterview of the piano. Evelyn laid down her work and looked affectionatelyat Ruth. 

"Exquisite, " said Lady Mary from time to time, who had said the same ofLady Grace's wavering little soprano. 

"You also sing duets? You sing duets?" eagerly inquired Dare, themusic-stool creaking with his suppressed excitement; and, withoutwaiting for an answer, he began playing the opening chords of"Greeting. "

The two voices rose and fell together, now soft, now triumphant, harmonizing as if they sung together for years. Dare's second was low, pathetic, and it blended at once with Ruth's clear young contralto. Charles wondered that the others should applaud when the duet wasfinished. Ruth's voice went best alone in his opinion. 

"And the 'Cold Blast'?" asked Dare, immediately afterwards. "The 'ColdBlast' was here a moment ago, "--turning the leaves over rapidly. "Youare not tired, Miss Deyncourt?"

"Tired!" replied Ruth, her eyes sparkling. "It never tires me to sing. It rests me. "

"Ah! so it is with me. That is just how I feel, " said Dare. "To sing, orto listen to the voice of--of--"

"Of what? Confound him!" wondered Charles. 

"Of _another_, " said Dare. "Ah, here he is!" and he pounced on anothersong, and lightly touched the opening chords. 

 "'Oh! wert thou in the cold blast, '"

sang Ruth, fresh and sweet. 

 "'I'd shelter thee, '"

Dare assured her with manly fervor. He went on to say what he would doif he were monarch of the realm, affirming that the brightest jewel ofhis crown would be his queen. 

"Anyhow, he can't pronounce Scotch, " Charles thought. 

"Would be his queen, " Dare repeated, with subdued emotion and an upwardglance at Ruth, which she was too much absorbed in the song to see, butwhich did not escape Charles. Dare's dark sentimental eyes spoke volumesof--not sermons--at that moment. 

"Oh, Uncle Charles!" whispered Molly, who had been allowed to sit upabout two hours beyond her nominal bedtime, at which hour she rarelyfelt disposed to retire--"oh, Uncle Charles! 'The brightest jewel in hiscrown!' Don't you wish you and me could sing together like that?"

Charles moved impatiently, and took up his paper again. 

The evening passed all too quickly for Dare, who loved music and thesound of his own voice, and he had almost forgotten, until Charles lefthim and Ralph alone together in the smoking-room, that he had come todiscuss his affairs with the latter. 

"Dear me, " said Evelyn, who had followed her cousin to her room afterthey had dispersed for the night, and was looking out of Ruth's window, "that must be Charles walking up and down on the lawn. Well, now, howthoughtful he is to leave Mr. Dare and Ralph together. You know, Ruth, poor Mr. Dare's affairs are in a very bad way, and he has come to talkthings over with my Ralph. "

"I hope Ralph will make him put his cottages in order, " said Ruth, withsudden interest, shaking back her hair from her shoulders. "Do you thinkhe will?"

"Whatever Ralph advises will be sure to be right, " replied Evelyn, withthe soft conviction of his infallibility which caused her to beconsidered by most of Ralph's masculine friends an ideal wife. It iswomen without reasoning powers of any kind whom the nobler sex should becareful to marry if they wish to be regarded through life in thisdelightful way by their wives. Men not particularly heroic inthemselves, who yet are anxious to pose as heroes in their domesticcircle, should remember that the smallest modicum of common-sense on thepart of the worshipper will inevitably mar a happiness, the veryexistence of which depends entirely on a blind unreasoning devotion. Inmiddle life the absence of reason begins perhaps to be felt; but why inyouth take thought for such a far-off morrow!

"I hope he will, " said Ruth, half to herself. "What an opportunity thatman has if he only sees it. There is so much to be done, and it is allin his hands. "

"Yes, it's not entailed; but I don't think there is so very much, " saidEvelyn. "But then, so long as people are nice, I never care whether theyare rich or poor. That is the first question I ask when people come intothe neighborhood. Are they really nice? Dear me, Ruth, what beautifulhair you have; and mine coming off so! And, talking of hair, did youever see anything like Mr. Dare's? Somebody must really speak to himabout it. If he would keep his hands still, and not talk so quick, andlet his hair grow a little, I really think he would not look so like aforeigner. "

"I don't suppose he minds looking like one. "

"My _dear_!"

"His mother was a Frenchwoman, wasn't she? I am sure I have heard sofifty times since his uncle died. "

"And if she was, " said Evelyn, reprovingly, "is not that an extra reasonfor his giving up anything that will remind people of it? And we oughtto try and forget it, Ruth, and behave just the same to him as if shehad been an Englishwoman. I wonder if he is a Roman Catholic?"

"Ask him. "

"I hope he is not, " continued Evelyn, taking up her candle to go. "Wenever had one to stay in the house before. I don't mean, " catching aglimpse of Ruth's face, "that Catholics are--well--I don't mean _that_. But still, you know, one would not like to make great _friends_ with aCatholic, would one, Ruth? And he is so nice and so amusing that I dohope, as he is going to be a neighbor, he is a Protestant. " And after afew more remarks of about the same calibre from Evelyn, the two cousinskissed and parted for the night. 

"Will he do it?" said Ruth to herself, when she was alone. "Has hecharacter enough, and perseverance enough, and money enough? Oh, I wishUncle John would talk to him!"

Ruth was not aware that one word from herself would have more weightwith a man like Dare than any number from an angel of heaven, if thatangel were of the masculine gender. If at the other side of the houseDare could have known how earnestly Ruth was thinking about him, hewould not have been surprised (for he was not without experience), buthe would have felt immensely flattered. 

Vandon lay in a distant part of Mr. Alwynn's parish, and a perpetualcurate had charge of the district. Mr. Alwynn consequently seldom wentthere, but on the few occasions on which Ruth had accompanied him in hisperiodical visits she had seen enough. Who cares for a recital of whatshe saw? Misery and want are so common. We can see them for ourselvesany day. In Ruth's heart a great indignation had kindled against old Mr. Dare, of Vandon, who was inaccessible as a ghost in his own house, haunting the same rooms, but never to be found when Mr. Alwynn calledupon him to "put things before him in their true light. " And when Mr. Dare descended to the Vandon vault, all Mr. Alwynn's interest, andconsequently a good deal of Ruth's, had centred in the new heir, who wasso difficult to find, and who ultimately turned up from the other end ofnowhere just when people were beginning to despair of his ever turningup at all. 

And now that he had come, would he make the crooked straight? Would thenew broom sweep clean? Ruth recalled the new broom's brown handsomeface, with the eager eyes and raised eyebrows, and involuntarily shookher head. It is difficult to be an impartial judge of any one with afeeling for music and a pathetic tenor voice; but the face she hadcalled to mind did not inspire her with confidence. It was kindly, amiable, pleasant; but was it strong? In other words, was it not atrifle weak?

She found herself comparing it with another, a thin, reserved face, withkeen light eyes and a firm mouth; a mouth with a cigar in it at thatmoment on the lawn. The comparison, however, did not help hermeditations much, being decidedly prejudicial to the "new broom;" andthe faint chime of the clock on the dressing-table breaking in on themat the same moment, she dismissed them for the night, and proceeded tobusy herself putting to bed her various little articles of jewellerybefore betaking herself there also. 

 * * * * *

Any doubts entertained by Evelyn about Dare's religious views werecompletely set at rest the following morning, which happened to be aSunday. He appeared at breakfast in a black frock-coat, the splendor ofwhich quite threw Ralph's ancient Sunday garment into the shade. He worealso a chastened, decorous aspect, which seemed unfamiliar to his mobileface, and rather ill suited to it. After breakfast, he inquired whenservice would be, and expressed a wish to attend it. He brought down ahigh hat and an enormous prayer-book, and figured with them in thegarden. 

"Who is going to Greenacre, and who is going to Slumberleigh?" calledout Ralph, from the smoking-room window. "Because, if any of you aregoing to foot it to Slumberleigh, you had better be starting. Which areyou going to, Charles?"

"I am going where Molly goes. Which is it to be, Molly?"

"Slumberleigh, " said Molly, with decision, "because it's the shortestsermon, and I want to see the little foal in Brown's field. "

"Slumberleigh be it, " said Charles. "Now, Miss Deyncourt, " as Ruthappeared, "which church are you going to support--Greenacre, which isclose in more senses than one, where they never open the windows, andthe clergyman preaches for an hour; or Slumberleigh, shady, airy, cool, lying past a meadow with a foal in it? If I may offer that as anyinducement, Molly and I intend to patronize Slumberleigh. "

Ruth said she would do the same. 

"Now, Dare, _you_ will be able to decide whether Greenacre, with alittle fat tower, or Slumberleigh, with a beautiful tall steeple, suitsyour religious views best. "

"I will also go to Slumberleigh, " said Dare, without a moment'shesitation. 

"I thought so. I suppose, "--to Ralph and Evelyn--"you are going toGreenacre with Aunt Mary? Tell her I have gone to church, will you? Itwill cheer her up. Sunday is a very depressing day with her, I know. Shethinks of all she has done in the week, preparatory to doing a littlemore on Monday. Good-bye. Now then, Molly, have you got yourprayer-book? Miss Deyncourt, I don't see yours anywhere. Oh, there itis! No, don't let Dare carry it for you. Give it to me. He will haveenough to do, poor fellow, to travel with his own. Come, Molly! Is Vicchained up? Yes, I can hear him howling. The craving for churchprivileges of that dumb animal, Miss Deyncourt, is an example to usChristians. Molly, have you got your penny? Miss Deyncourt, can Iaccommodate you with a threepenny bit? Now, _are_ we all ready tostart?"

"When this outburst of eloquence has subsided, " said Ruth, "the audiencewill be happy to move on. "

And so they started across the fields, where the grass was alreadyspringing faint and green after the haymaking. There was a freshwandering air, which fluttered the ribbons in Molly's hat, as she dancedon ahead, frisking in her short white skirt beside her uncle, her handin his. Charles was the essence of wit to Molly, with his grave facethat so seldom smiled, and the twinkle in the kind eyes, that alwayswent before those wonderful, delightful jokes which he alone could make. Sometimes, as she laughed, she looked back at Ruth and Dare, half afield behind, in pity at what they were missing. 

"Shall we wait and tell them that story, Uncle Charles?"

"No, Molly. I dare say he is telling her another which is just as good. "

"I don't think he knows any like yours. "

"Some people like the old, old story best. "

"Do I know the old, old one, Uncle Charles?"

"No, Molly. "

"Can you tell it?"

"No. I have never been able to tell that particular story. "

"And do you really think he is telling it to her now?" with a backwardglance. 

"Not at this moment. It's no good running back. He's only thinking aboutit now. He will tell it her in about a month or six weeks' time. "

"I hope I shall be there when he tells it. "

"I hope you may; but I don't think it is likely. And now, Molly, setyour hat straight, and leave off jumping. I never jump when I go tochurch with Aunt Mary. Quietly now, for there's the church, and Mr. Alwynn's looking out of the window. "

Dare, meanwhile, walking with Ruth, caught sight of the church andlych-gate with heart-felt regret. The stretches of sunny meadowland, thefaint glamour of church bells, the pale refined face beside him, hadeach individually and all three together appealed to his imagination, always vivid when he himself was concerned. He suddenly felt as if agreat gulf had fixed itself, without any will of his own, between hisold easy-going life and the new existence that was opening out beforehim. 

He had crossed from the old to the new without any perception of such agulf, and now, as he looked back, it seemed to yawn between him and allthat hitherto he had been. He did not care to look back, so he lookedforward. He felt as if he were the central figure (when was he _not_ acentral figure?) in a new drama. He was fond of acting, on and off thestage, and now he seemed to be playing a new part, in which he was notyet thoroughly at ease, but which he rather suspected would become himexceedingly well. It amused him to see himself going to church--_tochurch_--to hear himself conversing on flowers and music with a youngEnglish girl. The idea that he was rapidly falling in love was speciallydelightful. He called himself a _vieux scélérat_, and watched theprogress of feelings which he felt did him credit with extremesatisfaction. He and Ruth arrived at the church porch all too soon forDare; and though he had the pleasure of sitting on one side of herduring the service, he would have preferred that Charles, of whom hefelt a vague distrust, had not happened to be on the other. 

CHAPTER X. 

"My dear, " said Mrs. Alwynn to her husband that morning, as they startedfor church across the glebe, "if any of the Atherstone party are inchurch, as they ought to be, for I hear from Mrs. Smith that they arenot at all regular at Greenacre--only went once last Sunday, and thenlate--I shall just tell Ruth that she is to come back to me to-morrow. Afew days won't make any difference to her, and it will fit in so nicelyher coming back the day you go to the palace. After all I've done forRuth--new curtains to her room, and the piano tuned and everything--Idon't think she would like to stay there with friends, and me all bymyself, without a creature to speak to. Ruth may be only a niece bymarriage, but she will see in a moment--"

And in fact she did. When Mrs. Alwynn took her aside after church, andexplained the case in the all-pervading whisper for which she hadapparently taken out a patent, Ruth could not grasp any reason why sheshould return to Slumberleigh three days before the time, but she saw atonce that return she must if Mrs. Alwynn chose to demand it; and so sheyielded with a good grace, and sent Mrs. Alwynn back smiling to thelych-gate, where Mr. Alwynn and Mabel Thursby were talking with Dare andMolly, while Charles interviewed the village policeman at a littledistance. 

"No news of the tramp, " said Charles, meeting Ruth at the gate; and theystarted homeward in different order to that in which they had come, inspite of a great effort at the last moment on the part of Dare, whothought the old way was better. "The policeman has seen nothing of him. He has gone off to pastures new, I expect. "

"I hope he has. "

"Mrs. Alwynn does not want you to leave Atherstone to-morrow, does she?"

"I am sorry to say she does. "

"But you won't go?"

"I must not only go, but I must do it as if I liked it. "

"I hope Evelyn won't allow it. "

"While I am living with Mrs. Alwynn, I am bound to do what she likes insmall things. "

"H'm!"

"I should have thought, Sir Charles, that this particularly feminine andsubmissive sentiment would have met with your approval. "

"It does; it does, " said Charles, hastily. "Only, after the stubbornrigidity of your--shall I say your--week-day character, especially asregards money, this softened Sabbath mood took me by surprise for amoment. "

"You should see me at Slumberleigh, " said Ruth, with a smile half sad, half humorous. "You should see me tying up Uncle John's flowers, orholding Aunt Fanny's wools. Nothing more entirely feminine and younglady-like can be imagined. "

"It must be a great change, after living with a woman like LadyDeyncourt--to whose house I often went years ago, when her son wasliving--to come to a place like Slumberleigh. "

"It _is_ a great change. I am ashamed to say how much I felt it atfirst. I don't know how to express it; but everything down here seems sosmall and local, and hard and fast. "

"I know, " said Charles, gently; and they walked on in silence. "Andyet, " he said at last, "it seems to me, and I should have thought youwould have felt the same, that life is very small, very narrow andcircumscribed everywhere; though perhaps more obviously so in Cranfordsand Slumberleighs. I have seen a good deal during the last fifteenyears. I have mixed with many sorts and conditions of men, but in noclass or grade of society have I yet found independent men and women. The groove is as narrow in one class as in another, though in some it isbetter concealed. I sometimes feel as if I were walking in a ball-roomfull of people all dancing the lancers. There are different sets, ofcourse--fashionable, political, artistic--but the people in them are allcrossing over, all advancing and retiring, with the same apparentaimlessness, or setting to partners. "

"There is occasionally an aim in that. "

Charles smiled grimly. 

"They follow the music in that as in everything else. You go away forten years, and still find them, on your return, going through the samefigures to new tunes. I wonder if there are any people anywhere in theworld who stand on their own feet, and think and act for themselves; whodon't set their watches by other people's; who don't live and marry anddie by rote, expecting to go straight up to heaven by rote afterwards?"

"I believe there are such people, " said Ruth, earnestly; "I have hadglimpses of them, but the real ones look like the shadows, and theshadows like the real ones, and--we miss them in the crowd. "

"Or one thinks one finds them, and they turn out only clever imitationsafter all. In these days there is a mania for shamming originality ofsome kind. I am always imagining people I meet are real, and notshadows, until one day I unintentionally put my hand through them, andfind out my mistake. I am getting tired of being taken in. "

"And some day you will get tired of being cynical. "

"I am very much obliged to you for your hopeful view of my future. Youevidently imagine that I have gone in for the fashionable creed of theyoung man of the present day. I am not young enough to take pleasure inhigh collars and cheap cynicism, Miss Deyncourt. Cynical people arenever disappointed in others, as I so often am, because they expect theworst. In theory I respect and admire my fellow-creatures, but theycontinually exasperate me because they won't allow me to do so in reallife. I have still--I blush to own it--a lingering respect for women, though they have taken pains to show me, time after time, what a fool Iam for such a weakness. "

Charles looked intently at Ruth. Women are so terribly apt in handlingany subject to make it personal. Would she fire up, or would she, likeso many women, join in abuse of her own sex? She did neither. She waslooking straight in front of her, absently watching the figures of Dareand Molly in the next field. Then she turned her grave, thoughtfulglance towards him. 

"I think respect is never weakness, " she said. "It is a sign ofstrength, even when it is misplaced. There is not much to admire incunning people who are never taken in. The best people I have known, thepeople whom it did me good to be with, have been those who respectedothers and themselves. Do not be in too great a hurry to get rid of anylittle fragment that still remains. You may want it when it is gone. "

Charles's apathetic face had become strangely earnest. There was a keen, searching look in his tired, restless eyes. He was about to make someanswer, when he suddenly became aware of Dare and Molly sitting perchedon a gate close at hand waiting for them. Never had he perceived Molly'slittle brown face with less pleasure than at that moment. She scrambleddown with a noble disregard of appearances, and tried to take his hand. But it was coolly withdrawn. Charles fell behind on some pretence offastening the gate, and Molly had to content herself with Ruth's andDare's society for the remainder of the walk. 

Ruth had almost forgotten, until Molly suggested at luncheon a picnicfor the following day, that she was returning to Slumberleigh on Mondaymorning; and when she made the fact known, Ralph had to be "hushed"several times by Evelyn for muttering opinions behind the sirloinrespecting Mrs. Alwynn, which Evelyn seemed to have heard before, and toconsider unsuited to the ears of that lady's niece. 

"But if you go away, Cousin Ruth, we can't have the picnic. Can we, Uncle Charles?"

"Impossible, Molly. Rather bread and butter at home than a mixed biscuitin the open air without Miss Deyncourt. "

"Is Mrs. Alwynn suffering?" asked Lady Mary, politely, down the table. 

Ruth explained that she was not in ill-health, but that she did wish tobe left alone; and Ralph was "hushed" again. 

Lady Mary was annoyed, or, more properly speaking, she was "moved in thespirit, " which in a Churchwoman seems to be the same thing as annoyancein the unregenerate or unorthodox mind. She regretted Ruth's departuremore than any one, except perhaps Ruth herself. She had watched the girlvery narrowly, and she had seen nothing to make her alter the opinionshe had formed of her; indeed, she was inclined to advance beyond it. Even she could not suspect that Ruth had "played her cards well;"although she would have aided and abetted her in any way in her power, if Ruth had shown the slightest consciousness of holding cards at all, or being desirous of playing them. Her frank yet reserved manner, herdistinguished appearance, her sense of humor (which Lady Mary did notunderstand, but which she perceived others did), and the quiet _savoirfaire_ of her treatment of Dare's advances, all enhanced her greatly inthe eyes of her would-be aunt. She bade her good-bye with genuineregret; the only person who bore her departure without a shade ofcompunction being Dare, who stood by the carriage till the last moment, assuring Ruth that he hoped to come over to the rectory very shortly;while Charles and Molly held the gate open meanwhile, at the end of theshort drive. 

"I know that Frenchman means business, " said Lady Mary wrathfully toherself, as she watched the scene from the garden. Her mind, from thevery severity of its tension, was liable to occasional lapses of thispainful kind from the spiritual and ecclesiastical to the mundane andtransitory. "I saw it directly he came into the house; and with _his_opportunities, and living within a stone's-throw, I should not wonder ifhe were to succeed. Any man would fetch a fancy price at Slumberleigh;and the most fastidious woman in the world ceases to be critical if sheis reduced to the proper state of dulness. He is handsome, too, in hisforeign way. But she does not like him now. She is inclined to likeCharles, though she does not know it. There is an attraction between thetwo. I knew there would be. And he likes her. Oh, what fools men are! Hewill go away; and Dare, on the contrary, will ride over to Slumberleighevery day, and by the time he is engaged to her Charles will see heragain, and find out that he is in love with her himself. Oh, the folly, the density, of unmarried men! and, indeed, " (with a sudden recollectionof the deceased Mr. Cunningham), "of the whole race of them! But of allmen I have ever known, I really think the most provoking is Charles. "

"Musing?" inquired her nephew, sauntering up to her. 

"I was thinking that we had just lost the pleasantest person of ourlittle party, " said Lady Mary, viciously seizing up her work. 

"I am still here, " suggested Charles, by way of consolation. "I don'tstart for Norway in Wyndham's yacht for three days to come. "

"Do you mean to say you are going to Norway?"

"I forget whether it was to be Norway; but I know I'm booked to goyachting somewhere. It's Wyndham's new toy. He paid through the parentalnose for it, and he made me promise in London to go with him on hisfirst cruise. I believe a very charming Miss Wyndham is to be of theparty. "

"And how long, pray, are you going to yacht with Miss Wyndham?"

"It is with her brother I propose to go. I thought I had explained thatbefore. I shall probably cruise about, let me see, for three weeks orso, till the grouse-shooting begins. Then I am due in Scotland, at theHope-Actons', and several other places. "

Lady Mary laid down her work, and rose to her feet, her thin handclosing tightly over the silver crook of her stick. 

"Charles, " she said, in a voice trembling with anger, looking him fullin the face, "you are a fool!" and she passed him without another word, and hobbled away rapidly into the house. 

"Am I?" said Charles, half aloud to himself, when the last fold of hergarment had been twitched out of sight through the window. 

"_Am I?_ Molly, " with great gravity, as Molly appeared, "yes, you may siton my knee; but don't wriggle. Molly, what is a fool?"

"I think it's Raca, only worse, " said Molly. "Uncle Charles, Mr. Dare isgoing away too. His dog-cart had just come into the yard. "

"Has it? I hope he won't keep it waiting. "

"You are not going away, are you?"

"Not for three days more. "

"Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Why, they will be gone in a moment. "

But to Charles they seemed three very long days indeed. He was annoyedwith himself for having made so many engagements before he left London. At the time there did not seem anything better to be done, and hesupposed he must go somewhere; but now he thought he would have liked tostay on at Atherstone, though he would not have said so to Lady Mary forworlds. He was tired of rushing up and down. He was not so fond ofyachting, after all; and he remembered that he had been many times toNorway. 

"I would get out of it if I could, " he said to Lady Mary on the lastmorning; "and of this blue serge suit, too (you should see Miss Wyndhamin blue serge!); but it is not a question of pleasure, but of principle. I don't like to throw over Wyndham at the last moment, after what yousaid when I failed the Hope-Actons last year. Twins could not feel moreexactly together than you and I do where a principle is involved. I seeyou are about to advise me to keep my engagement. Do not trouble to doso; I am going to Portsmouth by the mid-day train. Brown is at thismoment packing my telescope and life-belt. "

CHAPTER XI. 

It was the end of August. The little lawn at Slumberleigh Rectory wasparched and brown. The glebe beyond was brown; so was the field beyondthat. The thirsty road was ash-white between its gray hedge-rows. It washotter in the open air than in the house, but Ruth had brought her booksout into the garden all the same, and had made a conscientious effort toread under the chestnut-tree. 

For under the same roof with Mrs. Alwynn she had soon learned thatapplication or study of any kind was an impossibility. Mrs. Alwynn hadseveral maxims as to the conduct of herself, and consequently of everyone else, and one of those to which she most frequently gave utterancewas that "young people should always be cheery and sociable, and shouldnot be left too much to themselves. "

When in the winter Mr. Alwynn had brought home Ruth, quite overwhelmedfor the time by the shock of the first real trouble she had known, Mrs. Alwynn was kindness itself in the way of sweet-breads and warm rooms;but the only thing Ruth craved for, to be left alone, she would notallow for a moment. No! Mrs. Alwynn was cheerful, brisk, and pious atintervals. If she found her niece was sitting in her own room, shebustled up-stairs, poked the fire, gave her a kiss, and finally broughther down to the drawing-room, where she told her she would be as quietas in her own room. She need not be afraid her uncle would come in; andshe must not allow herself to get moped. What would she, Mrs. Alwynn, have done, she would like to know, if, when she was in trouble--and sheknew what trouble meant, if any one did--she had allowed herself to getmoped. Ruth must try and bear up. And at Lady Deyncourt's age it wasquite to be expected. And Ruth must remember she still had a sister, andthat there was a happy home above. And now, if she would get that greenwool out of the red plush iron (which really was a work-box--such adroll idea, wasn't it?), Ruth should hold the wool, and they would havea cosey little chat till luncheon time. 

And so Mrs. Alwynn did her duty by her niece; and Ruth, in the darkdays that followed her grandmother's death, took all the littlekindnesses in the spirit in which they were meant, and did her duty byher aunt. 

But after a time Mrs. Alwynn became more exacting. Ruth was visiblyrecovering from what Mrs. Alwynn called "her bereavement. " She couldsmile again without an effort; she took long walks with Mr. Alwynn, andlater in the spring paid a visit to her uncle, Lord Polesworth. It wasafter this visit that Mrs. Alwynn became more exacting. She had bornewith half attention and a lack of interest in crewel-work while Ruth wasstill "fretting, " as she termed it. But when a person lays aside crape, and goes into half-mourning, the time had come when she may--nay, whenshe ought to be "chatty. " This time had come with Ruth, but she was not"chatty. " Like Mrs. Dombey, she did not make an effort, and, as themonths passed on, Mrs. Alwynn began to shake her head, and to fear that"there was some officer or something on her mind. " Mrs. Alwynn alwayscalled soldiers officers, and doctors physicians. 

Ruth, on her side, was vaguely aware that she did not give satisfaction. The small-talk, the perpetual demand on her attention, the constantinterruptions, seemed to benumb what faculties she had. Her mind becamelike a machine out of work--rusty, creaking, difficult to set going. Ifshe had half an hour of leisure she could not fix her attention toanything. She, who in her grandmother's time had been so keen and alert, seemed to have drifted, in Mrs. Alwynn's society, into a torpid state, from which she made vain attempts to emerge, only to sink the deeper. 

When she stood once more, fresh from a fortnight of pleasant intercoursewith pleasant people, in the little ornate drawing-room at Slumberleigh, on her return from Atherstone, the remembrance of the dulled, confusedstate in which she had been living with her aunt returned forcibly toher mind. The various articles of furniture, the red silk handkerchiefsdabbed behind pendent plates, the musical elephants on the mantle-piece, the imitation Eastern antimacassars, the shocking fate, in the way ofnailed and glued pictorial ornamentation, that had overtaken the back ofthe cottage piano--indeed, all the various objects of luxury and _vertu_with which Mrs. Alwynn had surrounded herself, seemed to recall to Ruth, as the apparatus of the sick-room recalls the illness to the patient, the stupor into which she had fallen in their company. With her eyesfixed upon the new brass pig (that was at heart a pen-wiper) which Mrs. Alwynn had pointed out as a gift of Mabel Thursby, who always broughther back some little "tasty thing from London"--with her eyes on thebrass pig, Ruth resolved that, come what would, she would not allowherself to sink into such a state of mental paralysis again. 

To read a book of any description was out of the question in the societyof Mrs. Alwynn. But Ruth, with the connivance of Mr. Alwynn, devised ameans of eluding her aunt. At certain hours of the day she was lostregularly, and not to be found. It was summer, and the world, or atleast the neighborhood of Slumberleigh Rectory, which was the samething, was all before her where to choose. In after-years she used tosay that some books had always remained associated with certain placesin her mind. With Emerson she learned to associate the scent of hay, thedesultory remarks of hens, and the sudden choruses of ducks. Carlyle's"Sartor Resartus, " which she read for the first time this year, alwaysrecalled to her afterwards the leathern odor of the box-room, with anoccasional _soupçon_ of damp flapping linen in the orchard, which spotwas not visible from the rectory windows. 

Gradually Mrs. Alwynn became aware of the fact that Ruth was never to beseen with a book in her hand, and she expressed fears that the latterwas not keeping up her reading. 

"And if you don't like to read to yourself, my dear, you can read to mewhile I work. German, now. I like the sound of German very well. Itbrings back the time when your Uncle John and I went up the Rhine on ourhoney-moon. And then, for English reading there's a very nice book UncleJohn has somewhere on natural history, called 'Animals of a Quiet Life, 'by a Mr. Hare, too--so comical, I always think. It's good for you to bereading something. It is what your poor dear granny would have wished ifshe had been alive. Only it must not be poetry, Ruth, not poetry. "

Mrs. Alwynn did not approve of poetry. She was wont to say that for herpart she liked only what was perfectly _true_, by which it is believedshe meant prose. 

She had no books of her own. In times of illness she borrowed from Mrs. Thursby (who had all Miss Young's works, and selections from thepublications of the S. P. C. K. ). On Sundays, when she could not work, sheread, half aloud, of course, with sighs at intervals, a little manualcalled "Gold Dust, " or a smaller one still called "Pearls of GreatPrice, " which she had once recommended to Charles, whom she knewslightly, and about whom she affected to know a great deal, whichnothing (except pressing) would induce her to repeat; which renderedthe application of the "Pearls, " to be followed by the "Dust, " mostessential to his future welfare. 

On this particular morning in August, Ruth had slipped out as far as thechestnut-tree, the lower part of which was hidden from the rectorywindows by a blessed yew hedge. It was too hot to walk, it was too hotto draw, it was even too hot to read. It did not seem, however, to betoo hot to _ride_, for presently she heard a horse's hoofs clatteringacross the stones of the stable-yard, and she knew, from the familiarityof the sound at that hour of the day, that Dare had probably riddenover, and, more probably still, would stay to luncheon. 

The foreign gentleman, as all the village people called him, had by thistime become quite an institution in the neighborhood of Vandon. Everyone liked him, and he liked every one. Like the sun, he shone upon thejust and unjust. He went to every tennis-party to which he was invited. He was pleased if people were at home when he called. He became in manyhouses a privileged person, and he never abused his privileges. Womenespecially liked him. He had what Mrs. Eccles defined as "such a waywith him;" his way being to make every woman he met think that she wasparticularly interesting in his eyes--for the time being. Men did not, of course, care for him so much. When he stayed anywhere, it was vaguelyfelt by the sterner sex of the party that he stole a march upon them. While they were smoking, after their kind, in clusters on the lawn, itwould suddenly be observed that he was sitting in the drawing-room, giving a lesson in netting, or trying over a new song encircled by youngladyhood. It was felt that he took an unfair advantage. What businesshad he to come down to tea in that absurd amber plush smoking-suit, justbecause the elder ladies had begged to see it? It was all the moreannoying, because he looked so handsome in it. Like most men who areadmired by women, he was not much liked by men. 

But the house to which he came the oftenest was Slumberleigh Rectory. Hewas faithful to his early admiration of Ruth; and the only obstacle tohis making her (in his opinion) happy among women, namely, her possiblewant of fortune, had long since been removed by the confidential remarksof Mrs. Alwynn. To his foreign habits and ideas fourteen or fifteenhundred a year represented a very large sum. In his eyes Ruth was anheiress, and in all good earnest he set himself to win her. Mr. Alwynnhad now become the proper person to consult regarding his property; andat first, to Ruth's undisguised satisfaction, he consulted him nearlyevery other day, his horse at last taking the turn for Slumberleigh as amatter of course. Many a time, in these August days, might Mrs. Ecclesand all the other inhabitants of Slumberleigh have seen Dare ride up thelittle street, taking as much active exercise as his horse, onlyskyward; the saddle being to him merely a point of rebound. 

But if the object of his frequent visits was misunderstood by Ruth atfirst, Dare did not allow it to remain so long. And not only Ruthherself, but Mr. And Mrs. Alwynn, and the rectory servants, and half theparish were soon made aware of the state of his affections. What was thegood of being in love, of having in view a social aim of such apraiseworthy nature, if no one were aware of the same? Dare was not theman to hide even a night-light under a bushel; how much less a burningand a shining hymeneal torch such as this. His sentiments were strictlyhonorable. If he raised expectations, he was also quite prepared tofulfil them. Miss Deyncourt was quite right to treat him with heradorable, placid assumption of indifference until his attentions weremore avowed. In the mean while she was an angel, a lily, a pearl, astar, and several other things, animal, vegetable, and mineral, whichhis vivid imagination chose to picture her. But whatever Dare's faultsmay have been--and Ruth was not blind to them--he was at least head overears in love with her, fortune or none; and as his attachment deepened, it burned up like fire all the little follies with which it had begun. 

A clergyman has been said to have made love to the helpmeet of hischoice out of the Epistle to the Galatians. Dare made his out ofmaterial hardly more promising--plans for cottages, and estimates ofrepairs. He had quickly seen how to interest Ruth, though the reason forsuch an eccentric interest puzzled him. However, he turned it to hisadvantage. Ruth encouraged, suggested, sympathized in all the little hewas already doing, and the much that he proposed to do. 

Of late, however, a certain not ungrounded suspicion had graduallyforced itself upon her which had led her to withdraw as much as shecould from her former intercourse with Dare; but her change of mannerhad not quite the effect she had intended. 

"She thinks I am not serious, " Dare had said to himself; "she thinksthat I play with her feelings. She does not know me. To-morrow I rideover; I set her mind at rest. To-morrow I propose; I make an offer; Iclaim that adored hand; I--become engaged. "

Accordingly, not long after the clatter of horse's hoofs in thestable-yard, Dare himself appeared in the garden, and perceiving Ruth, for whom he was evidently looking, informed her that he had ridden overto ask Mr. Alwynn to support him at a dinner his tenants were giving inhis honor--a custom of the Vandon tenantry from time immemorial on theaccession of a new landlord. He spoke absently; and Ruth, looking at himmore closely as he stood before her, wondered at his altered manner. Hehad a rose in his button-hole. He always had a rose in his button-hole;but somehow this was more of a rose than usual. His mustaches weretwirled up with unusual grace. 

"You will find Mr. Alwynn in the study, " said Ruth, hurriedly. 

His only answer was to cast aside his whip and gloves, as possibleimpediments later on, and to settle himself, with an elegant arrangementof the choicest gaiters, on the grass at her feet. 

It is probably very disagreeable to repeat in any form, howeverdiscreetly worded, the old phrase--

 "The reason why I cannot tell, But I don't like you, Doctor Fell. "

But it must be especially disagreeable, if a refusal is at first nottaken seriously, to be obliged to repeat it, still more plainly, asecond time. It was Ruth's fate to be obliged to do this, and to do ithurriedly, or she foresaw complications might arise. 

At last Dare understood, and the sudden utter blankness of hisexpression smote Ruth to the heart. He had loved her in his way afterall. It is a bitter thing to be refused. She felt that she had beenalmost brutal in her direct explicitness, called forth at the moment byan instinct that he would proceed to extreme measures unlessperemptorily checked. 

"I am so sorry, " she said, involuntarily. 

Poor Dare, who had recovered a certain amount of self-possession, nowthat he was on his feet again, took up his gloves and riding-whip insilence. All his jaunty self-assurance had left him. He seemed quitestunned. His face under his brown skin was very pale. 

"I am so sorry, " said Ruth again, feeling horribly guilty. 

"It is I who am sorry, " he said, humbly. "I have made a great mistake, for which I ask pardon;" and, after looking at her for a moment, inblank incertitude as to whether she could really be the same person whomhe had come to seek in such happy confidence half an hour before, heraised his hat, his new light gray hat, and was gone. 

Ruth watched him go, and when he had disappeared, she sat down againmechanically in the chair from which she had risen a few moments before, and pressed her hands tightly together. She ought not to have allowedsuch a thing to happen, she said to herself. Somehow it had neverpresented itself to her in its serious aspect before. It is difficult totake a vain man seriously. Poor Mr. Dare! She had not known he wascapable of caring so much about anything. He had never appeared to suchadvantage in her eyes as he had done when he had left her the momentbefore, grave and silent. She felt she had misjudged him. He was not sofrivolous, after all. And now that her influence was at an end, whowould keep him up to the mark about the various duties which she knewnow he had begun to fulfil only to please her? Oh, who would help andencourage him in that most difficult of positions, a land-owner withoutmeans sufficient for doing the best by land and tenantry? Sheinstinctively felt that he could not be relied upon for continuousexertion by himself. 

"I wish I could have liked him, " said Ruth to herself. "I wish, I wish, I could!"

CHAPTER XII. 

During the whole of the following week Dare appeared no more atSlumberleigh. Mrs. Alwynn, whose time was much occupied as a rule incommenting on the smallest doings of her neighbors, and in wondering whythey left undone certain actions which she herself would have performedin their place, Mrs. Alwynn would infallibly have remarked upon hisabsence many times during every hour of the day, had not her attentionbeen distracted for the time being by a one-horse fly which she had seengo up the road on the afternoon of the day of Dare's last visit, thedestination of which had filled her soul with anxious conjecture. 

She did not ascertain till the following day that it had been orderedfor Mrs. Smith, of Greenacre; though, as she told Ruth, she might haveknown that, as Mr. Smith was going for a holiday with Mrs. Smith, andtheir pony lame in its feet; that they would have to have a fly, andwith that hill up to Greenacre she was surprised one horse was enough. 

When the question of the fly had been thus satisfactorily settled, andMrs. Alwynn had ceased wondering whether the Smiths had gone to Tenby orto Rhyl (she always imagined people went to one or other of these twoplaces), her whole attention reverted to a screen which she was making, the elegance and novelty of which supplied her with a congenial subjectof conversation for many days. 

"There is something so new in a screen, an entire screen of Christmascards, " Mrs. Alwynn would remark. "Now, Mrs. Thursby's new screen is allpictures out of the _Graphic_, and those colored Christmas numbers. Shehas put all her cards in a book. There is something rather _passy_ aboutthose albums, I think. Now I fancy this screen will look quite out ofthe common, Ruth; and when it is done, I shall get some of thoseJapanese cranes and stand them on the top. Their claws are made to twistround, you know, and I shall put some monkeys--you know those drollchenille monkeys, Ruth--creeping up the sides to meet the cranes. Idon't honestly think, my dear"--with complacency--"that many people willhave anything like it. "

Ruth did not hesitate to say that she felt certain very few would. 

Mrs. Alwynn was delighted at the interest she took in her new work. Ruthwas coming out at last, she told her husband; and she passed many happyhours entirely absorbed in the arrangement of the cards upon the panels. Ruth, thankful that her attention had been providentially distractedfrom the matter that filled her own thoughts, in a way that surprisedand annoyed her, sorted, and snipped, and pasted, and decided weightyquestions as to whether a goitred robin on a twig should be placed nextto a smiling plum-pudding, dancing a polka with a turkey, or whether acongealed cross, with "Christian greeting" in icicles on it, shouldseparate the two. 

To her uncle Ruth told what had happened; and as he slowly wended hisway to Vandon on the day fixed for the tenant's dinner, Mr. Alwynn musedthereon, and I believe, if the truth were known, he was sorry that Darehad been refused. He was a little before his time, and he stopped on thebridge, and looked at the river, as it came churning and sweeping below, fretted out of its usual calm by the mill above. I think that as heleaned over the low stone parapet he made many quiet little reflectionsbesides the involuntary one of himself in the water below. He would haveliked (he was conscious that it was selfish, but yet he _would_ haveliked) to have Ruth near him always. He would have liked to see thisstrange son of his old friend in good hands, that would lead him--as itis popularly supposed a woman's hand sometimes can--in the way of allothers in which Mr. Alwynn was anxious that he should walk; a way inwhich he sometimes feared that Dare had not made any great progress asyet. Mr. Alwynn felt at times, when conversing with him, that Dare'slife could not have been one in which the nobler feelings of his naturehad been much brought into play, so crude and unformed were his ideas ofprinciple and responsibility, so slack and easy-going his views of life. 

But if Mr. Alwynn felt an occasional twinge of anxiety and misgivingabout his young friend, it speedily turned to self-upbraiding forindulging in a cynical, unworthy spirit, which was ever ready to seekout the evil and overlook the good; and he gradually convinced himselfthat only favorable circumstances were required for the blossoming forthof those noble attributes, of which the faintest indications on Dare'spart were speedily magnified by the powerful lens of Mr. Alwynn'scharity to an extent which would have filled Dare with satisfaction, andwould have overwhelmed a more humble nature with shame. 

And Ruth would not have him! Mr. Alwynn remembered a certain passage inhis own youth, a long time ago, when somebody (a very foolish somebody, I think) would not have him either; and it was with that remembrancestill in his mind that he met Dare, who had come as far as the lodgegates to meet him, and whose forlorn appearance touched Mr. Alwynn'sheart the moment he saw him. 

There was not time for much conversation. To his astonishment Mr. Alwynnfound Dare actually nervous about the coming ordeal; and on the way tothe Green Dragon, where the dinner was to be given, he reassured him asbest he could, and suggested the kind of answer he should make when hishealth was drunk. 

When, a couple of hours later, all was satisfactorily over, when thelast health had been drunk, the last song sung, and Dare was driving Mr. Alwynn home in the shabby old Vandon dog-cart, both men were at firsttoo much overcome by the fumes of tobacco, in which they had beenhidden, to say a word to each other. At last, however, Mr. Alwynn drew along breath, and said, faintly:

"I trust I may never be so hot again. Drive slowly under these trees, Dare. It is cooling to look at them after sitting behind that steamingvolcano of a turkey. How is your head getting on? I saw you went in forpunch. "

"Was that punch?" said Dare. "Then I take no more punch in the future. "

"You spoke capitally, and brought in the right sentiment, that there isno place like home, in first-rate style. You see, you need not have beennervous. "

"Ah! but it was you who spoke really well, " said Dare, with something ofhis old eager manner. "You know these people. You know their heart. Youunderstand them. Now, for me, I said what you tell me, and they werepleased, but I can never be with them like you. I understand the wordsthey speak, but themselves I do not understand. "

"It will come. "

"No, " with a rare accession of humility. "I have cared for none of thesethings till--till I came to hear them spoken of at Slumberleigh by youand--and now at first it is smooth, because I say I will do what I can, but soon they will find out I cannot do much, and then--" He shruggedhis shoulders. 

They drove on in silence. 

"But these things are nothing--nothing, " burst out Dare at last, in atremulous voice, "to the one thing I think of all night, all day--how Ilove Miss Deyncourt, and how, " with a simplicity which touched Mr. Alwynn, "she does not love me at all. "

There is something pathetic in seeing any cheerful, light-hearted animalreduced to silence and depression. To watch a barking, worrying, jovialpuppy suddenly desist from parachute expeditions on unsteady legs, andfrom shaking imaginary rats, and creep, tail close at home, overcome byaffliction, into obscurity, is a sad sight. Mr. Alwynn felt much thesame kind of pity for Dare as he glanced at him, resignedly blighted, handsomely forlorn, who but a short time ago had taken life as gayly andeasily as a boy home for the holidays. 

"Sometimes, " said Mr. Alwynn, addressing himself to the mill, and thebridge, and the world in general, "young people change their minds. Ihave known such things happen. "

"I shall never change mine. "

"Perhaps not; but others might. "

"Ah!" and Dare turned sharply towards Mr. Alwynn, scanning his face withsudden eagerness. "You think--you think, possibly--"

"I don't think anything at all, " interposed Mr. Alwynn, rather takenaback at the evident impression his vague words had made, and anxiousto qualify them. "I was only speaking generally; but--ahem! there is onepoint, as we are on the subject, that--"

"Yes, yes?"

"Whether you consider any decision as final or not"--Mr. Alwynnaddressed the clouds in the sky--"I think, if you do not wish it to beknown that anything has taken place, you had better come and see meoccasionally at Slumberleigh. I have missed your visits for the pastweek. The fact is, Mrs. Alwynn has a way of interesting herself in allher friends. She has a kind heart, and--you--understand--any littledifference in their behavior might be observed by her, and mightpossibly--might possibly"--Mr. Alwynn was at a loss for a word--"be, inshort, commented on to others. Suppose now you were to come back with meto tea to-day?"

And Dare went, nothing loath, and arrived at a critical moment in themanufacture of the screen, when all the thickest Christmas cardsthreatened to resist the influence of paste, and to curl up, to thegreat anxiety of Mrs. Alwynn. 

One of the principle reasons of Dare's popularity was the way in whichhe threw his whole heart into whatever he was doing, for the time; neverfor a long time, certainly, for he rarely bored himself or others byadherence to one set of ideas after its novelty had worn off. 

And now, as if nothing else existed in the world, and with a gravemanner suggesting repressed suffering and manly resignation, heconcentrated his whole mind on Mrs. Alwynn's recalcitrant cards, andmade Ruth grateful to him by his tact in devoting himself to her auntand the screen. 

"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Alwynn, after he was gone. "I never did seeany one like Mr. Dare. I declare he has made the church stick, Ruth, and'Blessings on my friend, ' which turned up at the corners twice when youput it on, and the big middle one of the kittens skating, too! Dear me!I am pleased. I hope Mrs. Thursby won't call till it's finished. But hedid not look well, Ruth, did he? Rather pale now, I thought. "

"He has had a tiring day, " said Ruth. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

At Slumberleigh you have time to notice the change of the seasons. Thereis no hurry at Slumberleigh. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter, each intheir turn, take quite a year to come and go. Three months ago it wasAugust; now September had arrived. It was actually the time of damsons. Those damsons which Ruth had seen dangling for at least three years inthe cottage orchards were ripe at last. It seemed ages ago since April, when the village was a foaming mass of damson blossom, and the "plumwinter" had set in just when spring really seemed to have arrived forgood. It was a well-known thing in Slumberleigh, though Ruth till lastApril had not been aware of it, that God Almighty always sent coldweather when the Slumberleigh damsons were in bloom, to harden thefruit. And now the lame, the halt, and the aged of Slumberleigh, allwith one consent, mounted on tottering ladders to pick their damsons, orthat mysterious fruit, closely akin to the same, called "black Lamasploums. "

There were plum accidents, of course, in plenty. The Lord took Mrs. Eccles's own uncle from his half-filled basket to another world, forwhich, as a "tea and coffee totaller, " he was no doubt well prepared. The too receptive organisms of unsuspecting infancy suffered in theirturn. In short, it was a busy season for Mr. And Mrs. Alwynn. 

Ruth had plenty of opportunities now for making her long-projectedsketch of the ruined house of Arleigh, for the old woman who lived inthe lodge close by, and had charge of the place, had "ricked" her backin a damson-tree, and Ruth often went to see her. She had been Ruth'snurse in her childhood, and having originally come from Slumberleigh, returned there when the Deyncourt children grew up, and lived happilyever after, with the very blind and entirely deaf old husband of herchoice, in the gray stone lodge at Arleigh. 

It was on her return from one of these almost daily visits that Mrs. Eccles pounced on Ruth as she passed her gate, and under pretence ofinquiring after Mrs. Cotton, informed her that she herself was sufferingin no slight degree. Ruth, who suddenly remembered that she had beenremiss in "dropping in" on Mrs. Eccles of late, dropped in then andthere to make up for past delinquencies. 

"Is it rheumatism again?" she asked, as Mrs. Eccles seemed inclined torun off at once into a report of the goings on of Widow Jones's Sally. 

"Not that, my dear, so much as a sinking, " said Mrs. Eccles, passing herhand slowly over what seemed more like a rising than a depression in herample figure. "But there! I've not been myself since the Lord took oldSamiwell Price, and that's the truth. "

Samuel Price was the relation who had entered into rest off a ladder, and Ruth looked duly serious. 

"I have no doubt it upset you very much, " she said. 

"Well, miss, " returned Mrs. Eccles, with dignity, "it's not as if I'dhad my 'ealth before. I've had something wrong in the cistern" (Ruthwondered whether she meant system) "these many years. From a gell Isuffered in my inside. But lor'! I was born to trouble, baptized in abucket, and taken with collects at a week old. And how did you say Mrs. Cotton of the lodge might be, miss, as I hear is but poorly too?"

Ruth replied that she was better. 

"She's no size to keep her in 'ealth, " said Mrs. Eccles, "and so bent asshe does grow, to be sure. Eh, dear, but it's a good thing to be tall. Ialways think little folks they're like them little watches, they've noroom for their insides. And I wonder now"--Mrs. Eccles was coming to thepoint that had made her entrap Ruth on her way past--"I wonder now--"

Ruth did not help her. She knew too well the universal desire forknowledge of good and evil peculiar to her sex to doubt for a momentthat Mrs. Eccles had begged her to "step in" only to obtain some pieceof information, about which her curiosity had been aroused. 

"I wonder, now, if Cotton at the lodge has heard anything of thepoachers again this year, round Arleigh way?"

"Not that I know of, " said Ruth, surprised at the simplicity of thequestion. 

"Dear sakes! and to think of 'em at Vandon last night, and Mr. Dare andthe keepers out all night after 'em. "

Ruth was interested in spite of herself. 

"And the doctor sent for in the middle of the night, " continued Mrs. Eccles, covertly eying Ruth. "Poor young gentleman! For all his forrinways, there's a many in Vandon as sets store by him. "

"I don't think you need be uneasy about Mr. Dare, " said Ruth, coldly, conscious that Mrs. Eccles was dying to see her change color. "Ifanything had happened to him Mr. Alwynn would have heard of it. Andnow, " rising, "I must be going; and if I were you, Mrs. Eccles, I shouldnot listen to all the gossip of the village. "

"Me listen!" said Mrs. Eccles, much offended. "Me, as is too poorly somuch as to put my foot out of the door! But, dear heart!" with her usualquickness of vision, "if there isn't Mr. Alwynn and Dr. Brown riding upthe street now in Dr. Brown's gig! Well, I never! and Mr. Alwynna-getting out, and a-talking as grave as can be to Dr. Brown. Poor Mr. Dare! Poor dear young gentleman!"

Ruth was conscious that she beat rather a hurried retreat from Mrs. Eccles's cottage, and that her voice was not quite so steady as usualwhen she asked the doctor if it were true that Mr. Dare had been hurt. 

"All the village will have it that he is killed; but he is all right, Iassure you, Miss Deyncourt, " said the kind old doctor, so soothingly andreassuringly that Ruth grew pink with annoyance at the tone. "Not ascratch. He was out with his keepers last night, and they had a brushwith poachers; and Martin, the head keeper was shot in the leg. Bled agood deal, so they sent for me; but no danger. I picked up your unclehere on his way to see him, and so I gave him a lift there and back. That is all, I assure you. "

And Dr. Brown and Mrs. Eccles, straining over her geraniums, both cameto the same conclusion, namely, that, as Mrs. Eccles elegantly expressedit, "Miss Ruth wanted Mr. Dare. "

"And he'll have her, too, I'm thinking, one of these days, " Mrs. Eccleswould remark to the circle of her acquaintance. 

Indeed, the match was discussed on numerous ladders, with almost as muchinterest as the unfailing theme of the damsons themselves. 

And Dare rode over to the rectory as often as he used to do before acertain day in August, when he had found Ruth under thechestnut-tree--the very day before Mrs. Alwynn started on her screen, now the completed glory of the drawing-room. 

And was Ruth beginning to like him?

As it had not occurred to her to ask herself that question, I supposeshe was _not_. 

Dare had grown very quiet and silent of late, and showed a growingtendency to dark hats. His refusal had been so unexpected that the blow, when it came, fell with all the more crushing force. His self-love andself-esteem had been wounded; but so had something else. Under thevelvet corduroy waistcoat, which he wore in imitation of Ralph, he had aheart. Whether it was one of the very best of its kind or warranted towear well is not for us to judge; but, at any rate, it was large enoughto take in a very real affection, and to feel a very sharp pang. Dare'smanner to Ruth was now as diffident as it had formerly been assured. Tosome minds there is nothing more touching than a sudden access ofhumility on the part of a vain man. 

Whether Ruth's mind was one of this class or not we do not pretend toknow. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

It was Sunday morning at Atherstone. In the dining-room, breakfastingalone, for he had come down late, was Sir Charles Danvers. His suddenarrival on the previous Saturday was easily accounted for. When he hadcasually walked into the drawing-room late in the evening, he hadimmediately and thoroughly explained the reasons of his unexpectedarrival. It seemed odd that he should have come to Atherstone, in themidland counties, "on his way" between two shooting visits in the north, but so it was. It might have been thought that one of his friends wouldhave been willing to keep him two days longer, or receive him two daysearlier; but no doubt every one knows his own affairs best, and Charlesmight certainly, "at his age, " as he was so fond of saying, be expectedto know his. 

Anyhow, there he was, leaning against the open window, coffee-cup inhand, lazily watching the dwindling figures of Ralph and Evelyn, withMolly between them, disappearing in the direction of Greenacre church, hard by. 

The morning mist still lingered on the land, and veiled the distancewith a tender blue. And up across the silver fields, and across thestanding armies of the yellowing corn, the sound of church bells camefrom Slumberleigh, beyond the river; bringing back to Charles, as to usall, old memories, old hopes, old visions of early youth, longcherished, long forgotten. 

The single bell of Greenacre was giving forth a slow, persistent, cracked invitation to true believers, as an appropriate prelude to Mr. Smith's eloquence; but Charles did not hear its testimony. 

He was listening to the Slumberleigh bells. Was that the first chime orthe second?

Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. Should he go to church?

He smiled at the idea. It was a little late to think of that. Besides hehad let the others start, and he disliked that refuge of mildew anddust, Greenacre. 

There was Slumberleigh!

There went the bells again!

Slumberleigh! Absurd! Why, he should positively have to run to get therebefore the First Lesson; and that mist meant heat, or he was muchmistaken. 

Charles contemplated the mist for a few seconds. 

Tang, teng, ting, tong, tung!

He certainly always made a point of going to church at his own home. Agood example is, after all, just as important in one place as another. 

Tang, tong, teng, tung, _ting_! went the bells. 

"Why not run?" suggested an inner voice. "Put down your cup. There! Now!Your hat's in the hall, with your gloves beside it. Never mind aboutyour prayer-book. Dear me! Don't waste time looking for your own stick. Take any. Quick! out through the garden-gate! No one can see you. Theservants have all gone to church except the cook, and the kitchen looksout on the yew hedge. "

"Over the first stile, " said Charles to himself. "I am out of sight ofthe house now. Let us be thankful for small mercies. I shall do it yet. Oh, what a fool I am! I'm worse than Raca, as Molly said. I shall berushing precipitately down a steep place into the sea next. Confoundthis gate! Why can't people leave them open? At any rate, it will remainopen now. I am not going to have my devotions curtailed by a gate. Ifancied it would be hot, but never anything half as hot as this. I hopeI sha'n't meet Brown taking a morning stroll. I value Brown; but Ishould have to dismiss him if he saw me now. I could never meet his eyeagain. What on earth shall I say to Ralph and Evelyn when I get back?What a merciful Providence it is that Aunt Mary is at this momentintoning a response in the highest church in Scarborough!"

_Ting, ting, ting!_

"Mr. Alwynn is getting on his surplice, is he? Well, and if he is, I canmake a final rush through the corn, can't I? There's not a creature insight. The bell's down! What of that? There is the voluntary. Easy overthe last fields. There are houses in sight, and there may be wickedSabbath-breakers looking out of windows. Brown's foal has grown sinceJuly. Here we are! I am not the only Christian hurrying among the tombs. I shall get in with 'the wicked man' after all. "

Some people do not look round in church; others do. Mrs. Alwynn alwaysdid, partly because she wished to see what was going on behind her, andpartly because, in turning back again, she could take a stealthy surveyof Mrs. Thursby's bonnet, in which she always felt a burning interest, which she would not for worlds have allowed that lady to suspect. 

If the turning round had been all, it would have mattered little; butMrs. Alwynn suffered so intensely from keeping silence that she wasobliged to relieve herself at intervals by short whispered comments toRuth. 

On this particular morning it seemed as if the comments would never end. 

"I am so glad we asked Mr. Dare into our pew, Ruth. The Thursbys arefull. That's Mrs. Thursby's sister in the red bonnet. "

Ruth made no reply. She was following the responses in the psalms with amarked attention, purposely marked to check conversation, and sufficientto have daunted anybody but her aunt. 

Mrs. Alwynn took a spasmodic interest in the psalm, but it did not last. 

"Only two basses in the choir, and the new _Te Deum_, Ruth. How vexedMr. Alwynn will be!"

No response from Ruth. Mrs. Alwynn took another turn at her prayer-book, and then at the congregation. 

"'I am become as it were a monster unto--' Ruth! _Ruth!_"

Ruth at last turned her head a quarter of an inch. 

_"Sir Charles Danvers is sitting in the free seats by the font!"_

Ruth nailed her eyes to her book, and would vouchsafe no further sign ofattention during the rest of the service; and Dare, on the other side, anxious to copy Ruth in everything, being equally obdurate, Mrs. Alwynnhad no resource left but to follow the service half aloud to herself, atthe times when the congregation were _not_ supposed to join in, puttinggreat emphasis on certain words which she felt applicable to herself, ina manner that effectually prevented any one near her from attending tothe service at all. 

It was with a sudden pang that Dare, following Ruth out into thesunshine after service, perceived for the first time Charles, standing, tall and distinguished-looking, beside the rather insignificant heir ofall the Thursbys, who regarded him with the mixed admiration and gnawingenvy of a very young man for a man no longer young. 

And then--Charles never quite knew how it happened, but with the fullintention of walking back to the rectory with the Alwynns, and stayingto luncheon, he actually found himself in Ruth's very presence, accepting a cordial invitation to luncheon at Slumberleigh Hall. For thefirst time during the last ten years he had done a thing he had nointention of doing. A temporary long-lost feeling of shyness had seizedupon him as he saw Ruth coming out, tall and pale and graceful, from theshadow of the church porch into the blaze of the mid-day sunshine. Hehad not calculated either for that sudden disconcerting leap of theheart as her eyes met his. He had an idiotic feeling that she must beaware that he had run most of the way to church, and that he hadcontemplated the burnished circles of her back hair for two hours, without a glance at the fashionably scraped-up head-dress of MabelThursby, with its hogged mane of little wire curls in the nape of theneck. He felt he still looked hot and dusty, though he had imagined hewas quite cool the moment before. To his own astonishment, he actuallyfound his self-possession leaving him; and though its desertion provedonly momentary, _in_ that moment he found himself walking away with theThursbys in the direction of the Hall. He was provoked, angry withhimself, with the Thursbys, and, most of all, with Mr. Alwynn, who hadcome up a second later, and asked him to luncheon, as a matter ofcourse, also Dare, who accepted with evident gratitude. Charles feltthat he had not gone steeple-chasing over the country only to talk toMrs. Thursby, and to see Ruth stroll away over the fields with Daretowards the rectory. 

However, he made himself extremely agreeable, which was with him more amatter of habit than those who occasionally profited by it would havecared to know. He asked young Thursby his opinion on E. C. Cartridges; hecondoled with Mrs. Thursby on the loss of her last butler, and recountedsome alarming anecdotes of his own French cook. He admired a pallidwater-color drawing of Venice, in an enormous frame on an enormouseasel, which he rightly supposed to be the manual labor of MabelThursby. 

When he rose to take his leave, young Thursby, intensely flattered byhaving been asked for that opinion on cartridges by so renowned a shotas Charles, offered to walk part of the way back with him. 

"I am afraid I am not going home yet, " said Charles, lightly. "Dutypoints in the opposite direction, I have to call at the rectory. I wantMr. Alwynn's opinion on a point of clerical etiquette, which is settingmy young spiritual shepherd at Stoke Moreton against his principalsheep, namely, myself. "

And Charles took his departure, leaving golden opinions behind him, anda determination to invite him once more to shoot, in spite of his manycourteous refusals of the last few years. 

Mrs. Alwynn always took a nap after luncheon in her smart Sunday gown, among the mustard-colored cushions of her high-art sofa. Mr. Alwynn, also, was apt at the same time to sink into a subdued, almost apologeticdoze, in the old arm-chair which alone had resisted the march ofdiscomfort, and so-called "taste, " which had invaded the rest of thelittle drawing-room of Slumberleigh Rectory. Ruth was sitting with herdark head leaned against the open window-frame. Dare had not stayedafter luncheon, being at times nervously afraid of giving her too muchof his society; and she was at liberty to read over again, if she chose, the solitary letter which the Sunday post had brought her. But she didnot do so; she was thinking. 

And so her sister Anna was actually returning to England at last! Sheand her husband had taken a house in Rome, and had arranged that Ruthshould join them in London in November, and go abroad with them afterChristmas for the remainder of the winter. She had pleasantrecollections of previous winters in Rome, or, on the Riviera with hergrandmother, and she was surprised that she did not feel more interestedin the prospect. She supposed she would like it when the time came, butshe seemed to care very little about it at the present moment. It hadbecome very natural to live at Slumberleigh, and although there weredrawbacks--here she glanced involuntarily at her aunt, who was makingher slumbers vocal by a running commentary on them through hernose--still she would be sorry to go. Mr. Alwynn gave the ghost of aminiature snore, and, opening his eyes, found Ruth bent affectionatelyupon him. Her mind went back to another point in Anna's letter. Afterdilating on the extreme admiration and regard entertained for herself byher husband, his readiness with shawls, etc. , she went on to ask whetherRuth had heard any news of Raymond. 

Ruth sighed. Would there ever be any news of Raymond? The old nurse atArleigh always asked the same question. "Any news of Master Raymond?" Itwas with a tired ache of the heart that Ruth heard that question, andalways gave the same answer. Once she had heard from him since LadyDeyncourt's death, after she had written to tell him, as gently as shecould, that she and Anna had inherited all their grandmother had toleave. A couple of months later she had received a hurried note inreply, inveighing against Lady Deyncourt's injustice, saying (as usual)that he was hard up for money, and that, when he knew where it mightsafely be sent, he should expect her and her sister to make up to himfor his disappointment. And since then, since April--not a word. June, July, August, September. Four months and no sign. When he was in want ofmoney his letters heretofore had made but little delay. Had he fallenill and died out there, or met his death suddenly, perhaps in some wildadventure under an assumed name? Her lips tightened, and her white browscontracted over her absent eyes. It was an old anxiety, but none theless wearing because it was old. Ruth put it wearily from her, and tookup the first book which came to her hand, to distract her attention. 

It was a manual out of which Mrs. Alwynn had been reading extracts toher in the morning, while Ruth had been engaged in preparing herself toteach in the Sunday-school. She wondered vaguely how pleasure could bederived, even by the most religious persons, from seeing favorite textstwined in and out among forget-me-nots, or falling aslant in old Englishletters off bunches of violets; but she was old enough and wise enoughto know that one man's religion is another man's occasion of stumbling. Books are made to fit all minds, and small minds lose themselves inlarge-minded books. The thousands in which these little manuals aresold, and the confidence with which their readers recommend them toothers, indicates the calibre of the average mind, and shows that theymeet a want possibly "not known before, " but which they alone, withtheir little gilt edges, can adequately fill. Ruth was gazing in absentwonder at the volume which supplied all her aunt's spiritual needs whenshe heard the wire of the front door-bell squeak faintly. It was astiff-necked and obdurate bell, which for several years Mr. Alwynn haddetermined to see about. 

A few moments later James, the new and inexperienced footman, opened thedoor about half a foot, put in his head, murmured something inaudible, and withdrew it again. 

A tall figure appeared in the door-way, and advanced to meet her, thenstopped midway. Ruth rose hastily, and stood where she had risen, hereyes glancing first at Mr. And then at Mrs. Alwynn. 

The alien presence of a visitor had not disturbed them. Mrs. Alwynn, herhead well forward and a succession of chins undulating in perfect reposeupon her chest, was sleeping as a stout person only can--all over. Mr. Alwynn, opposite, his thin hands clasped listlessly over his knee, wasas unconscious of the two pairs of eyes fixed upon him as Nelsonhimself, laid out in Madame Tussaud's. 

Charles's eyes, twinkling with suppressed amusement, met Ruth's. Heshook his head energetically, as she made a slight movement as if towake them, and stepping forward, pointed with his hat towards the openwindow, which reached to the ground. Ruth understood, but she hesitated. At this moment Mrs. Alwynn began a variation on the simple theme inwhich she had been indulging, and in so much higher a key that allhesitation vanished. She stepped hastily out through the window, andCharles followed. They stood together for a moment in the blazingsunshine, both too much amused to speak. 

"You are bareheaded, " he said, suddenly; "is there any"--lookinground--"any shade we could take refuge under?"

Ruth led the way round the yew hedge to the horse-chestnut; thathorse-chestnut under which Dare had once lost his self-esteem. 

"I am afraid, " said Charles, "I arrived at an inopportune moment. As Iwas lunching with the Thursbys, I came up in the hope of finding Mr. Alwynn, whom I wanted to consult about a small matter in my own parish. "

Charles was quite pleased with this sentence when he had airily given itout. It had a true ring about it he fancied, which he remembered withgratitude was more than the door-bell had. Peace be with that door-bell, and with the engaging youth who answered it. 

"I wish you had let me wake Mr. Alwynn, " said Ruth. "He will sleep onnow till the bells begin. "

"On no account. I should have been shocked if you had disturbed him. Iassure you I can easily wait until he naturally wakes up; that is, " witha glance at the book in her hand, "if I am not disturbing you--if youare not engaged in improving yourself at this moment. "

"No. I have improved myself for the day, thanks. I can safely afford torelax a little now. "

"So can I. I resemble Lady Mary in that. On Sunday mornings she reflectson her own shortcomings; on Sunday afternoons she finds an innocentrelaxation in pointing out mine. "

"Where is Lady Mary now?"

"I should say she was in her Bath-chair on the Scarborough sands at thismoment. "

"I like her, " said Ruth, with decision. 

"Tastes differ. Some people feel drawn towards wet blankets, and othershave a leaning towards pokers. Do you know why you like her?"

"I never thought about it, but I suppose it was because she seemed tolike _me_. "

"Exactly. You admired her good taste. A very natural vanity, mostpardonable in the young, was gratified at seeing marks of favor so wellbestowed. "

"I dare say you are right. At any rate, you seem so familiar with theworkings of vanity in the human breast that it would be a pity tocontradict you. "

"By-the-way, " said Charles, speaking in the way people do who havenothing to say, and are trying to hit on any subject of conversation, "have you heard any more of your tramp? There was no news of him when Ileft. I asked the Slumberleigh policeman about him again on my way tothe station. "

"I have heard no more of him, though I keep his memory green. I have notforgotten the fright he gave me. I had always imagined I was rather aself-possessed person till that day. "

"I am a coward myself when I am frightened, " said Charles, consolingly, "though at other times as bold as a lion. "

They were both sitting under the flickering shadow of the alreadyyellowing horse-chestnut-tree, the first of all the trees to set thegorgeous autumn fashions. But as yet it was paling only at the edges ofits slender fans. The air was sweet and soft, with a voiceless whisperof melancholy in it, as if the summer knew, for all her smiles, her hourhad wellnigh come. 

The rectory cows--the mottled one, and the red one, and the big whiteone that was always milked first--came slowly past on their way to thepond, blinking their white eyelashes leisurely at Charles and Ruth. 

"It is almost as hot as that Sunday in July when we walked over fromAtherstone. Do you remember?" said Charles, suddenly. 

"Yes. "

She knew he was thinking of their last conversation, and she felt amomentary surprise that he had remembered it. 

"We never finished that conversation, " he said, after a pause. 

"No; but then conversations never are finished, are they? They alwaysseem to break off just when they are coming to the beginning. A bellrings, or there is an interruption, or one is told it is bedtime. "

"Or fools rush in with their word where you and I should fear to tread, and spoil everything. "

"Yes. "

"And have you been holding the wool and tying up the flowers, as you sographically described, ever since you left Atherstone in July?"

"I hope I have; I have tried. "

"I am sure of that, " he said, with sudden earnestness, then added moreslowly, "I have not wound any wool; I have only enjoyed myself. "

"Perhaps, " said Ruth, turning her clear, frank gaze upon him, "that mayhave been the harder work of the two; it sometimes is. "

His light, restless eyes, with the searching look in them which she hadseen before, met hers, and then wandered away again to the level meadowsand the woods and the faint sky. 

"I think it was, " he said at last; and both were silent. He reflectedthat his conversations with Ruth had a way of beginning in fun, becomingmore serious, and ending in silence. 

The bells rang out suddenly. 

Charles thought they were full early. 

"Mr. Alwynn will wake up now, " said Ruth; "I will tell him you arehere. "

But before she had time to do more than rise from her chair, Mr. Alwynncame slowly round the yew hedge, and stopped suddenly in front of thechestnut-tree, amazed at what he saw beneath it. His mild eyes gazedblankly at Charles through his spectacles, gathering a pained expressionas they peered over the top of them, which did not lessen when they fellon Ruth. 

Charles explained in a few words the purport of his visit, which hadalready explained itself quite sufficiently to Mr. Alwynn; andmentioning that he had waited in the hope of presently finding Mr. Alwynn "disengaged" (at this Mr. Alwynn blushed a little), asked leaveto walk as far as the church with him to consult him on a small matter, etc. It was a neat sentence, but it did not sound quite so well thethird time. It had lost by the heathenish and vain repetitions to whichit had been subjected. 

"Certainly, certainly, " said Mr. Alwynn, mollified, but stilldiscomposed. "You should have waked me, Ruth;" turning reproachfully tohis niece, whose conduct had never, in his eyes, fallen short ofperfection till this moment. "Little nap after luncheon. Hardly asleep. You should have waked me. "

"There was Aunt Fanny, " said Ruth, feeling as if she had committed somegrave sin. 

"Ah-h!" said Mr. Alwynn, as if her reason were a weighty one, his memorypossibly recalling the orchestral flourish which as a rule heralded hiswife's return to consciousness. "True, true, my dear. I must be going, "as the chime ceased. "Are you coming to church this afternoon?"

Ruth replied that she was not, and Mr. Alwynn and Charles departedtogether, Charles ruefully remembering that he had still to ask adviceon a subject the triviality of which would hardly allow of two opinions. 

Ruth watched them walk away together, and then went back noiselesslyinto the drawing-room. 

Mrs. Alwynn was sitting bolt upright, her feet upon the floor, her gownupon the sofa. Her astonished eyes were fixed upon the dwindling figuresof Mr. Alwynn and Charles. 

"Goodness, Ruth!" she exclaimed, "who is that white waistcoat walkingwith your uncle?"

Ruth explained. 

"Dear me! And as likely as not he came to see the new screen. I knowMrs. Thursby tells everybody about it. And his own house so full ofbeautiful things too. Was ever anything so annoying! We should have hadso much in common, for I hear his taste is quite--well, really quite outof the way. How contrary things are, Ruth! You awake and me asleep, whenit might just as well have been the other way; but it is Sunday, mydear, so we must not complain. And now, as we have missed church, I willlie down again, and you shall read me that nice sermon, which I alwayslike to hear when I can't go to church; the one in the green book aboutNabob's vineyard. "

CHAPTER XV. 

Great philosophers and profound metaphysicians should by rights havelived at Slumberleigh. Those whose lines have fallen to them "ten milesfrom a lemon, " have time to think, if so inclined. 

Only elementary natures complain of their surroundings; and though atfirst Ruth had been impatient and depressed, after a time she foundthat, better than to live in an atmosphere of thought, was to be thrownentirely on her own resources, and to do her thinking for herself. 

Some minds, of course, sink into inanition if an outward supply ofnutriment is withheld. Others get up and begin to forage for themselves. Happy are these--when the transition period is over--when, after a time, the first and worst mistakes have been made and suffered for, and theonly teaching that profits anything at all, the bitter teaching ofexperience, has been laid to heart. 

Such a nature was Ruth's, upright, self-reliant, without the impetuosityand impulsiveness that so often accompanies an independent nature, butaccustomed to look at everything through her own eyes, and to think, butnot till now to act for herself. 

She had been brought up by her grandmother to believe that before allthings _noblesse oblige_; to despise a dishonorable action, to have herfeelings entirely under control, to be intimate with few, to becourteous to all. But to help others, to give up anything for them, tolove an unfashionable or middle-class neighbor, or to feel a personalinterest in religion, except as a subject of conversation, had neverfound a place in Lady Deyncourt's code, or consequently in Ruth's, though, as was natural with a generous nature, the girl did many littlekindnesses to those about her, and was personally unselfish, as thosewho live with self-centred people are bound to be if there is to be anysemblance of peace in the house. 

But now, new thoughts were stirring within her, were leavening her wholemind. All through these monotonous months she had watched the quietroutine of patient effort that went to make up the sum of Mr. Alwynn'slife. He was a shy man. He seldom spoke of religion out of the pulpit;but all through these long months he preached it without words to Ruth, as she had never heard it preached before, by

 "The best portion of a good man's life-- His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. "

It was the first time that she had come into close contact with a lifespent for others, and its beauty appealed to her with a new force, andgradually but surely changed the current of her thoughts, until, as "weneeds must love the highest when we see it, " she unconsciously fell inlove with self-sacrifice. 

The opinions of most young persons, however loudly and injudiciouslyproclaimed, rarely do the possessors much harm, because they are not, as a rule, acted upon; but with some few people a change of views meansa change of life. Ruth was on the edge of a greater change than sheknew. 

At first she had often regretted the chapter of her life that had beenclosed by Lady Deyncourt's death. Now, she felt she could not go back toit, and find it all-sufficient as of old. It would need an addedelement, without which she began to see that any sort or condition oflife is but a stony, dusty concern after all--an element which made evenMr. Alwynn's colorless existence a contented and happy one. 

Ruth had been telling him one day, as they were walking together, of hersister's plans for the winter, and that she was sorry to think her timeat Slumberleigh was drawing to a close. 

"I am afraid, " he said, "in spite of all you say, my dear, it has beenvery dull for you here. No little gayeties or enjoyments such as it isright young people should have. I wish we had had a picnic, or agarden-party, or something. Mabel Thursby cannot be happy without thesethings, and it is natural at your age that you should wish for them. Your aunt and I lead very quiet lives. It suits us, but it is differentfor young people. "

"Does it suit you?" asked Ruth, with sudden earnestness. "Do you reallylike it, or do you sometimes get tired of it?"

Mr. Alwynn looked a little alarmed and disconcerted. He never cared totalk about himself. 

"I used to get tired, " he said at last, with reluctance, "when I wasyounger. There were times when I foolishly expected more from lifethan--than, in fact, I quite got, my dear; and the result was, I fear Ihad a very discontented spirit--an unthankful, discontented spirit, " herepeated, with sad retrospection. 

Something in his tone touched Ruth to the quick. 

"And now?"

"I am content now. "

"Uncle John, tell me. How did you grow to feel content?"

He saw there were tears in her eyes. 

"It took a long time, " he said. "Anything that is worth knowing, Ruth, takes a long time to learn. I think I found in the end, my dear, thatthe only way was to put my whole heart into what I was doing, " (Mr. Alwynn's voice was simple and earnest, as if he were imparting to Ruth agreat discovery). "I had tried before, from time to time, of course, butnever quite as hard as I might have done. That was where I failed. WhenI put myself on one side, and really settled down to do what I couldfor others, life became much simpler and happier. "

He turned his grave, patient eyes to Ruth's again. Was somethingtroubling her?

"I have often thought since then, " he went on, speaking more to himselfthan to her, "that we should consider well what we are keeping back ourstrength for, if we find ourselves refusing to put the whole of it intoour work. When at last one does start, one feels it is such a pity onedid not do it earlier in life. When I look at all the young facesgrowing up around me, I often hope, Ruth, they won't waste as much timeas I did. "

How simple it seemed while she listened to him; how easy, how natural, this life for others!

She could not answer. One sentence of Mr. Alwynn's was knocking at thedoor of her heart for admission; was drowning with its loud beating thesound of all the rest:

_"We should consider well what we are keeping back our strength for, ifwe refuse to put the whole of it into our work. "_

She and Mr. Alwynn walked on in silence; and after a time, always afraidof speaking much on the subject that was first in his own mind, he beganto talk again on trivial matters, to tell her how he had met Dare thatmorning, and had promised on her behalf that she would sing at a littlelocal concert which the Vandon school-master was getting up that week todefray the annual expense of the Vandon cricket club, and in which Darewas taking a vivid interest. 

"You won't mind singing, will you, Ruth?" asked Mr. Alwynn, wishing shewould show a little more interest in Dare and his concert. 

"Oh no, of course not, " rather hurriedly. "I should be glad to help inany way. "

"And I thought, my dear, as it would be getting late, we had betteraccept his offer of staying the night at Vandon. "

Ruth assented, but so absently that Mr. Alwynn dropped the subject witha sigh, and walked on, revolving weighty matters in his mind. They hadleft the woods now, and were crossing the field where, two months ago, the school-feast had been held. Mr. Alwynn made some slight allusion toit, and then coughed. Ruth's attention, which had been distracted, cameback in a moment. She knew her uncle had something which he did notlike, something which yet he felt it his duty to say, when he gave thatparticular cough. 

"That was when you were staying with the Danvers, wasn't it, Ruth?" in awould-be casual, disengaged tone. 

"Yes; I came over from Atherstone with Molly Danvers. "

"I remember, " said Mr. Alwynn, looking extremely uncomfortable; "and--ifI am not mistaken--ahem! Sir Charles Danvers was staying there at thesame time?"

"Certainly he was. "

"Yes, and I dare say, Ruth--I am not finding fault, far from it--I daresay he made himself very agreeable for the time being?"

"I don't think he made himself so. I should have said he was naturallyso, without any effort, just as some people are naturally the reverse. "

"Indeed! Well, I have always heard he was most agreeable; but I amafraid--I think perhaps it is just as well you should know--forewarnedis forearmed, you know--that, in fact, he says a great deal more than hemeans sometimes. "

"Does he? I dare say he does. "

"He has a habit of appearing to take a great interest in people, which Iam afraid means very little. I dare say he is not fully aware of it, orI am sure he would struggle against it, and we must not judge him; butstill, his manner does a great deal of harm. It is peculiarly open tomisconstruction. For instance, " continued Mr. Alwynn, making a rush ashis courage began to fail him, "it struck me, Ruth, the otherday--Sunday, was it? Yes, I think it _was_ Sunday--that really he hadnot much to ask me about his week-day services. I--ahem! I thought heneed not have called. "

"I dare say not. "

"But now, that is just the kind of thing he _does_--calls, and, er--under chestnut-trees, and that sort of thing--and how _are_ youngpeople to know unless their elders tell them that it is only his way, and that he has done just the same ever so often before?"

"And will again, " said Ruth, trying to keep down a smile. "Is it true(Mabel is full of it) that he is engaged, or on the point of being so, to one of Lord Hope-Acton's daughters?"

"People are always saying he is engaged, to first one person and thenanother, " said Mr. Alwynn, breathing more freely now that his duty wasdischarged. "It often grieves me that your aunt mentions his engagementso confidently to friends, because it gives people the impression thatwe know, and we really don't. He is a great deal talked about, becausehe is such a conspicuous man in the county, on account of his wealth andhis place, and the odd things he says and does. There is somethingabout him that is different from other people. I am sure I don't knowwhy it is, but I like him very much myself. I have known him do suchkind things. Dear me! What a pleasant week I had at Stoke Moreton lastyear. It is beautiful, Ruth; and the collection of old papers andmanuscripts unique! Your aunt was in Devonshire with friends at thetime. I wish he would ask me again this autumn, to see those charters ofEdward IV. 's reign that have been found in the secret drawer of an oldcabinet. I hear they are quite small, and have green seals. I wish I hadthought of asking him about them on Sunday. If they are reallysmall--but it was only Archdeacon Eldon who told me about them, and henever sees anything any particular size--if they should happen to bereally small--" And Mr. Alwynn turned eagerly to the all-engrossingsubject of the Stoke Moreton charters, which furnished him withconversation till they reached home. 

_"We should consider well what we are keeping back our strength for, ifwe refuse to put the whole of it into our work. "_

All through the afternoon and the quiet, monotonous evening these wordsfollowed Ruth. She read them between the lines of the book she took up. She stitched them into her sewing. They went up-stairs with her atnight, they followed her into her room, and would not be denied. Whenshe had sent away her maid, she sat down by the window, and, with thefull harvest-moon for company, faced them and asked them what theymeant. But they only repeated themselves over and over again. What hadthey to do with her? Her mind tried to grapple with them in vain. Asoften as she came to close quarters with them they eluded her anddisappeared, only to return with the old formula. 

Her thoughts drifted away at last to what Mr. Alwynn had said ofCharles, and all the disagreeable things which Mabel had come up onMonday morning, with a bunch of late roses, on purpose to tell herrespecting him. She had taken Mabel's information at its true worth, which I fear was but small; but she felt annoyed that both Mabel and Mr. Alwynn should have thought it necessary to warn her. As if, she said toherself, she had not known! Really, she had not been born and bred inSlumberleigh, nor had she lived there all her life. She had met men ofthat kind before. She always liked them. Charles especially amused her, and she could see that she amused him; and, now she came to think of it, she supposed he had paid her a good deal of attention at Atherstone, andperhaps he had not come over to Slumberleigh especially to see Mr. Alwynn. It was as natural to men like Charles to be always interestedin some one, as it would be unnatural in others ever to be so, except asthe result of long forethought, and with a wedding-ring and a set ofbridesmaids well in view. But to attach any importance to the fact thatCharles liked to talk to her would have been absurd. With another man itmight have meant much; but she had heard of Charles and his misdoingslong before she had met him, and knew what to expect. Lord Breakwater'ssister had confided to her many things respecting him, and had weptbitter tears on her shoulder, when he suddenly went off to shootgrizzlies in the Rocky Mountains. 

"He has not sufficient vanity to know that he is exceedingly popular, "said Ruth to herself. "I should think there are few men, handicapped ashe is, who have been liked more entirely for themselves, and less fortheir belongings; but all the time he probably imagines people admirehis name, or his place, or his income, and not himself, and consequentlyhe does not care much what he says or does. I am certain he does notmean to do any harm. His manner never deceived me for a moment. I can'tsee why it should others; but, from all accounts, he seems to befrequently misunderstood. That is just the right word for him. He ismisunderstood. At any rate, I never misunderstood him. That Sunday callmight have made me suspicious of any ordinary mortal; but I knew nocommon rule could apply to such an exception as he is. I only wonder, when he really does find himself in earnest, how he is to convey hismeaning to the future Lady Danvers. What words would be strong enough;what ink would be black enough to carry conviction to her mind?"

She smiled at the thought, and, as she smiled, another face rosesuddenly before her--Dare's pale and serious, as it had been of late, with the wistful, anxious eyes. _He_, at least, had meant a great deal, she thought with remorse. _He_ had been in earnest, sufficiently inearnest to make himself very unhappy, and on her account. 

Ruth had known for some time that Dare loved her; but to-night thatsimple, unobtrusive fact suddenly took larger proportions, came boldlyout of the shadow and looked her in the face. 

He loved her. Well, what then?

She turned giddy, and leaned her head against the open shutter. 

In the silence the words that had haunted her all the afternoon cameback; not loud as heretofore, but in a whisper, speaking to her heart, which had begun to beat fast and loud. 

_"We should consider well what we are keeping back our strength for, ifwe refuse to put the whole of it into our work. "_

What work was there for her to do?

The giddiness and the whirl in her mind died down suddenly like a greatgust on the surface of a lake, and left it still and clear and cold. 

The misery of the world and the inability to meet it had so oftenconfused and weighed her down that she had come back humbly of late tothe only possibility with which it was in her power to deal, come backto the well-worn groove of earnest determination to do as much as in herlay, close at hand, when she could find a field to labor in. And now shesuddenly saw, or thought she saw, that she had found it. She had beenvery anxious as to whether Dare would do his duty, but till this momentit had never struck her that it might be _her_ duty to help him. 

She liked him; and he was poor--too poor to do much for the people whowere dependent on him, the poor, struggling people of Vandon. Theirsullen, miserable faces rose up before her, and their crazy houses. Fever had broken out again in the cottages by the river. He needed helpand encouragement, for he had a difficult time before him. And she hadthese to give, and money too. Could she do better with them? She knewMr. Alwynn wished it. And as to herself? Was she never going to put selfon one side? She had never liked any one very much--at least, not inthat way--but she liked him. 

The words came like a loud voice in the silence. She liked him. Well, what then?

She shut her eyes, but she only shut out the moon's pale photographs ofthe fields and woods. She could not shut out these stern besiegingthoughts. 

What was she holding back for? For some possible ideal romantic future;for the prince of a fairy story? No? Well, then, for what?

The moon went behind a cloud, and took all her photographs with her. Thenight had turned very cold. 

"To-morrow, " said Ruth to herself, rising slowly; "I am too tired tothink now. To-morrow!"

And as she spoke the faint chime of the clock upon her table warned herthat already it was to-morrow. 

And soon, in a moment, as it seemed to her, before she had had time tothink, it was again to-morrow, a wet, dim to-morrow, and she was atVandon, running up the wide stone steps in the starlight, under Dare'sprotecting umbrella, and allowing him to take her wraps from her beforethe hall fire. 

The concert had gone off well. Ruth was pleased, Mr. Alwynn was pleased. Dare was in a state of repressed excitement, now flying into thedrawing-room to see if there were a good fire, as it was a chillyevening; now rushing thence to the dining-room to satisfy himself thatall the immense and elaborate preparations which he had enjoined on thecook had been made. Then, Ruth must be shown to her room. Who was to doit? He flew to find the house-keeper, and after repeated injunctions tothe house-maid, whom he met in the passage, not to forget the hot water, took Mr. Alwynn off to his apartment. 

The concert had begun, as concerts always seem to do, at the exact timeat which it is usual to dine, so that it was late before the principalperformers and Mr. Alwynn reached Vandon. It was later still beforesupper came, but when it came it was splendid. Dare looked with anxioussatisfaction, over a soup tureen, at the various spiced and glazed formsof indigestion, sufficient for a dozen people, which covered the table. It grieved him that Ruth, confronted by a spreading ham, and Mr. Alwynn, half hidden by a bowlder of turkey, should have such moderate appetites. But at least she was there, under his roof, at his table. It was notsurprising that he could eat nothing himself. 

After supper, Mr. Alwynn, who combined the wisdom of the worldly serpentwith the harmlessness of the clerical dove, fell--not toosuddenly--asleep by the fire in the drawing-room, and Ruth and Dare wentinto the hall, where the piano was. Dare opened it and struck a fewminor chords. Ruth sat down in a great carved arm-chair beside the fire. 

The hall was only lighted by a few tall lamps high on pedestals againstthe walls, which threw great profiles of the various busts upon the dimbass-reliefs of twining scroll-work; and Dare, with his eyes fixed onRuth, began to play. 

There is in some music a strange appeal beyond the reach of words. Thosemysterious sharps and flats, and major and minor chords, are an alphabetthat in some occult combinations forms another higher language than thatof speech, a language which, as we listen, thrills us to the heart. 

It was an old piano, with an impediment in its speech, out of the yellownotes of which Ruth could have made nothing; but in Dare's hands itspoke for him as he never could have spoken for himself. 

His eyes never left her. He feared to look away, lest he should find thepresence of that quiet, graceful figure by his fireside had been adream, and that he was alone again with the dim lamps, alone with Danteand Cicero and Seneca. 

The firelight dwelt ruddily upon her grave clear-cut face and levelbrows, and upon the folds of her white gown. It touched the slenderhands clasped lightly together on her knee, and drew sudden sparks andgleams out of the diamond pin at her throat. 

His hands trembled on the keys, and as he looked his heart beat high andhigher, loud and louder, till it drowned the rhythm of the music. And ashe looked her calm eyes met his. 

In another moment he was on his knees beside her, her hands caught inhis trembling clasp, and his head pressed down upon them. 

"I know, " he gasped, "it is no good. You have told me so once. You willtell me so again. I am not good enough. I am not worthy. But I love you;I love you!"

In moments of real feeling the old words hold their own against allmodern new-comers. Dare repeated them over and over again in a paroxysmof overwhelming emotion which shook him from head to foot. 

Something in his boyish attitude and in his entire loss of self-controltouched Ruth strangely. She knew he was five or six years her senior, but at the moment she felt as if she were much older than he, and asudden vague wish passed through her mind that he had been nearer her inage; not quite so young. 

"Well?" she said, gently; and he felt her cool, passive hands tremble alittle in his. Something in the tone of her voice made him raise hishead, and meet her eyes looking down at him, earnestly, and with a greatkindness in them. 

A sudden eager light leaped into his face. 

"Will you?" he whispered, breathlessly, his hands tightening their holdof hers. "Will you?"

There was a moment's pause, in which the whole world seemed to standquite still and wait for her answer. 

"Yes, " she said at last, "I will. "

"I am glad I did it, " she said to herself, half an hour later, as sheleaned her tired head against the carved oak chimney-piece in herbedroom, and absently traced with her finger the Latin inscription overthe fireplace. "I like him very much. I am glad I did it. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

For many years nothing had given Mr. Alwynn such heart-felt pleasure asthe news Ruth had to tell him, as he drove her back next morning toSlumberleigh, behind Mrs. Alwynn's long-tailed ponies. 

It was a still September morning, with a faint pearl sky and half-veiledsilver sun. Pale gleams of sunshine wandered across the busy harvestfields, and burnished the steel of the river. 

Decisions of any kind rarely look their best after a sleepless night;but as Ruth saw the expression of happiness and relief that came intoher uncle's face, when she told him what had happened, she felt againthat she was glad--very glad. 

"Oh, my dear! my dear!"--Mr. Alwynn was driving the ponies first againstthe bank, and then into the opposite ditch--"how glad I am; howthankful! I had almost hoped, certainly; I wished so much to think itpossible; but then, one can never tell. Poor Dare! poor fellow! I usedto be so sorry for him. And how much you will be able to do at Vandonamong the people. It will be a different place. And it is such a reliefto think that the poor old house will be looked after. It went to myheart to see the way it had been neglected. I ventured this morning, asI was down early, to move some of that dear old Worcester farther backinto the cabinet. They really were so near the edge, I could not bear tosee them; and I found a Sèvres saucer, my dear, in the library thatbelonged to one of those beautiful cups in the drawing-room. I hope itwas not very wrong, but I had to put it among its relations. It wassitting with a Delf mug on it, poor thing. Dear me! I little thoughtthen--Really, I have never been so glad about anything before. "

After a little more conversation, and after Mr. Alwynn had beenpersuaded to give the reins to his niece, who was far more composed thanhimself, his mind reverted to his wife. 

"I think, my dear, until your engagement is more settled, till I havehad a talk with Dare on the subject (which will be necessary before youwrite to your uncle Francis), it would be as well not to refer to itbefore--in fact, not to mention it to Mrs. Alwynn. Your dear aunt'swarm heart and conversational bent make it almost impossible for her torefrain from speaking of anything that interests her; and indeed, evenif she does not say anything in so many words, I have observed thatopinions are sometimes formed by others as to the subject on which sheis silent, by her manner when any chance allusion is made to it. "

Ruth heartily agreed. She had been dreading the searching catechismthrough which Mrs. Alwynn would certainly put her--the minute inquiriesas to her dress, the hour, the place; whether it had been "standing upor sitting down;" all her questions of course interwoven with personalreminiscences of "how John had done it, " and her own emotion at thetime. 

It was with no small degree of relief at the postponement of that evilhour that Ruth entered the house. As she did so a faint sound reachedher ear. It was that of a musical-box. 

"Dear! dear!" said Mr. Alwynn, as he followed her. "It is a fine day. Your aunt must be ill. "

For the moment Ruth did not understand the connection of ideas in hismind, until she suddenly remembered the musical-box, which, Mrs. Alwynnhad often told her, was "so nice and cheery on a wet day, or in time ofillness. "

She hurriedly entered the drawing-room, followed by Mr. Alwynn, wherethe first object that met her view was Mrs. Alwynn extended on the sofa, arrayed in what she called her tea-gown, a loose robe of blue cretonne, with a large vine-leaf pattern twining over it, which broke out intograpes at intervals. Ruth knew that garment well. It came on only whenMrs. Alwynn was suffering. She had worn it last during a period ofentire mental prostration, which had succeeded all too soon an excitingdiscovery of mushrooms in the glebe. Mr. Alwynn's heart and Ruth's sankas they caught sight of it again. 

With a dignity befitting the occasion, Mrs. Alwynn recounted in detailthe various ways in which she had employed herself after their departurethe previous evening, up to the exact moment when she slipped goingup-stairs, and sprained her ankle, in a blue and green manner that hadquite alarmed the doctor when he had seen it, and compared with whichMrs. Thursby's gathered finger in the spring was a mere bagatelle. 

"Mrs. Thursby stayed in bed when her finger was bad, " said Mrs. Alwynnto Ruth, when Mr. Alwynn had condoled, and had made his escape to hisstudy. "She always gives way so; but I never was like that. I was up allthe same, my dear. "

"I hope it does not hurt very much, " said Ruth, anxious to besympathetic, but succeeding only in being commonplace. 

"It's not only the pain, " said Mrs. Alwynn, in the gentle resigned voicewhich she always used when indisposed--the voice of one at peace withall the world, and ready to depart from a scene consequently so devoidof interest; "but to a person of my habits, Ruth--never a day withoutgoing into the larder, and always seeing after the servants as Ido--first one duty and then another--and the chickens and all. It seemsa strange thing that I should be laid aside. "

Mrs. Alwynn paused, as if she had not for the nonce fathomed theulterior reasons for this special move on the part of Providence, whichhad crippled her, while it left Ruth and Mrs. Thursby with the use oftheir limbs. 

"However, " she continued, "I am not one to repine. Always cheery andbusy, Ruth: that is my motto. And now, my dear, if you will wind up themusical-box, and then read me a little bit out of 'Texts with TenderTwinings'" (the new floral manual which had lately superseded the"Pearls"), "after that we will start on one of my scrap-books, and youshall tell me all about your visit to Vandon. "

It was not the time Ruth would have chosen for a _tête-à-tête_ with heraunt. She was longing to be alone, to think quietly over what hadhappened, and it was difficult to concentrate her attention on pink andyellow calico, and cut out colored royal families, and foreign birds, with a good grace. Happily Mrs. Alwynn, though always requiringattention, was quite content with the half of what she required; and, with the "Buffalo Girls" and the "Danube River" tinkling on the table, conversation was somewhat superfluous. 

In the afternoon Dare came, but he was waylaid in the hall by Mr. Alwynn, and taken into the study before he could commit himself in Mrs. Alwynn's presence. Mrs. Thursby and Mabel also called to condole, and alittle later Mrs. Smith of Greenacre, who had heard the news of theaccident from the doctor. Altogether it was a delightful afternoon forMrs. Alwynn, who assumed for the time an air of superiority over Mrs. Thursby to which that lady's well-known chronic ill-health seldomallowed her to lay claim. 

Mrs. Alwynn and Mrs. Thursby had remained friends since they had botharrived together as brides at Slumberleigh, in spite of a difference ofopinion, which had at one time strained friendly relations to a painfuldegree, as to the propriety of wearing the hair over the top of theear. The hair question settled, a temporary difficulty, extending over afew years, had sprung up in its place, respecting what Mrs. Thursbycalled "family. " Mrs. Alwynn's family was not her strong point, nor wasits position strengthened by her assertion (unsupported by Mrs. Markham), that she was directly descended from Queen Elizabeth. Consequently, it was trying to Mrs. Thursby--who, as every one knows, was one of the brainless Copleys of Copley--that Mrs. Alwynn, who in thelottery of marriage had drawn an honorable, should take precedence ofherself. To obviate this difficulty, Mrs. Thursby, with the ingenuity ofher sex, had at one time introduced Mr. And Mrs. Alwynn as "our rector, "and "our rector's wife, " thus denying them their name altogether, forfear lest its connection with Lord Polesworth should be remembered, andthe fact that Mr. Alwynn was his brother, and consequently an honorable, should transpire. 

This peculiarity of etiquette entirely escaped Mr. Alwynn, but arousedfeelings in the breast of his wife which might have brought about one ofthose deeply rooted feuds which so often exist between the squire's andclergyman's families, if it had not been for the timely and seriousillness in which Mrs. Thursby lost her health, and the principal part ofthe other subject of disagreement--her hair. 

Then Queen Elizabeth and the honorable were alike forgotten. With herown hands Mrs. Alwynn made a certain jelly, which Mrs. Thursby praisedin the highest manner, saying she only wished that it had been the habitin _her_ family to learn to do anything so useful. Mrs. Thursby's newgowns were no longer kept a secret from Mrs. Alwynn, to be suddenlysprung upon her at a garden-party, when, possibly in an old garmentherself, she was least able to bear the shock. By-gones were by-gones, and, greatly to the relief of the two husbands, their respective wivesmade up their differences. 

"And a very pleasant afternoon it has been, " said Mrs. Alwynn, when theThursbys and Dare, who had been loath to go, had taken their departure. "Mrs. Thursby and Mabel, and Mrs. Smith and Mr. Dare. Four to tea. Quitea little party, wasn't it, Ruth? And so informal and nice; and the bunscame in as naturally as possible, which no one heard me whisper to Jamesfor. I think those little citron buns are nicer than a great cake likeMrs. Thursby's; and hers are always so black and overbaked. That is whythe cook sifts such a lot of sugar over them. I do think one should bereal, and not try to cover up things. And Mr. Dare so pleasant. Quitesorry to go he seemed. I often wonder whether it will be you or Mabel inthe end. He ought to be making up his mind. I expect I shall have alittle joke with him about it before long. And such an interest he tookin the scrap-book. I asked him to come again to-morrow. "

"I don't expect he will be able to do so, " said Mr. Alwynn. "I ratherthink he will have to go to town on business. "

Later in the evening, Mr. Alwynn told Ruth that in the course of hisinterview he had found that Dare had the very vaguest ideas as to thenecessity of settlements; had evidently never given the subject athought, and did not even know what he actually possessed. 

Mr. Alwynn was secretly afraid of what Ruth's trustee, his brother, LordPolesworth (now absent shooting in the Rocky Mountains), would say if, during his absence, their niece was allowed to engage herself withoutsuitable provision; and he begged Ruth not "to do anything rash" in theway of speaking of her engagement, until Dare could, with the help ofhis lawyer, see his way to making some arrangement. 

"I know he has no money, " said Ruth, quietly; "that is one of thereasons why I am going to marry him. "

Mr. Alwynn, to whom this seemed the most natural reason in the world, was not sure whether it would strike his brother with equal force. Hehad a suspicion that when Lord Polesworth's attention should be turnedfrom white goats and brown bears to the fact that his niece, who hadmeans of her own, had been allowed to engage herself to a poor man, andthat Mr. Alwynn had greatly encouraged the match, unpleasant questionsmight be asked. 

"Francis will be back in November, " said Mr. Alwynn. "I think, Ruth, wehad better wait till his return before we do anything definite. "

"Anything _more_ definite, you mean, " said Ruth. "I have been verydefinite already, I think. I shall be glad to wait till he comes back, if you wish it, Uncle John. I shall try to do what you both advise. Butat the same time I am of age; and if my word is worth anything, you knowI have given that already. "

Dare felt no call to go to London by the early train on the followingmorning, so he found himself at liberty to spend an hour at SlumberleighRectory on his way to the station, and by the advice of Mr. Alwynn wentinto the garden, where the sound of the musical-box reached the ear, butin faint echoes, and where Ruth presently joined him. 

In his heart Dare was secretly afraid of Ruth; though, as he often toldhimself, it was more than probable she was equally afraid of him. Ifthat was so, she controlled her feelings wonderfully, for as she cameto meet him, nothing could have been more frankly kind, more friendly, or more composed than her manner towards him. He took her out-stretchedhand and kissed it. It was not quite the way in which he had pictured tohimself that they would meet; but if his imagination had taken asomewhat bolder flight in her absence, he felt now, as she stood beforehim, that it had taken that flight in vain. He kept her hand, and lookedintently at her. She did not change color, nor did that disappointingfriendliness leave her steady eyes. 

"She does not love me, " he said to himself. "It is strange, but she doesnot. But the day will come. "

"You are going to London, are you not?" asked Ruth, withdrawing her handat last; and after hearing a detailed account of his difficulties andanxieties about money matters, and after taking an immense weight offhis mind by telling him that they would have no influence in causing herto alter her decision, she sent him beaming and rejoicing on his way, quite a different person to the victim of anxiety and depression who hadarrived at Slumberleigh an hour before. 

Mrs. Alwynn was much annoyed at Dare's entire want of heart in leavingthe house without coming to see her, and during the remainder of themorning she did not cease to comment on the differences that existbetween what people really are and what they seem to be, until, in hersatisfaction at recounting the accident to Evelyn Danvers, a new andsympathetic listener, she fortunately forgot the slight put upon herankle earlier in the day. The complete enjoyment of her sufferings was, however, destined to sustain a severe shock the following morning. 

She and Ruth were reading their letters, Mrs. Alwynn, of course, givingRuth the benefit of the various statements respecting the weather whichher correspondents had confided to her, when Mr. Alwynn came in from thestudy, an open letter in his hand. He was quite pink with pleasure. 

"He has asked me to go and see them, " he said, "and they _are_ small, and have green seals, all excepting one, "--referring to theletter--"which has a big red seal in a tin box, attached by a tape. Ruth, I am perfectly _convinced_ beforehand that those charters aregrants of land of the fourteenth or fifteenth century. Sir Charlesmentions that they are in black letter, and only a few lines on each, but he says he won't describe them in full, as I must come and see themfor myself. Dear me! how I shall enjoy arranging them for him, which heasked me to do. I had really become so anxious about them that a fewdays ago I determined to set my mind at rest, and I wrote to him to askfor particulars, and that is his answer. "

Mr. Alwynn put Charles's letter into her hand, and she glanced over it. 

"Why, Uncle John, he asks Aunt Fanny as well; and--'if Miss Deyncourt isstill with you, pleasure, ' etc. --and _me_, too!"

"When is it for?" asked Mrs. Alwynn, suddenly sitting bolt-upright. 

"Let me see. 'Black letter size about'--where is it? Here. 'Tuesday, the25th, for three nights. Leaving home following week for some time. Excuse short notice, ' etc. It is next week, Aunt Fanny. "

"I shall not be able to go, " gasped Mrs. Alwynn, sinking back on hersofa, while something very like tears came into her eyes; "and I'venever been there, Ruth. The Thursbys went once, in old Sir George'stime, and Mrs. Thursby always says it is the show-place in the county, and that it is such a pity I have not seen it. And last autumn, whenJohn went, I was in Devonshire, and never even heard of his going till Igot home, or I'd have come back. Oh, Ruth! Oh, dear!"

Mrs. Alwynn let her letters fall into her lap, and drew forth thecolored pocket-handkerchief which she wore, in imitation of MabelThursby, stuck into the bodice of her gown, and at the ominousappearance of which Mr. Alwynn suddenly recollected a duty in the studyand retreated. 

With an unerring instinct Ruth flew to the musical-box and set it going, and then knelt down by the prostrate figure of her aunt, andadministered what sympathy and consolation she could, to the "cheery"accompaniment of the "Buffalo Girls. "

"Never mind, dear Aunt Fanny. Perhaps he will ask you again when you arebetter. There will be other opportunities. "

"I always was unlucky, " said Mrs. Alwynn, faintly. "I had a swelled faceup the Rhine on our honey-moon. Things always happen like that with me. At any rate, "--after a pause--"there is _one_ thing. We ought to try andlook at the bright side. It is not as if we had not been asked. We havenot been overlooked. "

"No, " said Ruth, promptly; and in her own mind she registered a vow thatin her future home she would never give the pain that being overlookedby the larger house can cause to the smaller house. 

"And I will stay with you, Aunt Fanny, " she went on, cheerfully. "UncleJohn can go by himself, and we will do just what we like while he isaway, won't we?"

But at this Mrs. Alwynn demurred. She was determined that if she playedthe rôle of a martyr she would do it well. She insisted that Ruth shouldaccompany Mr. Alwynn. She secretly looked forward to telling Mabel thatRuth was going. She did not mind being left alone, she said. Shedesired, with a sigh of self-sacrifice, that Mr. Alwynn should acceptfor himself and his niece. She had not been brought up to considerherself, thank God! She had her faults she knew. No one was more fullyaware of them than herself; but she was not going to prevent othersenjoying themselves because she herself was laid aside. 

"And now, my dear, " she said, with a sudden return to mundane intereststhat succeeded rather unexpectedly to the celestial spirit of herprevious remarks, "you must be thinking about your gowns. If I had beengoing, I should have had my ruby satin done up--so beautiful bycandle-light. What have you to wear? That white lace tea-gown with thesilver-gray train is very nice; but you ought not to be in half mourningnow. I like to see young people in colors. And then there is thatgold-and-white brocade, Ruth, that you wore at the drawing-room lastyear. It is a beautiful dress, but rather too quiet. Could not youbrighten it up with a few cherry-colored bows about it, or a sash? Ialways think a sash is so becoming. If you were to bring it down, I daresay I could suggest something. And you must be well dressed, for thoughhe only says 'friends, ' you never can tell whom you may not meet at aplace like that. "

CHAPTER XVII. 

The last week of September found Charles back at Stoke Moreton toreceive the "friends" of whom Mrs. Alwynn spoke. People whose partridgeshe had helped to kill were now to be gathered from the east and from thewest to help to kill his. From the north also guests were coming, wereleaving their mountains to--But the remainder of the line is invidious. The Hope-Actons had written to offer a visit at Stoke Moreton on thestrength of an old promise to Charles, a promise so old that he hadforgotten it, until reminded, that next time they were passing theywould take his house on their way. They had offered their visit exactlyat the same time for which he had just invited the Alwynns and Ruth. Charles felt that they were not quite the people whom he would havearranged to meet each other, but, as Fate had so decreed it, heacquiesced calmly enough. 

But when Lady Mary also wrote tenderly from Scarborough, to ask if shecould be of any use helping to entertain his guests, he felt itimperative to draw the line, and wrote a grateful effusion to his aunt, saying that he could not think of asking her to leave a place where hefelt sure she was deriving spiritual and temporal benefit, in order toassist at so unprofitable a festivity as a shooting-party. He mentionedcasually that Lady Grace Lawrence, Miss Deyncourt, and Miss Wyndham wereto be of the party, which details he imagined might have an interest forher amid her graver reflections. 

The subject of Ruth's coming certainly had a prominent place in his owngraver reflections. For the last fortnight, as he went from house tohouse, he had been wondering how he could meet her again, and, when Mr. Alwynn's letter concerning the charters was forwarded to him, a suddeninspiration made him then and there send the invitation which hadarrived at Slumberleigh Rectory a few days before. He groaned in spiritas he wrote it, at the thought of Mrs. Alwynn disporting herself, dressed in the brightest colors, among his other guests; and it was witha feeling of thankfulness that he found Ruth and Mr. Alwynn were comingwithout her. 

He had felt very little interest so far in the party, which, with theexception of the Hope-Actons, had been long arranged, but now he foundhimself looking forward to it with actual impatience, and he returnedhome a day before the time, instead of an hour or two before his guestswere expected, as was his wont. 

The Wyndhams and Hope-Actons, with Lady Grace in tow, were the first toappear upon the scene. Mr. Alwynn and Ruth arrived a few hours later, amid a dropping fire of young men and gun-cases, who kept on turning upat intervals during the afternoon, and, according to the mysteriousnocturnal habits of their kind, till late into the night. 

If ever a man appears to advantage it is on his native hearth, and asCharles stood on his in the long hall, where it was the habit of thehouse to assemble before dinner, Ruth found that her attempts atconversation were rather thrown away upon Lady Grace, with whom she hadbeen renewing an old acquaintance, and whose interest, for the timebeing, entirely centred in the carved coats of arms and heraldic designswith which the towering white stone chimney-piece was covered. 

Lady Grace was one of those pretty, delicate creatures who remind one ofa very elaborate rose-bud. There was an appearance of ultra-refinementabout her, a look of that refinement which is in itself a weakness, apoverty of blood, so to speak, the opposite and more pleasing butequally unhealthy extreme of coarseness. She looked very pretty as, having left Ruth, she stood by Charles, passing her little pink handover the lowest carvings, dim and worn with the heat of many generationsof fires, and listened with rapt attention to his answers to herquestions. 

"And the Hall is so beautiful, " she said, looking round with childlikecuriosity at the walls covered with weapons, and with a long array ofarmor, and at the massive pillars of carved white stone which rose upout of the polished floor to meet the raftered ceiling. "It is so--souncommon. "

Whatever Charles's other failings may have been, he was an admirablehost. The weather was fine. What can be finer than September when she isin a good-humor? The two first days of Ruth's visit were unalloyedenjoyment. It seemed like a sudden return to the old life with LadyDeyncourt, when the round of country visits regularly succeeded theseason in London. Of Mr. Alwynn she saw little or nothing. He was buriedin the newly discovered charters. Of Charles she saw a good deal, morethan at the time she was quite aware of, for he seemed to see a greatdeal of everybody, from Lady Grace to the shy man of the party, who atStoke Moreton first conceived the idea that he was an acquisition tosociety. But, whether Charles made the opportunities or not which cameso ready to his hand, still he found time, amid the pressure of hisshooting arrangements and his duties as host, to talk to Ruth. 

One day there was cub-hunting in the gray of the early morning, to whichshe and Miss Wyndham went with Charles and others of the party who couldbear to get up betimes. Losing sight of the others after a time, Ruthand Charles rode back alone together, when the sun was high, walkingtheir tired horses along the black-berried lanes, and down the longgreen rides cut in the yellowing bracken of the park. 

"And so you are going to winter in Rome?" said Charles, who had theprevious day, contrary to his wont, accepted an invitation toSlumberleigh Hall for the middle of October. "I sometimes go to Romefor a few weeks when the shooting is over. And are you glad or sorry atthe prospect of leaving your Cranford?"

"Very sorry. "

"Why?"

"I have seen an entirely new phase of life at Slumberleigh. "

"I think I can guess what you mean, " said Charles, gravely. "One doesnot often meet any one like Mr. Alwynn. "

"No. I was thinking of him. Until I came to Slumberleigh the lines hadnot fallen to me in very clerical places, so my experience is limited;but he seems to me to be the only clergyman I have known who does notforce on one a form of religion that has been dead and buried foryears. "

"The clergy have much to answer for on that head, " said Charles withbitterness. "I sometimes like and respect them as individuals, but I donot love them as a class. One ought to make allowance for the fact thatthey are tied and bound by the chain of their Thirty-nine Articles; thatat three-and-twenty they shut the doors deliberately on any new andpossibly unorthodox idea; and it is consequently unreasonable to expectfrom them any genuine freedom or originality of thought. I can forgivethem their assumption of superiority, their inability to meet honestscepticism with anything like fairness, their continual bickering amongthemselves; but I cannot forgive them the harm they are doing toreligion, the discredit they are bringing upon it by their bigoted viewsand obsolete ideas. They busy themselves doing good--that is the worstof it; they mean well, but they do not see that, in the mean while, their Church is being left unto them desolate; though perhaps, afterall, the Church having come to be what it is, that is the best thingthat can happen. "

"There are men among the clergy who will not come under that sweepingaccusation, " said Ruth. "Look at some of the London churches. Are theydesolate? Goodness and earnestness will be a power to the end of time, however narrow the accompanying creed may be. "

"That is true, but we have heads as well as hearts. Goodness andearnestness appeal to the heart alone. The intellect is left out in thecold. However good and earnest, and eloquent one of these greatpreachers may be, the reason we go to hear him is not only because ofthat, but because he appears to be thinking in a straight line, becausehe seems to recognize the long-resisted claim of the intellect, and wehope he will have a word to say to us. He promises well, but listen tohim a little longer, follow his thought, and you will begin to see thathe will only look for truth within a certain area, that his steps aredescribing an arc, that he is tethered. Give him time enough, and youwill see him tread out the complete circle in which he and his brethrenare equally bound to walk. "

"You forget, " said Ruth, "that you are regarding the Church from thestand-point of the cultivated and intellectual class, for whom theChurch has ceased to represent religion; but there are lots of peopleneither cultivated nor intellectual--women even of our own class are notso as a rule--to whom the Church, with its ritual and dogma, is a realhelp and comfort. If, as you say, it does not suit the more highlyeducated, I think you have no right to demand that it _should_ suit whatis, after all, a very small minority. It would be most unfair if itdid. "

Charles did not answer. He had been looking at her, and thinking how fewwomen could have disagreed with him as quietly and resolutely as thisyoung girl riding at his side, carefully avoiding chance rabbit-holes asshe spoke. 

"There is, and there always will be, a certain number of people, notonly among the clergy, " she went on, "who, as somebody says, 'put thechurch clock back, ' and are unable to see that they cannot alter thetime of day for all that; only they can and do prevent manywell-intentioned people from trusting to it any longer. But there areothers here and there whom a dogmatic form of religion has been quiteunable to spoil, whose more simple turn of mind draws out of the verysystem that appears to you so lifeless and effete, a real faith, apersonal possession, which no one can take from them. "

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, and Charles saw that she was thinking ofMr. Alwynn. 

"He has got it, " he said, slowly, "this something which we all want, andfor the greater part never find. He has got it. To see and recognize itearly is a great thing, " he continued, earnestly. "To disbelieve in itin early life, and cavil at all the caricatures and imitations, and onlycome to find out its reality comparatively later on, is a greatmisfortune--a great misfortune. "

She felt that he was speaking of himself, and they rode on in silence, each grave with a sense of mutual understanding and companionship. Theyforded the stream, and trotted up the little village street, thecottagers gazing admiringly after them till they disappeared within thegreat arched gate-way. And Charles looked at his old house as theypaced up the wide drive, and wondered whether it were indeed possiblethat the lonely years he had spent in it had come to an end at last--atlast. 

Ruth had noticed that he had lost no opportunity of talking to her, andwhen she heard him conversing with Lady Grace, or plunging intofashionable slang with Miss Wyndham, found herself admiring the facilitywith which he adapted himself to different people. 

The following afternoon, as she was writing in the library, she wasamused to see that he found it incumbent on him to write too, even goingso far as to produce a letter from Molly, whose correspondence he saidhe invariably answered by return. 

"You seem very fond of giving Molly pleasure, " said Ruth. 

"I am glad to see, Miss Deyncourt, that you are beginning to estimate meat my true worth. "

"You have it in your power just now to give a great pleasure, " saidRuth, earnestly, laying down the pen which she had taken up. 

"How?"

"It seems so absurd when it is put into words, but--by asking Mrs. Alwynn some time to stay here. She has always longed to see StokeMoreton, because--well, because Mrs. Thursby has; and real, positive, actual tears were shed that she could not come when you asked us. "

"Is it possible?" said Charles. "It is the first time that any letter ofmine has caused emotion of that description. "

"Ah! you don't know how important the smallest things appear if onelives in a little corner of the world where nothing ever happens. IfMrs. Alwynn had been able to come, her visit would have been an eventwhich she would have remembered for years. I assure you, I myself, fromhaving lived at Slumberleigh eight months, became quite excited at theprospect of so much dissipation. "

And Ruth leaned back in her chair with a little laugh. 

Charles looked narrowly at her and his face fell. 

"I am glad you told me, " he said, after a moment's pause. "Peoplegenerally mention these things about ten years afterwards; when there isprobably no possibility of doing anything. Thank you. "

Ruth was disconcerted by the sudden gravity of his tone, and almostregretted the impulse that had made her speak. She forgot it, however, in the _tableaux vivants_ which they were preparing for the evening, inwhich she and Charles illustrated the syllable _nun_ to enthusiasticapplause. Ruth represented the nun, engaged in conversation, over thelowest imaginable convent wall, with Charles, in all the glory of hiscocked hat and deputy-lieutenant's uniform, who, while he held the nun'shand in one of his, pointed persuasively with the other towards anelaborately caparisoned war-horse, trembling beneath the joint weight ofa yeomanry saddle and a side-saddle attached behind it, whichconsiderably overlapped the charger's impromptu fur boa tail. 

After the _tableaux_ there was dancing in acting costume, at which thetwo men, who acted the war-horse between them were the only persons toprotest, Lady Grace being beautiful as an improvised Anne Boleyn, andthe shy man resplendent in a fancy dress of Charles's. 

When the third morning came, Ruth gave a genuine sigh at the thoughtthat it was the last day. Lady Grace, who was also leaving the followingmorning, may be presumed to have echoed it with far more sorrow. TheWyndhams were going that day, and disappeared down the drive, wavinghandkerchiefs, and carriage-rugs, and hats on sticks, out of thecarriage-windows, as is the custom of really amusing people when takingleave. 

In the afternoon, Lady Grace and Charles went off for a ride alonetogether, to see some ruin in which Lady Grace had manifested a suddeninterest, the third horse, which had been brought round for another ofthe men, being sent back to the stables, his destined rider havingdecided, at the eleventh hour, to join the rest of the party in a littledesultory rabbit shooting in the park, which he proceeded to do withmuch chuckling over his extraordinary penetration and tact. 

The elder ladies went out driving, looking, as seen from an upperwindow, like four poached eggs on a dish; and the coast being clear, Ruth, who had no love of driving, escaped with her paint-box to thegarden, where she was making a sketch of Stoke Moreton. 

Some houses, like people, have dignity. Stoke Moreton, with ivy creepingup its mellow sandstone, and peeping into its long lines of mullionedwindows, stood solemn and stately amid its level gardens; the low sun, bringing out every line of carved stone frieze and quaint architrave, firing all the western windows, and touching the tall heads of thehollyhocks and sunflowers, that stood in ordered regiments within theirhigh walls of clipped box. And Ruth dabbed and looked, and dabbed again, until she suddenly found that if she put another stroke she would spoilall, and also that her hands were stiff with cold. After a few admiringglances at her work, she set off on a desultory journey round thegardens to get warm, and finally, seeing an oak door in the garden-wallopen, wandered through it into the church-yard. The church door wasopen, too, and Ruth, after reading some of the epitaphs on thetombstones, went in. 

It was a common little church enough, with a large mortuary chapel, where all the Danvers family reposed; ancient Danvers lying in armor, with their mailed hands joined, beside their wives; more modern Danverskneeling in bass-relief in colored plaster and execrable taste inrecesses. The last generations were there also; some of themanticipating the resurrection and feathered wings, but for the most partstill asleep. Charles's mother was there, lying in white marble amongher husband's people, with the child upon her arm which she had takenaway with her. 

And in the middle of the chapel was the last Sir Charles Danvers, whomhis brother, Sir George, the father of the present owner, had succeeded. The evening sun shone full on the kneeling soldier figure, leaning onits sword, and on the grave, clear-cut face, which had a look ofCharles. The long, beautifully modelled hands, clasped over the batteredsteel sword-hilt, were like Charles's too. Ruth read the inscription onthe low marble pedestal, relating how he had fallen in the taking of theRedan, and then looked again. And gradually a great feeling of pity rosein her heart for the family which had lived here for so manygenerations, and which seemed now so likely to die out. Providence doesnot seem to care much for old families, or to value long descent. Ratherit seems to favor the new race--the Browns, and the Joneses, and theRobinsons, who yesterday were not, and who to-day elbow the old countyfamilies from the place which has known them from time immemorial. 

"I suppose Molly will some day marry a Smith, " said Ruth to herself, "and then it will be all over. I don't think I will come and see herhere when she is married. "

With which reflection she returned to the house, and, after disturbingMr. Alwynn, who was deep in a catalogue of the Danvers manuscripts, inwhich it was his firm conviction that he should find some mention of thecharters, she went into the library, and wondered which of the severalthousands of books would interest her till the others came in. 

The library was a large room, the walls of which were lined with booksfrom the floor to the ceiling. In order to place the higher shelveswithin reach, a light balcony of polished oak ran round the four walls, about equidistant from the floor and the ceiling. Ruth went up the tinycorkscrew staircase in the wall, which led to the balcony, and settlingherself comfortably in the low, wide window-seat, took out one volumeafter another of those that came within her reach. These shelves by thewindow where she was sitting had somehow a different look to the rest. Old books and new, white vellum and card-board, were herded togetherwithout any apparent order, and with no respect of bindings. Here asplendid morocco "Novum Organum" was pushed in beside a cheap and muchworn edition of Marcus Aurelius; there Emerson and Plato and Shakespearejostled each other on the same shelf, while, just below, "Don Quixote"was pressed into the uncongenial society of Carlyle on one side andConfucius on the other. As she pulled out one book after another, shenoticed that the greater part of them had Charles's name in them. Ruth'scuriosity was at once aroused. No doubt this was the little corner inhis great house in which he chose to read, and these were his favoritebooks which he had arranged so close to his hand. If we can judge ourfellow-creatures at all, which is doubtful, it is by the books theyread, and by those which, having read, they read again. She looked atthe various volumes in the window-seat beside her with new interest, andopened the first one she took up. It was a collection of translationsfrom the Persian poets, gentlemen of the name of Jemshíd, Sádi, andHafiz, of whom she had never heard. As she turned over the pages, sheheard the ringing of horses' hoofs, and, looking out from her point ofobservation, saw Charles and Lady Grace cantering up the short wideapproach, and clattering out of sight again behind the great stonearchway. She turned back to her book, and was reading an ode here andthere, wondering to see how the same thoughts that work within us to-dayhad lived with man so many hundred years ago, when her eye was caught bysome writing on the margin of a page as she turned it over. A singlesentence on the page was strongly underlined:

_"True self-knowledge is knowledge of God. "_

Jemshíd was a wise man, Ruth thought, if he had found out that; and thenshe read, in Charles's clear handwriting in the margin:

_"With this compare 'Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and itwill ever bubble up if thou wilt ever dig. '--Marcus Aurelius. "_

At this moment Charles came into the library, and looked up to where shewas sitting, half hidden from below by the thickness of the wall. 

"What, studying?" he called, gayly. "I saw you sitting in the window asI rode up. I might have known that if you were lost sight of for halfan hour you would be found improving yourself in some exasperating way. "And he ran up the little stairs and came round the balcony towards her. "My own special books, I see--Eve, as usual, surreptitiously craving fora knowledge of good and evil. What have you got hold of?"

The remainder of the window-seat was full of books; so, to obtain abetter view of what she was reading, he knelt down by her, and looked atthe open book on her knee. 

Ruth did not attempt to close it. She felt guilty, she hardly knew ofwhat. After a moment's pause she said:

"I plead guilty. I was curious. I saw these were your own particularshelves; but I never can resist looking at the books people read. "

"Will you be pleased to remember in future that, in contemplating mycharacter, Miss Deyncourt--a subject not unworthy of your attention--youare on private property. You are requested to keep on the gravel paths, and to look at the grounds I am disposed to show you. If, as is verypossible, admiration seizes you, you are at liberty to express it. Butthere must be no going round to the back premises, no prying intocorners, no trespassing where I have written up, 'No road. '"

Ruth smiled, and there was a gleam in her eyes which Charles well knewheralded a retort, when suddenly through the half-open door a silkenrustle came, and Lady Hope-Acton slowly entered the room, as if about topass through it on her way to the hall. 

Now, kneeling is by no means an attitude to be despised. In church, orin the moment of presentation to majesty, it is appropriate, evenessential; but it is dependent, like most things, upon circumstances andenvironment. No attitude, for instance, could be more suitable andnatural to any one wishing to read the page on which a sittingfellow-creature was engaged. Charles had found it so. But, as LadyHope-Acton sailed into the room, he felt that, however conducive tostudy, it was not the attitude in which he would at that moment havechosen to be found. Ruth felt the same. It had seemed so natural amoment before, it was so hideously suggestive now. 

Perhaps Lady Hope-Acton would pass on through the other door, so widely, so invitingly open. Neither stirred, in the hope that she might do so. But in the centre of the room she stopped and sighed--the slow, crackling sigh of a stout woman in a too well-fitting silk gown. 

Charles suddenly felt as if his muddy boots and cords were trying tocatch her eye, as if every book on the shelves were calling to her tolook up. 

For a second Ruth and Charles gazed down upon the top of LadyHope-Acton's head, the bald place on which showed dimly through hersemi-transparent cap. She moved slightly, as if to go; but no, anotherstep was drawing near. In another moment Lady Grace came in through theopposite door in her riding-habit. 

Ruth felt that it was now or never for a warning cough; but, as sheglanced at Charles kneeling beside her, she could not give it. Surelythey would pass out in another second. The thought of the two pairs ofeyes which would be raised, and the expression in them was intolerable. 

"Grace, " said Lady Hope-Acton, with dreadful distinctness, advancing tomeet her daughter, "has he spoken?"

"No, " said Lady Grace, with a little sob; "and, "--with a sudden burst oftears--"oh, mamma, I don't think he ever will. "

Oh, to have coughed, to have sneezed, to have choked a moment earlier!Anything would have been better than this. 

"Run up-stairs this moment, then, and change your habit and bathe youreyes, " said Lady Hope-Acton, sharply. "You need not come down tilldinner-time. I will say you are tired. "

And then, to the overwhelming relief of those two miserable spectators, the mother and daughter left the door. 

But to the momentary sensation of relief in Ruth's mind a rush of pitysucceeded for the childlike grief and tears; and with and behind it, like one hurrying wave overtopping and bearing down its predecessor, came a burning indignation against the cause of that picturesqueemotion. 

It is indeed a lamentable peculiarity of our fallen nature that themoment of relief from the smart of anxiety is seldom marked by socomplete a mental calmness and moderation as could be wished. 

Ruth rose slowly, with the book still in her hand, and Charles got offhis knees as best he could, and stood with one hand on the railing ofthe balcony, as if to steady himself. His usually pale face was crimson. 

Ruth closed the book in silence, and with a dreadful precision put itback in its accustomed place. Then she turned and faced him, with thewestern light full upon her stern face, and another light of contemptand indignation burning in her direct eyes. 

"Poor little girl, " she said, in a low distinct voice. "What a triumphto have succeeded in making her unhappy. She is very young, and she didnot understand the rules of the game. Poor, foolish little girl!"

If he had been red before, he was pale enough now. He drew himself up, and met her direct gaze without flinching. He did not speak, and sheleft him standing in the window, and went slowly along the balcony anddown the little staircase into the room below. 

As she was about to leave the room he moved forward suddenly, and said, "Miss Deyncourt!"

Involuntarily she stopped short, in obedience to the stern authority ofthe tone. 

"You are unjust. "

She did not answer and left the room. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

"Uncle John, " said Ruth next morning, taking Mr. Alwynn aside afterbreakfast, "we are leaving by the early train, are we not?"

"No, my love, it is quite impossible. I have several papers to identifyand rearrange. "

"We have stayed a day longer than we intended as it is. Most of theothers go early. Do let us go too. "

"It is most natural, I am sure, my dear, that you should wish to gethome, " said Mr. Alwynn, looking with sympathetic concern at his niece;"and why your aunt has not forwarded your letters I can't imagine. Butstill, if we return by the mid-day train, Ruth, you will have plenty oftime to answer any letters that--ahem!--seem to require immediateattention, before the post goes; and I don't see my way to being readyearlier. "

Ruth had not even been thinking of Dare and his letters; but she sawthat by the early train she was not destined to depart, and watched theother guests take leave with an envious sigh. She was anxious to begone. The last evening, after the episode in the library, had beeninterminably long. Already the morning, though breakfast was hardlyover, seemed to have dragged itself out to days in length. A sense ofconstraint between two people who understand and amuse each other isvery galling. Ruth had felt it so. All the previous evening Charles hadhardly spoken to her, and had talked mainly to Lady Hope-Acton, who wassomewhat depressed, and another elder lady. A good-night and a flatcandlestick can be presented in a very distant manner, and as Ruthreceived hers from Charles that evening, and met the grave, steadyglance that was directed at her, she perceived that he had not forgivenher for what she had said. 

She felt angry again at the idea that he should venture to treat herwith a coldness which seemed to imply that she had been in the wrong. The worst of it was that she felt she was to blame; that she had noright whatever to criticise Charles and his actions. What concern werethey of hers? How much more suitable, how much more eloquent a dignifiedsilence would have been. She could not imagine now, as she thought itover, why she had been so unreasonably annoyed at the moment as to saywhat she had done. Yet the reason was not far to seek, if she had onlyknown where to lay her hand on it. She was uneasy, impatient; she longedto get out of the house. And it was still early; only eleven. Eleventill twelve. Twelve till one. One till half-past. Two whole hours and ahalf to be got through before the Stoke Moreton omnibus would bear heraway. She looked round for a refuge during that weary age, and found itnearer than many poor souls do in time of need, namely, at her elbow, inthe shape, the welcome shape of the shy man--almost the only remnant ofthe large party whose dispersion she had just been watching. WheneverRuth thought of that shy man afterwards, which was not often, it waswith a sincere hope that he had forgotten the forwardness of herbehavior on that particular morning. She wished to see thepicture-gallery. She would of all things like a walk afterwards. No, shehad not been as far as the beech-avenue; but she would like to go. Should they look at the pictures first--now--no time like the present?How pleased he was! How proud! He felt that his shyness had goneforever; that Miss Deyncourt would, no doubt, like to hear a fewanecdotes of his college life; that a quiet man, who does not makehimself cheap to start with, often wins in the end; that Miss Deyncourthad unusual appreciation, not only for pictures, but for reserved andintricate characters that yet (here he ventured on a little joke, andlaughed at it himself) had their lighter side. And in the longpicture-gallery Ruth and he studied the old masters, as they had seldombeen studied before, with an intense and ignorant interest on the onehand, and an entire absence of mind on the other. 

Charles, who had done a good deal of pacing up and down his room thenight before, and had arrived at certain conclusions, passed through thegallery once, but did not stop. He looked grave and preoccupied, andhardly answered a question of Mr. Conway's about one of the pictures. 

Half-past eleven at last. A tall inlaid clock in the gallery mentionedthe hour by one sedate stroke; the church clock told the village thetime of day a second later. They had nearly finished the pictures. Nevermind. She could take half an hour to put on her hat, and surely anybeech-avenue, even on a dull day like this might serve to while away theremaining hour before luncheon. 

They had come to the last picture of the Danvers collection, and Ruthwas dwelling fondly on a very well-developed cow by Cuyp, as if shecould hardly tear herself away from it, when she heard a step coming upthe staircase from the hall, and presently Charles pushed open thecarved folding-doors which shut off the gallery from the rest of thehouse, and looked in. She was conscious that he was standing in thedoor-way, but new beauties in the cow, which had hitherto escaped her, engaged her whole attention at the moment, and no one can attend to twothings at once. 

Charles did not come any farther; but, standing in the door-way, hecalled to the shy man who went to him, and the two talked together for afew moments. Ruth gazed upon the cow until it became so fixed upon theretina of her eye that, when she tried to admire an old Florentinecabinet near it, she still saw its portrait; and when, in desperation, she turned away to look out of the window across the sky and slopingpark, the shadow of the cow hung like a portent. 

A moment later Mr. Conway came hurrying back to her much perturbed, tosay he had quite forgotten till this moment, had not in the leastunderstood, in fact, etc. Danvers' gray cob, that he had thoughts ofbuying, was waiting at the door for him to try--in fact, had beenwaiting some time. No idea, upon his soul--

Ruth cut his apology short before he had done more than flounder wellinto it. 

"You must go and try it at once, " she said with decision; and then sheadded, as Charles drew near: "I have changed my mind about going out. Itlooks as if it might turn to rain. I shall get through some arrears ofletter-writing instead. "

Mr. Conway stammered, and repeated himself, and finally rushed out ofthe gallery. Ruth expected that Charles would accompany him, but heremained standing near the window, apparently engaged like herself inadmiring the view. 

"It struck me, " he said, slowly, with his eyes half shut, "that Conwayproved rather a broken reed just now. "

"He did, " said Ruth. She suddenly felt that she could understand what itwas in Charles that exasperated Lady Mary so much. 

He came a step nearer, and his manner altered. 

"I sent him away, " he said, looking gravely at her, "because I wished tospeak to you. "

Ruth did not answer or turn her head, though she felt he was watchingher. Her eyes absently followed two young fallow-deer in the park, cantering away in a series of hops on their long stiff legs. 

"I cannot speak to you here, " said Charles, after a pause. 

Ruth turned round. 

"Silence is golden sometimes. I think quite enough has been saidalready. "

"Not by me. You expressed yourself with considerable frankness. I wishto follow your example. "

"You said I was unjust at the time. Surely that was sufficient. "

"So insufficient that I am going to repeat it. I tell you again that youare unjust in not being willing to hear what I have to say. I have seena good deal of harm done by misunderstandings, Miss Deyncourt. Pride isgenerally at the bottom of them. We are both suffering from a slightattack of that malady now; but I value your good opinion too much tohesitate, if, by any little sacrifice of my own pride, I can stillretain it. If, after your remarks yesterday, I can make the effort (andit _is_ an effort) to ask you to hear something I wish to say, you, onyour side, ought not to refuse to listen. It is not a question ofliking; you _ought_ not to refuse. "

He spoke in an authoritative tone, which gave weight to his words, andin spite of herself she saw the truth of what he said. She was one ofthose rare women who, being convinced against their will, are _not_ ofthe same opinion still. It was ignominious to have to give way; but, after a moment's struggle with herself, she surmounted her dislike tobeing overruled, together with a certain unreasoning tenacity of opinionnatural to her sex, and said, quietly:

"What do you wish me to do?"

Charles saw the momentary struggle, and honored her for a quality whichwomen seldom give men occasion to honor them for. 

"Do you dislike walking?"

"No. "

"Then, if you will come out-of-doors, where there is less likelihood ofinterruption than in the house, I will wait for you here. "

She went silently down the picture-gallery, half astonished to findherself doing his bidding. She put on her walking things mechanically, and came back in a few minutes to find him standing where she had lefthim. In silence they went down-stairs, and through the piazza with itsflowering orange-trees, out into the gardens, where, on the stonebalustrade, the peacocks were attitudinizing and conversing in the highkey in which they always proclaim a change of weather and their innatevulgarity to the world. Charles led the way towards a little rushingbrook which divided the gardens from the park. 

"I think you must have had a very low opinion of me beforehand to saywhat you did yesterday, " he remarked, suddenly. 

"I was angry, " said Ruth. "However true what I said may have been, I hadno right to say it to--a comparative stranger. That is why I repeat thatit would be better not to make matters worse by mentioning the subjectagain. It is sure to annoy us both. Let it rest. "

"Not yet, " said Charles, dryly. "As a comparative stranger, I want toknow, "--stopping and facing her--"exactly what you mean by saying thatshe, Lady Grace, did not understand the rules of the game. "

"I cannot put it in other words, " said Ruth, her courage rising as shefelt that a battle was imminent. 

"Perhaps I can for you. Perhaps you meant to say that you believed I wasin the habit of amusing myself at other people's expense; that--I seeyour difficulty in finding the right words--that it was my evil sportand pastime to--shall we say--raise expectations which it was not myintention to fulfil?"

"It is disagreeably put, " said Ruth, reddening a little; "but possibly Idid mean something of that kind. "

"And how have you arrived at such an uncharitable opinion of acomparative stranger?" asked Charles, quietly enough, but his light eyesflashing. 

She did not answer. 

"You are not a child, to echo the opinion of others, " he went on. "Youlook as if you judged for yourself. What have I done since I met youfirst, three months ago, to justify you in holding me in contempt?"

"I did not say I held you in contempt. "

"You must, though, if you think me capable of such meanness. "

Silence again. 

"You have pushed me into saying more than I meant, " said Ruth at last;"at least you have said I mean a great deal more than I really do. To behonest, I think you have thoughtlessly given a good deal of pain. I daresay you did it unconsciously. "

"Thank you. You are very charitable, but I cannot shield myself underthe supposition that at eight-and-thirty I am a creature of impulse, unconscious of the meaning of my own actions. "

"If that is the case, " thought Ruth, "your behavior to me has beeninexcusable, especially the last few days; though, fortunately formyself, I was not deceived by it. "

"If you persist in keeping silence, " said Charles, after waiting for herto speak, "any possibility of conversation is at an end. "

"I did not come out here for conversation, " replied Ruth. "I came, notby my own wish, to hear something you said you particularly desired tosay. Do you not think the simplest thing, under the circumstances, wouldbe--to say it?"

He gave a short laugh, and looked at her in sheer desperation. Did sheknow what she was pushing him into?

"I had forgotten, " he said. "It was in my mind all the time; but now youhave made it easy for me indeed by coming to my assistance in this way. I will make a fresh start. "

He compressed his lips, and seemed to pull himself together. Then hesaid, in a very level voice:

"Kindly give me your whole attention, Miss Deyncourt, so that I shallnot be obliged to repeat anything. The deer are charming, I know; butyou have seen deer before, and will no doubt again. I am sorry that I amobliged to speak to you about myself, but a little autobiography isunavoidable. Perhaps you know that about three years ago I succeeded myfather. From being penniless, and head over ears in debt, I becamesuddenly a rich man--not by my father's will, who entailed every acre ofthe estates here and elsewhere on Ralph, and left everything he could tohim. I had thought of telling you what my best friends have never known, why I am not still crippled by debt. I had thought of telling you why, at five-and-thirty, I was still unmarried, for my debts were not thereason; but I will not trouble you with that now. It is enough to saythat I found myself in a position which, had I been a little younger, with rather a different past, I should have enjoyed more than I did. Iwas well received in English society when, after a lapse of severalyears and a change of fortune, I returned to it. If I had thought I waswell received for myself, I should have been a fool. But I came backdisillusioned. I saw the machinery. When you reflect on the vast andintricate machinery employed by mothers with grown-up daughters, you mayimagine what I saw. In all honesty and sincerity I wished to marry; butin the ease with which I saw I could do so lay my chief difficulty. Idid not want a new toy, but a companion. I suppose I still clung to onelast illusion, that I might meet a woman whom I could love, and whowould love me, and not my name or income. I could not find her, but Istill believed in her. I went everywhere in the hope of meeting her, and, if others have ever been disappointed in me, they have never knownhow disappointed I have been in them. For three years I looked for hereverywhere, but I could not find her, and at last I gave her up. Andthen I met Lady Grace Lawrence, and liked her. I had reason to believeshe could be disinterested. She came of good people--all Lawrences aregood; she was simple and unspoiled, and she seemed to like me. When Ilook back I believe that I had decided to ask her to marry me, and thatit was only by the merest chance that I left London without speaking toher. What prevented me I hardly know, unless it was a reluctance at thelast moment to cast the die. I came down to Atherstone, harassed andanxious, tired of everything and everybody, and there, " said Charles, with sudden passion, turning and looking full at Ruth, "there I met_you_. "

The blood rushed to her face, and she hastily interposed, "I don't seeany necessity to bring my name in. "

"Perhaps not, " he returned, recovering himself instantly;"unfortunately, I do. "

"You expect too much of my vanity, " said Ruth, her voice trembling alittle; "but in this instance I don't think you can turn it to account. I beg you will leave me out of the question. "

"I am sorry I cannot oblige you, " he said, grimly; "but you can't beleft out. I only regret that you dislike being mentioned, because thatis a mere nothing to what is coming. "

She trusted that he did not perceive that the reason she made no replywas because she suddenly felt herself unable to articulate. Her heartwas beating wildly, as that gentle, well conducted organ had neverbeaten before. What was coming? Could this stern, determined man be thesame apathetic, sarcastic being whom she had hitherto known?

"From that time, " he continued, "I became surer and surer of what atfirst I hardly dared to hope, what it seemed presumption in me to hope, namely, that at last I had found what I had looked for in vain so long. I had to keep my engagement with the Hope-Actons in Scotland; but Iregretted it. I stayed as short a time as I could. I did not ask them tocome here. They offered themselves. I think, if I have been to blame, ithas not been in so heartless a manner as you supposed; and it appears tome Lady Hope-Acton should not have come. This is my explanation. You canadd the rest for yourself. Have I said enough to soften your harshjudgment of yesterday?"

Ruth could not speak. The trees were behaving in the most curiousmanner, were whirling round, were swaying up and down. The beeches closein front were dancing quadrilles; now ranged in two long rows, nowsetting to partners, now hurrying back to their places as she drew near. 

"Sit down, " said Charles's voice, gently; "you look tired. "

The trunk of a fallen tree suddenly appeared rising up to meet her outof a slight mist, and she sat down on it more precipitately than shecould have wished. In a few seconds the trees returned to their places, and the mist, which appeared to be very local, cleared away. 

Charles was sitting on the trunk beside her, looking at her intently. The anger had gone out of his face, and had given place to a look ofdeep anxiety and suspense. 

"I have not finished yet, " he said, and his voice had changed as much ashis face. "There is still something more. "

"No, no!" said Ruth. "At least, if there is, don't say it. "

"I think I would rather say it. You wish to save me pain, I see; but Iam quite prepared for what you are going to say. I did not intend tospeak to you on the subject for a long time to come, but yesterday'sevent has forced my hand. There must be no more misunderstandingsbetween us. You intend to refuse me, I can see. All the same, I wish totell you that I love you, and to ask you to be my wife. "

"I am afraid I cannot, " said Ruth, almost inaudibly. 

"No, " said Charles, looking straight before him, "I have asked you toosoon. You are quite right. I did not expect anything different; I onlywished you to know. But, perhaps, some day--"

"Don't!" said Ruth, clasping her hands tightly together. "You don't knowwhat you are saying. Nothing can make any difference, because--I amengaged. "

She dared not look at his face, but she saw his hand clinch. 

For an age neither spoke. 

Then he turned his head slowly and looked at her. His face was gray evento the lips. With a strange swift pang at the heart, she saw how her fewwords had changed it. 

"To whom?" he said at last, hardly above a whisper. 

"To Mr. Dare. "

"Not that man who has come to live at Vandon?"

"Yes. "

Another long silence. 

"When was it?"

"Ten days ago. "

"Ten days ago, " repeated Charles, mechanically, and his face worked. "Ten days ago!"

"It is not given out yet, " said Ruth, hesitating, "because Mr. Alwynndoes not wish it during Lord Polesworth's absence. I never thought ofany mistake being caused by not mentioning it. I would not have comehere if I had had the least idea that--"

"You cannot mean to say that you had never seen that I--what I--felt foryou?"

"Indeed I never thought of such a thing until two minutes before yousaid it. I am very sorry I did not, but I imagined--"

"Let me hear what you imagined. "

"I noticed you talked to me a good deal; but I thought you did exactlythe same to Lady Grace, and others. "

"You could not imagine that I talked to others--to any other woman inthe world--as I did to you. "

"I supposed, " said Ruth, simply, "that you talked gayly to Lady Gracebecause it suited her; and more gravely to me, because I am naturallygrave. I thought at the time you were rather clever in adapting yourselfto different people so easily; and I was glad that I understood yourmanner better than some of the others. "

"Better!" said Charles, bitterly. "Better, when you thought that of me!No, you need not say anything. I was in fault, not you. I don't knowwhat right I had to imagine you understood me--you seemed to understandme--to fancy that we had anything in common, that in time--" He brokeinto a low wretched laugh. "And all the while you were engaged toanother man! Good God, what a farce! what a miserable mistake from firstto last!"

Ruth said nothing. It was indeed a miserable mistake. 

He rose wearily to his feet. 

"I was forgetting, " he said; "it is time to go home. " And they went backtogether in silence, which was more bearable than speech just then. 

The peacocks were still pirouetting and minuetting on the stonebalustrade as they came back to the garden. The gong began to sound asthey entered the piazza. 

To Ruth it was a dreadful meal. She tried to listen to Mr. Conway'saccount of the gray cob, or to the placid conversation of Mr. Alwynnabout the beloved manuscripts. Fortunately the morning papers were fullof a recent forgery in America, and a murder in London, which furnishedtopics when these were exhausted, and Charles used them to the utmost. 

At last the carriage came. Mr. Alwynn and Mr. Conway simultaneouslybroke into incoherent ejaculations respecting the pleasure of theirvisit; Ruth's hand met Charles's for an embarrassed second; and a momentlater they were whirling down the straight wide approach, between thecolumns of fantastically clipped hollies, leaving Charles standing inthe door-way. He was still standing there when the carriage rolled underthe arched gate-way with its rampant stone lions. Ruth glanced backonce, as they turned into the road, at the stately old house, with itspointed gables and forests of chimneys cutting the gray sky-line. Shesaw the owner turn slowly and go up the steps, and looked hastily awayagain. 

"Poor Danvers!" said Mr. Alwynn, cheerfully, also looking, and puttingRuth's thoughts into words. "He must be desperately lonely in that houseall by himself; but I suppose he is not often there. "

And Mr. Alwynn, whose mind had been entirely relieved since Ruth'sengagement from the dark suspicion he had once harbored respectingCharles, proceeded to dilate upon the merits of the charters, and of theowner of the charters, until he began to think Ruth had a headache, andfinding it to be the case, talked no more till they reached, at the endof their little journey, the door of Slumberleigh Rectory. 

"Is it very bad?" he asked, kindly, as he helped her out of thecarriage. 

Ruth assented, fortunately with some faint vestige of truth, for her hathurt her forehead. 

"Then run up straight to your own room, and I will tell your aunt thatyou will come and have a chat with her later on, perhaps after tea, whenthe post will be gone. " Mr. Alwynn spoke in the whisper of stratagem. 

Ruth was only too thankful to be allowed to slip on tiptoe to her ownroom, but she had not been there many minutes when a tap came to thedoor. 

"There, my dear, " said Mr. Alwynn, putting his head in, and holding someletters towards her. "Your aunt ought to have forwarded them. I broughtthem up at once. And there is nearly an hour to post-time, and she won'texpect you to come down till then. I think the headache will be betternow, eh?"

He nodded kindly to her, and closed the door again. Ruth sat downmechanically, and began to sort the packet he had put into her hands. The first three letters were in the same handwriting, Dare's large vaguehandwriting, that ran from one end of the envelope to the other, andpartly hid itself under the stamp. 

She looked at them, but did not open them. A feeling of intenselassitude and fatigue had succeeded to the unconscious excitement of themorning. She could not read them now. They must wait with the others. Presently she could feel an interest in them; not now. 

She leaned her head upon her hand, and a rush of pity swept away everyother feeling as she recalled that last look at Stoke Moreton, and howCharles had turned so slowly and wearily to go in-doors. There was anache at her heart as she thought of him, a sense of regret and loss. Andhe had loved her all the time!

"If I had only known!" she said to herself, pressing her hands againsther forehead. "But how could I tell--how could I tell?"

She raised her head with a sudden movement, and began with nervousfingers to open Dare's letters, and read them carefully. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

In the long evening that followed Ruth's departure from Stoke Moreton, Charles was alone for once in his own home. He was leaving again earlyon the morrow, but for the time he was alone, and heavy at heart. He satfor hours without stirring, looking into the fire. He had no power orwill to control his thoughts. They wandered hither and thither, and upand down, never for a moment easing the dull miserable pain that laybeneath them all. 

Fool! fool that he had been!

To have found her after all these years, and to have lost her without astroke! To have let another take her, and such a man as Dare! To havesuch a fool's manner that he was thought to be in earnest when he wasleast so; that now, when his whole future hung in the balance, retribution had overtaken him, and with bitter irony had mocked at hisearnestness and made it of none effect. She had thought it was hisnatural manner to all! His cursed folly had lost her to him. If she hadknown, surely it would have been, it must have been different. At heartCharles was a very humble man, though it was not to be expected manywould think so; but nevertheless he had a deep, ever-deepeningconsciousness (common to the experience of the humblest once in alifetime) that between him and Ruth that mysterious link of mutualunderstanding and sympathy existed which cannot be accounted for, whicheludes analysis, which yet makes, when the sex happens to be identical, the indissoluble friendship of a David and a Jonathan, a Karlos and aPosa; and, where there is a difference of sex, brings about that rarestwonder of the world, a happy marriage. 

Like cleaves to like. He knew she would have loved him. She was his byright. The same law of attraction which had lifted them at once out ofthe dreary flats of ordinary acquaintanceship would have drawn them evercloser and closer together till they were knit in one. He knew, with acertainty that nothing could shake, that he could have made her lovehim, even as he loved her; unconsciously at first, slowly perhaps--forthe current of strong natures, like that of deep rivers, is sometimesslow. Still the end would have been the same. 

And he had lost her by his own act, by his own heedless folly; her wantof vanity having lent a hand the while to put her beyond his reachforever. 

It was a bitter hour. 

And as he sat late into the night beside the fire, that died down todust and ashes before his absent eyes, ghosts of other heavy hours, ghosts of the past, which he had long since buried out of his sight, came back and would not be denied. 

To live much in the past, is a want of faith in the Power that gives thepresent. Comparatively few men walk through their lives lookingbackward. Women more frequently do so from a false estimate of lifefostered by romantic feeling in youth, which leads them, if the life ofthe affections is ended, resolutely to refuse to regard existence in anyother maturer aspect, and to persist in wandering aimlessly forward, with eyes turned ever on the dim flowery paths of former days. 

"Let the dead past bury its dead. "

But there comes a time, when the grass has grown over those graves, whenwe may do well to go and look at them once more; to stand once again inthat solitary burial-ground, "where, " as an earnest man has said, "areburied broken vows, worn-out hopes, joys blind and deaf, faiths betrayedor gone astray--lost, lost love; silent spaces where only one mournerever comes. "

And to the last retrospective of us our dead past yet speaks at times, and speaks as one having authority. 

Such a time had come for Charles now. From the open grave of his lovefor Ruth he turned to look at others by which he had stood long ago, ingrief as sharp, but which yet in all its bitterness had never struck asdeep as this. 

Memory pointed back to a time twenty years ago, when he had hurried homethrough a long summer night to arrive at Stoke Moreton too late; to findonly the solemn shadow of the mother whom he had loved, and whom he hadgrieved; too late to ask for forgiveness; too late for anything but awild passion of grief and remorse, and frantic self-accusation. 

The scene shifted to ten years later. It was a sultry July evening ofthe day on which the woman whom he had loved for years had married hisbrother. He was standing on the deck of the steamer which was taking himfrom England, looking back at the gray town dwindling against the tawnycurtain of the sunset. In his brain was a wild clamor of wedding-bells, and across the water, marking the pulse of the sea, came to his outwardears the slow tolling of a bell on a sunken rock near the harbor mouth. 

It seemed to be tolling for the death of all that remained of good inhim. In losing Evelyn, whom he had loved with all the idealism andreverence of a reckless man for a good woman, he believed, in thebitterness of his spirit, that he had lost all; that he had been cutadrift from the last mooring to a better future, that nothing could holdhim back now. And for a time it had been so, and he had drowned histrouble in a sea in which he wellnigh drowned himself as well. 

Once more memory pointed--pointed across five dark years to an eveningwhen he had sat as he was sitting now, alone by the wide stone hearth inthe hall at Stoke Moreton, after his father's death, and after thereading of the will. He was the possessor of the old home, which he hadalways passionately loved, from which he had been virtually banished solong. His father, who had never liked him, but who of late years hadhated him as men only hate their eldest sons, had left all in his powerto his second son, had entailed every acre of the Stoke Moreton andother family properties upon him and his children. Charles could touchnothing, and over him hung a millstone of debt, from which there was nowno escape. He sat with his head in his hands--the man whom his friendswere envying on his accession to supposed wealth and position--ruined. 

A few days later he was summoned to London by a friend whom he had knownfor many years. He remembered well that last meeting with the stern oldman whom he had found sitting in his arm-chair with death in his face. He had once or twice remonstrated with Charles in earlier days, and ashe came into his presence now for the last time, and met his severeglance, he supposed, with the callousness that comes from sufferingwhich has reached its lowest depths, that he was about to rebuke himagain. 

"And so, " said General Marston, sternly, "you have come into yourkingdom; into what you deserve. "

"Yes, " said Charles. "If it is any pleasure to you to know that what youprophesied on several occasions has come true, you can enjoy it. I amruined!"

"You fool!" said the sick man slowly. "To have come to five-and-thirty, and to have used up everything which makes life worth having. I am notspeaking only of money. There is a bankruptcy in your face that moneywill never pay. And you had talent and a good heart and the making of aman in you once. I saw that when your father turned you adrift. I sawthat when you were at your worst after your brother's marriage. Yes, youneed not start. I knew your secret and kept it as well as you didyourself. I tried to stop you; but you went your own way. "

Charles was silent. It was true, and he knew it. 

"And so you thought, I suppose, that if your father had made a just willyou could have retrieved yourself?"

"I know I could, " said Charles, firmly; "but he left the ----shireproperty to Ralph, and every shilling of his capital; and Ralph had mymother's fortune already. I have Stoke Moreton and the place in Surrey, which he could not take from me, but everything is entailed, down to thetrees in the park. I have nominally a large income; but I am in thehands of the Jews. I can't settle with them as I expected, and they willsqueeze me to the uttermost. However, as you say, I have theconsolation of knowing I brought it on myself. "

"And if your father acted justly, as you would call it, which I knew henever would, you would have run through everything in five years' time. "

"No, I should not. I know I have been a fool; but there are two kinds offools--the kind that sticks to folly all its life, and the kind that hasits fling, and has done with it. I belong to the second kind. My fatherhad no right to take my last chance from me. If he had left it me, Ishould have used it. "

"You look tired of your fling, " said the elder man. "Very tired. And youthink money would set you right, do you?" He looked critically at theworn, desperate face opposite him. "I made my will the other day, " hewent on, his eyes still fixed on Charles. "I had not much to leave, andI have no near relations, so I divided it among various charitableinstitutions. I see no reason to alter my will. If one leaves money, however small the sum may be, one likes to think it has been left tosome purpose, with some prospect of doing good. A few days ago I had asurprise. I fancy it was to be my last surprise in this world. Iinherited from a distant relation, who died intestate, a large fortune. After being a poor man all my days, wealth comes to me when I am on thepoint of going where money won't follow. Curious, isn't it? I am goingto leave this second sum in the same spirit as the first, but in rathera different manner. I like to know what I am doing, so I sent for you. Iam of opinion that the best thing I can do with it, is to set you onyour legs again. What do you owe?"

Charles turned very red, and then very white. 

"What do you owe?" repeated the sick man, testily. "I am getting tired. How much is it?" He got out a check-book, and began filling it in. "Haveyou no tongue?" he said, angrily, looking up. "Tell me the exact figure. Well? Keep nothing back. "

"I won't be given the whole, " said Charles, with an oath. "Give meenough to settle the Jews, and I will do the rest out of my income. Iwon't get off scot free. "

"Well, then, have your own way, as usual, and name the sum you want. There, take it, " he said, feebly, when Charles had mentioned with shamea certain hideous figure, "and go. I shall never know what you do withit, so you can play ducks and drakes with it if you like. But you won'tlike. You have burned your fingers too severely to play with fire again. You have turned over so many new leaves that now you have come to thelast in the book. I have given you another chance, Charles; but one mancan't do much to help another. The only person who can really help youis yourself. Give yourself a chance, too. "

How memory brought back every word of that strange interview. Charlessaw again the face of the dying man; heard again the stern, feeblevoice, "Give yourself a chance. "

He had given himself a chance. "Some natures, like comets, make strangeorbits, and return from far. " Charles had returned at last. The oldman's investment had been a wise one. But, as Charles looked back, afterthree years, he saw that his friend had been right. His money debts hadbeen the least part of what he owed. There were other long-standingaccounts which he had paid in full during these three years, paid in therestless weariness and disappointment that underlay his life, in theloneliness in which he lived, in his contempt for all his formerpursuits, which had left him at first devoid of any pursuits at all. 

He had had, as was natural, very little happiness in his life, but allthe bitterness of all his bitter past seemed as nothing to the agony ofthis moment. He had loved Evelyn with his imagination, but he loved Ruthwith his whole heart and soul, and--he had lost her. 

The night was far advanced. The dawn was already making faint bars overthe tops of the shutters, was looking in at him as he sat motionless byhis dim lamp and his dead fire. And, in spite of the growing dawn, itwas a dark hour. 

CHAPTER XX. 

Dare returned to Vandon in the highest spirits, with an enormous emeraldengagement-ring in an inner waistcoat-pocket. He put it on Ruth's thirdfinger a few days later, under the ancient cedar on the terrace atVandon, a spot which, he informed her (for he was not without poeticflights at times), his inner consciousness associated with all the lovescenes of his ancestors that were no more. 

He was stricken to the heart when, after duly admiring it, Ruth gentlyexplained to him that she could not wear his ring at present, until herengagement was given out. 

"Let it then be given out, " he said, impetuously. "Ah! why already is itnot given out?"

She explained again, but it was difficult to make him understand, andshe felt conscious that if he would have allowed her the temporary useof one hand to release a fly, which was losing all self-control insideher veil, she might have been more lucid. As it was, she at last madehim realize the fact that, until Lord Polesworth's return from Americain November, no further step was to be taken. 

"But all is right, " he urged with pride. "I have seen my lawyer; I makea settlement. I raise money on the property to make a settlement. Thereis nothing I will not do. I care for nothing only to marry you. "

Ruth led him to talk of other things. She was very gentle with him, always attentive, always ready to be interested; but any one lessself-centred than Dare would have had a misgiving about her feeling forhim. He had none. Half his life he had spent in Paris, and, imbued withFrench ideas of betrothal and marriage, he thought her manner at onceexceedingly becoming and natural. She was reserved, but reserve wascharming. She did not care for him very much perhaps, as yet, but asmuch as she could care for any one. Most men think that if a woman doesnot attach herself to them she is by nature cold. Dare was no exceptionto the rule; and though he would have preferred that there should beless constraint in their present intercourse, that she would be a littlemore shy, and a little less calm, still he was supremely happy andproud, and only longed to proclaim the fortunate state of his affairs tothe world. 

One thing about Ruth puzzled him very much, and with a vague misgivingshe saw it did so. Her interest in the Vandon cottages, and the schools, and the new pump, had been most natural up to this time. It had servedto bring them together; but now the use of these things was past, andyet he observed, with incredulity at first and astonishment afterwards, that she clung to them more than ever. 

What mattered it for the moment whether the pump was put up or not, orwhether the cottages by the river were protected from the floods? Ofcourse in time, for he had promised, a vague something would be done;but why in the golden season of love and plighted faith revert toprosaic subjects such as these?

Some men are quite unable to believe in any act of a woman beinggenuine. They always find out that it has something to do with them. Ifan angel came down from heaven to warn a man of this kind of wrath tocome, he would think the real object of her journey was to make hisacquaintance. 

Ruth saw the incredulity in Dare's face when she questioned him, and herheart sank within her. It sank yet lower when she told him one day, witha faint smile, that she knew he was not rich, and that she wanted him tolet her help in the rebuilding of certain cottages, the plans of whichhe had brought over in the summer, but which had not yet been begun, apparently for the want of funds. 

"What you cannot do alone we can do together, " she said. 

He agreed with effusion. He was surprised, flattered, delighted, butentirely puzzled. 

The cottages were begun immediately. They were near the river, whichdivided the Slumberleigh and Vandon properties. Ruth often went to lookat them. It did her good to see them rising, strong and firm, thoughhideous to behold, on higher ground than the poor dilapidated hovels atthe water's edge, where fever was always breaking out, which yet made, as they supported each other in their crookedness, and leaned over theirown wavering reflections, such a picturesque sketch that it seemed ashame to supplant them by such brand new red brick, such blue tiling, such dreadful little porches. 

Ruth drew the old condemned cottages, with the long lines of pollardedmarshy meadow, and distant bridge and mill in the background, but it wasa sketch she never cared to look at afterwards. She was constantlydrawing now. There was a vague restlessness in her at this time thatmade her take refuge in the world of nature, where the mind can withdrawitself from itself for a time into a stronghold where misgiving andanxiety cannot corrupt, nor self break through and steal. In these daysshe shut out self steadfastly, and fixed her eyes firmly on the future, as she herself had made it with her own hands. 

She had grown very grave of late. Dare's high spirits had the effect ofdepressing her more than she would allow, even to herself. She likedhim. She told herself so every day, and it was a pleasure to her to seehim so happy. But when she had accepted him he was so diffident, soquiet, so anxious, that she had not realized that he would return to hisprevious happy self-confidence, his volubility, his gray hats--in fact, his former gay self--directly his mind was at ease and he had got whathe wanted. She saw at once that the change was natural, but she found itdifficult to keep pace with, and the effort to do so was a constantstrain. 

She had yet to learn that it is hard to live for those who live forself. Between a nature which struggles, however feebly, towards a higherlife, and one whose sole object is gracefully and good-naturedly, butpersistently to enjoy itself, there is a great gulf fixed, of whichoften neither are aware, until they attempt a close relationship witheach other, when the chasm reveals itself with appalling clearness tothe higher nature of the two. 

Ruth was glad when a long-standing engagement to sing at a privateconcert in one place, and sell modern knick-knacks in old Englishcostume at another, took her from Slumberleigh for a week. She lookedforward to the dreary dissipation in store for her with positivegladness; and when the week had passed, and she was returning once more, she wished the stations would not fly so quickly past, that the trainwould not hurry itself so unnecessarily to bring her back toSlumberleigh. 

As the little local line passed Stoke Moreton station she looked out fora moment, but leaned back hurriedly as she caught a glimpse of theDanvers omnibus in the background, with its great black horses, and afootman with a bag standing on the platform. In another moment Mrs. Alwynn, followed by the footman, made a dart at Ruth's carriage, jumpedin, seized the bag, repeated voluble thanks, pressed half her gaylydressed person out again through the window to ascertain that her boxeswere put in the van, caught her veil in the ventilator as the trainstarted, and finally precipitated herself into a seat on her bag, as themotion destroyed her equilibrium. 

"Well, Aunt Fanny!" said Ruth. 

"Why, goodness gracious, my dear, if it isn't you! And, now I think ofit, you were to come home to-day. Well, how oddly things fall out, to besure, me getting into your carriage like that. And you'll never guess, Ruth, though for that matter there's nothing so very astonishing aboutit, as I told Mrs. Thursby, you'll never guess where _I've_ beenvisiting. "

Ruth remembered seeing the Danvers omnibus at the station, and suddenlyremembered, too, a certain request which she had once made of Charles. 

"Where can it have been?" she said, with a great show of curiosity. 

"You will never guess, " said Mrs. Alwynn, in high glee. "I shall have tohelp you. You remember my sprained ankle? There! Now I have as good astold you. "

But Ruth would not spoil her aunt's pleasure; and after numerousguesses, Mrs. Alwynn had the delight of taking her completely bysurprise, when at last she leaned forward and said, with a rustle ofpride, emphasizing each word with a pat on Ruth's knee:

"I've been to Stoke Moreton. "

"How delightful!" ejaculated Ruth. "How astonished I am! Stoke Moreton!"

"You may well say that, " said Mrs. Alwynn, nodding to her. "Mrs. Thursbywould not believe it at first, and afterwards she said she was afraidthere would not be any party; but there was, Ruth. There was a marriedcouple, very nice people, of the name of Reynolds. I dare say, beingLondon people, you may have known them. She had quite the London lookabout her, though not dressed low of an evening; and he was a clergyman, who had overworked himself, and had come down to Stoke Moreton to rest, and had soup at luncheon. And there was another person besides, aColonel Middleton, a very clever man, who wrote a book that was printed, and had been in India, and was altogether most superior. We were threegentlemen and two ladies, but we had ices each night, Ruth, two kinds ofices; and the second night I wore my ruby satin, and the clergyman atStoke Moreton, that nice young Mr. Brown, who comes to your uncle'schapter meetings, dined, with his sister, a very pleasing person indeed, Ruth, in black. In fact, it was a very pleasant little gathering, sonice and informal, and the footman did not wait at luncheon, just putthe pudding and the hot plates down to the fire; and Sir Charles sochatty and so full of his jokes, and I always liked to hear him, thoughmy scent of humor is not quite the same as his. Sir Charles has afeeling heart, Ruth. You should have heard Mr. Reynolds talk about him. But he looked very thin and pale, my dear, and he seemed to be always sotired, but still as pleasant as could be. And I told him he wanted awife to look after him, and I advised him to have an egg beaten up inever such a little drop of brandy at eleven o'clock, and he said hewould think about it, he did indeed, Ruth; so I just went quietly to thehouse-keeper and asked her to see to it, and a very sensible person shewas, Ruth, been in the family twenty years, and thinks all the world ofSir Charles, and showed me the damask table-cloths that were used forthe prince's visit, and the white satin coverlet, embroidered with goldthistles, quite an heirloom, which had been worked by the ladies of thehouse when James I. Slept there. Think of that, my dear!"

And so Mrs. Alwynn rambled on, recounting how Charles had shown her allthe pictures himself, and the piazza where the orange and myrtle treeswere, and how she and Mrs. Reynolds had gone for a drive together, "ina beautiful landau, " etc. , till they reached home. 

As a rule Ruth rather shrank from travelling with Mrs. Alwynn, whoalways journeyed in her best clothes, "because you never know whom youmay not meet. " To stand on a platform with her was to be madeconspicuous, and Ruth generally found herself unconsciously going intohalf mourning for the day, when she went anywhere by rail with her aunt. To-day Mrs. Alwynn was more gayly dressed than ever, but as Ruth lookedat her beaming face she felt nothing but a strange pleasure in the factthat Charles had not forgotten the little request which later events hadcompletely effaced from her own memory. He, it seemed, had remembered, and, in spite of what had passed, had done what she asked him. Shewished that she could have told him she was grateful. Alas! there wereother things that she wished she could have told him; that she was sorryshe had misjudged him; that she understood him better now. But what didit matter? What did it matter? She was going to marry Dare, and _he_ wasthe person whom she must try to understand for the remainder of hernatural life. She thought a little wearily that she could understand_him_ without trying. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The 18th of October had arrived. Slumberleigh Hall was filling. Thepheasants, reprieved till then, supposed it was only for partridgeshooting, and thinking no evil, ate Indian-corn, and took no thought forthe annual St. Bartholomew of their race. 

Mabel Thursby had met Ruth out walking that day, and had informed herthat Charles was to be one of the guns, also Dare, though, as sheremembered to add, suspecting Dare admired Ruth, the latter was a badshot, and was only asked out of neighborly feeling. 

After parting with Mabel, Ruth met, almost at her own gate, RalphDanvers, who passed her on horseback, and then turned on recognizingher. Ralph's conversational powers were not great, and though he walkedhis horse beside her, he chiefly contented himself with assenting toRuth's remarks until she asked after Molly. 

He at once whistled and flicked a fly off his horse's neck. 

"Sad business with Molly, " he said; "and mother out for the day. Greatgrief in the nursery. Vic's dead!"

"Oh, poor Molly!"

"Died this morning. Fits. I say, " with a sudden inspiration, "youwouldn't go over and cheer her up, would you? Mother's out. I'm out. Magistrates' meeting at D----. "

Ruth said she had nothing to do, and would go over at once, and Ralphnodded kindly at her, and rode on. He liked her, and it never occurredto him that it could be anything but a privilege to minister to any needof Molly's. He jogged on more happily after his meeting with Ruth, andonly remembered half an hour later that he had completely forgotten toorder the dog-cart to meet Charles, who was coming to Atherstone for anight before he went on to kill the Slumberleigh pheasants the followingmorning. 

Ruth set out at once over the pale stubble fields, glad of an object fora walk. 

Deep distress reigned meanwhile in the nursery at Atherstone. Vic, themuch-beloved, the stoat pursuer, the would-be church-goer, Vic was dead, and Molly's soul refused comfort. In vain nurse conveyed a palpitatingguinea-pig into the nursery in a bird-cage, on the narrow door of whichremains of fur showed an unwilling entrance; Molly could derive nocomfort from guinea-pigs. 

In vain was the new horse, with leather hoofs, with real hair, and ahorse-hair tail--in vain was that token of esteem from Uncle Charlesbrought out of its stable, and unevenly yoked with a dappled ponyplanted on a green, oval lawn, into Molly's own hay-cart. Molly's woewas beyond the reach of hay-carts or horse-hair tails, howeverrealistic. Like Hezekiah, she turned her face to the nursery wall, onwhich trains and railroads were depicted; and even when cook herselfrose up out of her kitchen to comfort her with material consolations, she refused the mockery of a gingerbread nut, which could not restorethe friend with whom previous gingerbread nuts had always been equallydivided. 

Presently a step came along the passage, and Charles, who had found noone in the drawing-room, came in tired and dusty, and inclined to beannoyed at having had to walk up from the station. 

Molly flew to him, and flung her arms tightly round his neck. 

"Oh, Uncle Charles! Uncle Charles! Vic is dead!"

"I am so sorry, Molly, " taking her on his knee. 

Nurse and the nursery-maid and cook withdrew, leaving the two mournersalone together. 

"He is _dead_, Uncle Charles. He was quite well, and eating Albertbiscuits with the dolls this morning, and now--" The rest was toodreadful, and Molly burst into a flood of tears, and burrowed with herhead against the faithful waistcoat of Uncle Charles--Uncle Charles, thefriend, the consoler of all the ills that Molly had so far been heir to. 

"Vic had a very happy life, Molly, " said Charles, pressing the littlebrown head against his cheek, and vaguely wondering what it would belike to have any one to turn to in time of trouble. 

"I always kept trouble from him except that time I shut him in thedoor, " gasped Molly. "I never took him out in a string, and he only worehis collar--that collar you gave him, that made him scratch so--onSundays. "

"And he was not ill a long time. He did not suffer any pain?"

"No, Uncle Charles, not much; but, though he did not say anything, hisface looked worse than screaming, and he passed away very stiff in hishind-legs. Oh!" (with a fresh outburst), "when cook told me that hersister that was in a decline had gone, I never thought, " (sob, sob!)"poor Vic would be the next. "

A step came along the passage, a firm light step that Charles knew, thatmade his heart beat violently. 

The door opened and a familiar voice said:

"Molly! My poor Molly! I met father, and--"

Ruth stood in the door-way, and stopped short. A wave of color passedover her face, and left it paler than usual. 

Charles looked at her over the mop of Molly's brown head against hisbreast. Their grave eyes met, and each thought how ill the other looked. 

"I did not know--I thought you were going to Slumberleigh to-day, " saidRuth. 

"I go to-morrow morning, " replied Charles. "I came here first. "

There was an awkward silence, but Molly came to their relief by a suddenrush at Ruth, and a repetition of the details of the death-bed scene ofpoor Vic for her benefit, for which both were grateful. 

"You ought to be thinking where he is to be buried, Molly, " suggestedCharles, when she had finished. "Let us go into the garden and find aplace. "

Molly revived somewhat at the prospect of a funeral, and though Ruth wasanxious to leave her with her uncle, insisted on her remaining for theceremony. They went out together, Molly holding a hand of each, tochoose a suitable spot in the garden. By the time the grave had beendug by Charles, Molly was sufficiently recovered to take a livelyinterest in the proceedings, and to insist on the attendance of thestable-cat, in deep mourning, when the remains of poor Vic, arrayed inhis best collar, were lowered into their long home. 

By the time the last duties to the dead had been performed, and Charles, under Molly's direction, had planted a rose-tree on the grave, whileRuth surrounded the little mound with white pebbles, Molly's tea-timehad arrived, and that young lady allowed herself to be led away by thenursery-maid, with the stable-cat in a close embrace, resigned, and evencheerful at the remembrance of those creature comforts of cook's, whichearlier in the day she had refused so peremptorily. 

When Molly left them, Ruth and Charles walked together in silence to thegarden-gate which led to the foot-path over the fields by which she hadcome. Neither had a word to say, who formerly had so much. 

"Good-bye, " she said, without looking at him. 

He seemed intent on the hasp of the gate. 

There was a moment's pause. 

"I should like, " said Ruth, hating herself for the formality of hertone, "to thank you before I go for giving Mrs. Alwynn so much pleasure. She still talks of her visit to you. It was kind of you to remember it. So much seems to have happened since then, that I had not thought of itagain. "

At her last words Charles raised his eyes and looked at her with strangewistful intentness, but when Ruth had finished speaking he had no remarkto make in answer; and as he stood, bareheaded by the gate, twirling thehasp and looking, as a hasty glance told her, so worn and jaded in thesunshine, she said "Good-bye" again, and turned hastily away. 

And all along the empty harvested fields, and all along the lanes, wherethe hips and haws grew red and stiff among the ruddy hedge-rows, Ruthstill saw Charles's grave, worn face. 

That night she saw it still, as she sat in her own room, and listened tothe whisper of the rain upon the roof, and the touch of its myriadfingers on the window-panes. 

"I cannot bear to see him look like that. I cannot bear it, " she said, suddenly, and the storm which had been gathering so long, the clouds ofwhich had darkened the sky for so many days, broke at last, with astrong and mighty wind of swift emotion which carried all before it. 

It was a relief to give way, to let the tempest do its worst, and remainpassive. But when its force was spent at last, and it died away in gustsand flying showers, it left flood and wreckage and desolation behind. When Ruth raised her head and looked about her, all her landmarks weregone. There was a streaming glory in the heavens, but it shone on theruin of all her little world below. She loved Charles, and she knew it. It seemed to her now as if, though she had not realized it, she musthave loved him from the first; and with the knowledge came anoverwhelming sense of utter misery that struck terror to her heart. Sheunderstood at last the meaning of the weariness and the restlessmisgivings of these last weeks. If heretofore they had spoken inriddles, they spoke plainly now. Every other feeling in the world seemedto have been swept away by a passion, the overwhelming strength of whichshe regarded panic-stricken. She seemed to have been asleep all herlife, to have stirred restlessly once or twice of late, and now to havewaked to consciousness and agony. Love, with women like Ruth, is a greathappiness or a great calamity. It is with them indeed for better, forworse. 

Those whose feelings lie below the surface escape the hundred rubs andscratches which superficial natures are heir to; but it is the nervewhich is not easily reached which when touched gives forth the sharpestpang. Nature, when she gives intensity of feeling, mercifully covers itwell with a certain superficial coldness. Ruth had sometimes wonderedwhy the incidents, the books, which called forth emotion in others, passed her by. The vehement passion which once or twice in her life shehad involuntarily awakened in others had met with no response fromherself. The sight of the fire she had unwittingly kindled only made hershiver with cold. She believed herself to be cold--always a dangerousassumption on the part of a woman, and apt to prove a broken reed inemergency. 

Charles knew her better than she knew herself. Her pride and unconscioushumble-mindedness, her frankness with its underlying reserve, spoke of astrong nature, slow, perhaps, but earnest, constant, and, once roused, capable of deep attachment. 

And now the common lot had befallen her, the common lot of man andwomankind since Adam first met Eve in the Garden of Eden. Ruth was notexempt. 

She loved Charles. 

 * * * * *

When the dawn came up pale and tearful to wake the birds, it found herstill sitting by her window, sitting where she had sat all night, looking with blank eyes at nothing. Creep into bed, Ruth, for alreadythe sparrows are all waking, and their cheerful greetings to the new dayadd weariness to your weariness. Creep into bed, for soon the servantswill be stirring, and before long Martha, who has slept all night, andthinks your lines have fallen to you in pleasant places and late hours, will bring the hot water. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Reserved people pay dear for their reserve when they are in trouble, when the iron enters into their soul, and their eyes meet the eyes ofthe world tearless, unflinching, making no sign. 

Enviable are those whose sorrows are only pen and ink deep, who takeevery one into their confidence, who are comforted by sympathy, and flyto those who will weep with them. There is an utter solitude, a silencein the grief of a proud, reserved nature, which adds a frightful weightto its intensity; and when the night comes, and the chamber door isshut, who shall say what agonies of prayers and tears, what prostrationsof despair, pass like waves over the soul to make the balance even?

As a rule, the kindest and best of people seldom notice any alterationof appearance or manner in one of their own family. A stranger points itout, if ever it is pointed out, which, happily, is not often, unless, ofcourse, in cases where advice has been disregarded, and the firstsymptom of ill health is jealously watched for and triumphantly hailedby those whose mission in life it is to say, "I told you so. "

Mrs. Alwynn, whose own complaints were of so slight a nature that theyhad to be constantly referred to to give them any importance at all, wasnot likely to notice that Ruth's naturally pale complexion had becomeseveral degrees too pale during the last two days, or that she had darkrings under her eyes. Besides, only the day before, had not Mrs. Alwynn, in cutting out a child's shirt, cut out at the same time her bestdrawing-room table-cloth as well, which calamity had naturally drivenout of her mind every other subject for the time?

Ruth had proved unsympathetic, and Mrs. Alwynn had felt her to be so. The next day, also, when Mrs. Alwynn had begun to talk over what sheand Ruth were to wear that evening at a dinner-party at SlumberleighHall, Ruth had again shown a decided want of interest, and was not evento be roused by the various conjectures of her aunt, though repeatedover and over again, as to who would most probably take her in todinner, who would be assigned to Mr. Alwynn, and whether Ruth would betaken in by a married man or a single one. As it was quite impossibleabsolutely to settle these interesting points beforehand, Mrs. Alwynn'smind had a vast field for conjecture opened to her, in which shedisported herself at will, varying the entertainment for herself andRuth by speculating as to who would sit on the other side of each ofthem; "for, " as she justly observed, "everybody has two sides, my dear;and though, for my part, I can talk to anybody--Members of Parliament, or bishops, or any one--still it is difficult for a young person, and ifyou feel dull, Ruth, you can always turn to the person on the other sidewith some easy little remark. "

Ruth rose and went to the window. It had rained all yesterday; it hadbeen raining all the morning to-day, but it was fair now; nay, the sunwas sending out long burnished shafts from the broken gray and blue ofthe sky. She was possessed by an unreasoning longing to get out of thehouse into the open air--anywhere, no matter where, beyond the reach ofMrs. Alwynn's voice. She had been fairly patient with her for manymonths, but during these two last wet days, a sense of sudden miserableirritation would seize her on the slightest provocation, which filledher with remorse and compunction, but into which she would relapse at amoment's notice. Every morning since her arrival, nine months ago, hadMrs. Alwynn returned from her house-keeping with the same cheerfulbustle, the same piece of information: "Well, Ruth, I've ordered dinner, my dear. First one duty, and then another. "

Why had that innocent and not unfamiliar phrase become so intolerablewhen she heard it again this morning? And when Mrs. Alwynn wound up themusical-box, and the "Buffalo Girls" tinkled on the ear to relieve themonotony of a wet morning, why should Ruth have struggled wildly for amoment with a sudden inclination to laugh and cry at the same time, which resulted in two large tears falling unexpectedly, to her surpriseand shame, upon her book. 

She shut the book, and recovering herself with an effort, listenedpatiently to Mrs. Alwynn's remarks until, early in the afternoon, thesky cleared. Making some excuse about going to see her old nurse at thelodge at Arleigh, who was still ill, she at last effected her escape outof the room and out of the house. 

The air was fresh and clear, though cold. The familiar fields and beadedhedge-rows, the red land, new ploughed, where the plovers hovered, thegray broken sky above, soothed Ruth like the presence of a friend, asNature, even in her commonest moods, has ministered to many a one whohas loved her before Ruth's time. 

Our human loves partake always of the nature of speculations. We have nosecurity for our capital (which, fortunately, is seldom so large as wesuppose), but the love of Nature is a sure investment, which she repaysa thousand-fold, which she repays most prodigally when the heart isbankrupt and full of bitterness, as Ruth's heart was that day. For inNature, as Wordsworth says, "there is no bitterness, " that worst stingof human grief. And as Ruth walked among the quiet fields, and up theyellow aisles of the autumn glades to Arleigh, Nature spoke of peace toher--not of joy or of happiness as in old days, for she never lies ashuman comforters do, and these had gone out of her life; but of thepeace that duty steadfastly adhered to will bring at last--the peacethat after much turmoil will come in the end to those who, amid a Babelof louder tongues, hear and obey the low-pitched voices of conscienceand of principle. 

For it never occurred to Ruth for a moment to throw over Dare and marryCharles. She had given her word to Dare, and her word was her bond. Itwas as much a matter of being true to herself as to him. It was verysimple. There were no two ways about it in her mind. The idea ofbreaking off her engagement was not to be thought of. It would bedishonorable. 

We often think that if we had been placed in the same difficulties whichwe see overwhelm others, we could have got out of them. Just so; wemight have squeezed, or wriggled, or crept out of a position from whichanother who would not stoop could not have escaped. People aredifferently constituted. Most persons with common-sense can sink theirprinciples temporarily at a pinch; but others there are who go throughlife prisoners on parole to their sense of honor or duty. If escapetakes the form of a temptation, they do not escape. And Ruth, walkingwith bent head beneath the swaying trees, dreamed of no escape. 

She soon reached the little lodge, the rusty gates of which barred thegrass-grown drive to the shuttered, tenantless old house at a littledistance. It was a small gray stone house of many gables, and low linesof windows, that if inhabited would have possessed but little charm, but which in its deserted state had a certain pathetic interest. Theplace had been to let for years, but no one had taken it; no one waslikely to take it in the disrepair which was now fast sliding into ruin. 

The garden-beds were almost grown over with weeds, but blots ofnasturtium color showed here and there among the ragged green, and aVirginia-creeper had done its gorgeous red-and-yellow best to cheer thegray stone walls. But the place had a dreary appearance even in thepresent sunshine; and after looking at it for a moment, Ruth wentin-doors to see her old nurse. After sitting with her, and reading theusual favorite chapter in the big Bible, and answering the usualquestion of "Any news of Master Raymond?" in the usual way, Ruth got upto go, and the old woman asked her if she wanted the drawing-block whichshe had left with her some time ago with an unfinished sketch on it ofthe stables. She got it out, and Ruth looked at it. It was a slightsketch of an octagonal building with wide arches all round it, roofingin a paved path, on which, in days gone by, it had evidently been thepernicious custom to exercise the horses, whose stalls and loose boxesformed the centre of the building. The stable had a certain quaintness, and the sketch was at that delightful point when no random stroke has asyet falsified the promise that a finished drawing, however clever, soseldom fulfils. 

Ruth took it up, and looked out of the window. The sun was blazing out, ashamed of his absence for so long. She might as well finish it now. Shewas glad to be out of the way of meeting any one, especially theshooters, whose guns she had heard in the nearer Slumberleigh covertsseveral times that afternoon. The Arleigh woods she knew were to be kepttill later in the month. She took her block and paint-box, and pickingher way along the choked gravel walk and down the side drive to thestables, sat down on the bench for chopping wood which had been left inthe place to which she had previously dragged it, and set to work. Shewas sitting under one of the arches out of the wind, and an obsequiousyellow cat came out of the door of one of the nearest horse-boxes, inwhich wood was evidently stacked, and rubbed itself against her dress, with a reckless expenditure of hair. 

As Ruth stopped a moment, bored but courteous, to return its well-meantattentions by friction behind the ears, she heard a slight cracklingamong the wood in the stable. Rats abounded in the place, and she wasjust about to recall the cat to its professional duties, when her ownattention was also distracted. She started violently, and grasped thedrawing-block in both hands. 

Clear over the gravel, muffled but still distinct across the long wetgrass, she could hear a firm step coming. Then it rang out sharply onthe stone pavement. A tall man came suddenly round the corner, under thearchway, and stood before her. It was Charles. 

The yellow cat, which had a leaning towards the aristocracy, left Ruth, and, picking its way daintily over the round stones towards him, rubbedoff some more of its wardrobe against his heather shooting-stockings. 

"I hardly think it is worth while to say anything except the truth, "said Charles at last. "I have followed you here. "

As Ruth could say nothing in reply, it was fortunate that at the momentshe had nothing to say. She continued to mix a little pool of Prussianblue and Italian pink without looking up. 

"I hurt my gun hand after luncheon, and had to stop shooting at Croxtoncorner. As I went back to Slumberleigh, across the fields below therectory, I thought I saw you in the distance, and followed you. "

"Is your hand much hurt?"--with sudden anxiety. 

"No, " said Charles, reddening a little. "It will stop my shooting for aday or two, but that is all. "

The colors were mixed again. Ruth, contrary to all previous conviction, added light red to the Italian pink. The sketch had gone rapidly frombad to worse, but the light red finished it off. It never, so to speak, held up its head again; but I believe she has it still somewhere, putaway in a locked drawer in tissue-paper, as if it were very valuable. 

"I did not come without a reason, " said Charles, after a long pause, speaking with difficulty. "It is no good beating about the bush. I wantto speak to you again about what I told you three weeks ago. Have youforgotten what that was?"

Ruth shook her head. _She had not forgotten. _ Her hand began to tremble, and he sat down beside her on the bench, and, taking the brush out ofher hand, laid it in its box. 

"Ruth, " he said, gently, "I have not been very happy during the lastthree weeks; but two days ago, when I saw you again, I thought you didnot look as if you had been very happy either. Am I right? Are you happyin your engagement with--Quite content? Quite satisfied? Still silent. Am I to have no answer?"

"Some questions have no answers, " said Ruth, steadily, looking away fromhim. "At least, the questions that ought not to be asked have none. "

"I will not ask any more, then. Perhaps, as you say, I have no right. You won't tell me whether you are unhappy, but your face tells me so inspite of you. It told me so two days ago, and I have thought of it everyhour of the day and night since. "

She gathered herself together for a final effort to stop what she knewwas coming, and said, desperately:

"I don't know how it is. I don't mean it, and yet everything I say toyou seems so harsh and unkind; but I think it would have been better notto come here, and I think it would be better, better for us both, if youwould go away now. "

Charles's face became set and very white. Then he put his fortune to thetouch. 

"You are right, " he said. "I will go away--for good; I will nevertrouble you again, when you have told me that you do not love me. "

The color rushed into her face, and then died slowly away again, evenout of the tightly compressed lips. 

There was a long silence, in which he waited for a reply that did notcome. At last she turned and looked him in the face. Who has said thatlight eyes cannot be impassioned? Her deep eyes, dark with the utterblankness of despair, fell before the intensity of his. He leanedtowards her, and with gentle strength put his arm round her, and drewher to him. His voice came in a broken whisper of passionate entreatyclose to her ear. 

"Ruth, I love you, and you love me. We belong to each other. We weremade for each other. Life is not possible apart. It must be together, Ruth, always together, always--" and his voice broke down entirely. 

Surely he was right. A love such as theirs overrode all petty barriersof every-day right and wrong, and was a law unto itself. Surely it wasvain to struggle against Fate, against the soft yet mighty current whichwas sweeping her away beyond all landmarks, beyond the sight of landitself, out towards an infinite sea. 

And the eyes she loved looked into hers with an agony of entreaty, andthe voice she loved spoke of love, spoke brokenly of unworthiness, andan unhappy past, and of a brighter future, a future with _her_. 

Her brain reeled; her reason had gone. Let her yield now. Surely, ifonly she could think, if the power to think had not deserted her, itwas right to yield. The current was taking her ever swifter whither sheknew not. A moment more and there would be no going back. 

She began to tremble, and, wrenching her hands out of his, pressed thembefore her eyes to shut out the sight of the earnest face so near herown. But she could not shut out his voice, and Charles's voice could bevery gentle, very urgent. 

But at the eleventh hour another voice broke in on his, and spoke as onehaving authority. Conscience, if accustomed to be disregarded on commonoccasions, will rarely come to the fore with any decision in emergency;but the weakest do not put him in a place of command all their liveswithout at least one result--that he has learned the habit of speakingup and making himself attended to in time of need. He spoke now, urgently, imperatively. Her judgment, her reason were alike gone for thetime, but, when she had paced the solemn aisles of the woods an hour agoin possession of them, had she then even thought of doing what she wason the verge of doing now? What had happened during that hour to reversethe steadfast resolve which she had made then? What she had thoughtright an hour ago remained right now. What she would have put far fromher as dishonorable then remained dishonorable now, though she might betoo insane to see it. 

Terror seized her, as of one in a dream who is conscious of impendingdanger, and struggles to awake before it is too late. She started to herfeet, and, putting forcibly aside the hands that would have held herback, walked unsteadily towards the nearest pillar, and leaned againstit, trembling violently. 

"Do not tempt me, " she said, hoarsely. "I cannot bear it. "

He came and stood beside her. 

"I do not tempt you, " he said. "I want to save you and myself from agreat calamity before it is too late. "

"It is too late already. "

"No, " said Charles, in a low voice of intense determination. "It isnot--yet. It will be soon. It is still possible to go back. You are notmarried to him, and it is no longer right that you should marry him. Youmust give him up. There is no other way. "

"Yes, " said Ruth, with vehemence. "There is another way. You have mademe forget it; but before you came I saw it clearly. I can't think it outas I did then; but I know it is there. There is another way"--and hervoice faltered--"to do what is right, and let everything else go. "

Charles saw for the first time, with a sudden frightful contraction ofthe heart, that her will was as strong as his own. He had stakedeverything on one desperate appeal to her feelings; he had carried theoutworks, and now another adversary--her conscience--rose up between himand her. 

"A marriage without love is a sin, " he said, quietly. "If you had livedin the world as long as I have, and had seen what marriage without lovemeans, and what it generally comes to in the end, you would know that Iam speaking the truth. You have no right to marry Dare if you care forme. Hesitate, and it will be too late! Break off your engagement now. Doyou suppose, " with sudden fire, "that we shall cease to love each other;that I shall be able to cease to love you for the rest of my lifebecause you are Dare's wife? What is done can't be undone. Our love foreach other can't. It is no good shutting your eyes to that. Look thefacts in the face, and don't deceive yourself into thinking that themost difficult course is necessarily the right one. "

He turned from her, and sat down on the bench again, his chin in hishands, his haggard eyes fastened on her face. He had said his last word, and she felt that when she spoke it would be her last word too. Neithercould bear much more. 

"All you say sounds right, _at first_, " she said, after a long silence, and as she spoke Charles's hands dropped from his face and clinchedthemselves together; "but I cannot go by what any one thinks unless Ithink so myself as well. I can't take other people's judgments. When Godgave us our own, he did not mean us to shirk using it. What you say isright, but there is something which after a little bit seems moreright--at least, which seems so to me. I cannot look at the future. Ican only see one thing distinctly, now in the present, and that is thatI cannot break my word. I never have been able to see that a woman'sword is less binding than a man's. When I said I would marry him, it wasof my own free-will. I knew what I was doing, and it was not only forhis sake I did it. It is not as if he believed I cared for him verymuch. Then, perhaps--but he knows I don't, and--he is different fromother men--he does not seem to mind. I knew at the time that I acceptedhim for the sake of other things, which are just the same now as theywere then: because he was poor and I had money; because I felt sure hewould never do much by himself, and I thought I could help him, and mymoney would help too; because the people at Vandon are so wretched, andtheir cottages are tumbling down, and there is no one who lives amongthem and cares about them. I can't make it clear, and I did hesitate;but at the time it seemed wrong to hesitate. If it seemed so right then, it cannot be all wrong now, even if it has become hard. I cannot give itall up. He is building cottages that I am to pay for, that I asked topay for. He cannot. And he has promised so many people their housesshall be put in order, and they all believe him. And he can't do it. IfI don't, it will not be done; and some of them are very old--and--andthe winter is coming. " Ruth's voice had become almost inaudible. "Oh, Charles! Charles!" she said, brokenly, "I cannot bear to hurt you. Godknows I love you. I think I shall always love you, though I shall trynot. But I cannot go back now from what I have undertaken. I cannotbreak my word. I cannot do what is wrong, even for you. Oh, God! noteven for you!"

She knelt down beside him, and took his clinched hands between her own;but he did not stir. 

"Not even for you, " she whispered, while two hot tears fell upon hishands. In another moment she had risen swiftly to her feet, and had lefthim. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Charles sat quite still where Ruth had left him, looking straight infront of him. He had not thought for a moment of following her, ofspeaking to her again. Her decision was final, and he knew it. And nowhe also knew how much he had built upon the wild new hope of the lasttwo days. 

Presently a slight discreet cough broke upon his ear, apparently closeat hand. 

He started up, and, wheeling round in the direction of the sound, calledout, in sudden anger, "Who is there?"

If there is a time when we feel that a fellow-creature is entirely outof harmony with ourselves, it is when we discover that he has overheardor overseen us at a moment when we imagined we were alone, or--almostalone. 

Charles was furious. 

"Come out!" he said, in a tone that would have made any ordinarycreature stay as far _in_ as it could. And hearing a slight cracklingin the nearest horse-box, of which the door stood open, he shook thedoor violently. 

"Come out, " he repeated, "this instant!"

"Stop that noise, then, " said a voice sharply from the inside, "and keepquiet. By ----, a violent temper, what a thing it is; always raising adust, and kicking up a row, just when it's least wanted. "

The voice made Charles start. 

"Great God!" he said, "it's not--"

"Yes, it is, " was the reply; "and when you have taken a seat on thefarther end of that bench, and recovered your temper, I'll show, and notbefore. "

Charles walked to the bench and sat down. 

"You can come out, " he said, in a carefully lowered voice, in whichthere was contempt as well as anger. 

Accordingly there was a little more crackling among the fagots, and aslight, shabbily dressed man came to the door and peered warily out, shading his blinking eyes with his hand. 

"If there is a thing I hate, " he said, with a curious mixture ofrecklessness and anxiety, "it is a noise. Sit so that you face the left, will you, and I'll look after the right, and if you see any one comingyou may as well mention it. I am only at home to old friends. "

He took his hand from his eyes as they became more accustomed to thelight, and showed a shrewd, dissipated face, that yet had a kind ofruined good looks about it, and, what was more hateful to Charles thananything else, a decided resemblance to Ruth. Though he was shabby inthe extreme, his clothes sat upon him as they always and only do situpon a gentleman; and, though his face and voice showed that he hadsevered himself effectually from the class in which he had been born, acertain unsuitability remained between his appearance and his evidentlydisreputable circumstances. When Charles looked at him he was somehowreminded of a broken-down thorough-bred in a hansom cab. 

"It is a quiet spot, " remarked Raymond Deyncourt, for he it was, standing in the door-way, his watchful eyes scanning the desertedcourt-yard and strip of green. "A retired and peaceful spot. I'm sorryif my cough annoyed you, coming when it did, but I thought you seemedbefore to be engaged in conversation which I felt a certain diffidencein interrupting. "

"So you listened, I suppose?"

"Yes, I listened. I did not hear as much as I could have wished, but itwas your best manner, Danvers. You certainly have a gift, though youdropped your voice unnecessarily once or twice, I thought. If I had hadyour talents, I should not be here now. Eh? Dear me! you can swearstill, can you? How refreshing. I fancied you had quite reformed. "

"Why are you here now?" asked Charles, sternly. 

Raymond shrugged his shoulders. 

"Why are you here?" continued Charles, bitterly, "when you swore to mein July that if I would pay your passage out again to America you wouldlet her alone in future? Why are you here, when I wrote to tell you thatshe had promised me she would never give you money again without advice?But I might have known you could break a promise as easily as make one. I might have known you would only keep it as long as it suitedyourself. "

"Well, now, I'm glad to hear you say that, " said Raymond, airily, "because it takes off any feeling of surprise I was afraid you mightfeel at seeing me back here. There's nothing like a good understandingbetween friends. I'm precious hard up, I can tell you, or I should nothave come; and when a fellow has got into as tight a place as I have hehas got to think of other things besides keeping promises. Have you seento-day's papers?" with sudden eagerness. 

"Yes. "

"Any news about the 'Frisco forgery case?" and Raymond leaned forwardthrough the door, and spoke in a whisper. 

"Nothing much, " said Charles, trying to recollect. "Nothing new to-day, I think. You know they got one of them two days ago, followed him downto Birmingham, and took him in the train. "

Raymond drew in his breath. 

"I don't hold with trains, " he said, after a pause; "at least, not withpassengers. I told him as much at the time. And the--the otherone--Stephens? Any news of him?"

"Nothing more about him, as far as I can remember. They were both tracedtogether from Boston to London, but there they parted company. Stephensis at large still. "

"Is he?" said Raymond. "By George, I'm glad to hear it! I hope he'llkeep so, that's all. I am glad I left that fool. He'd not my notions atall. We split two days ago, and I made tracks for the old diggings; gotdown as far as Tarbury under a tarpaulin in a goods train--there's somesense in a goods train--and then lay close by a weir of the canal, andgot aboard a barge after dark. Nothing breaks a scent like a barge. Andit went the right way for my business too, and travelled all night. Ikept close all next day, and then struck across country for this placeat night. If I hadn't known the lie of the land from a boy, when I usedto spend the holidays with old Alwynn, I couldn't have done it, or ifI'd been as dog lame as I was in July; but I was pushed for time, and Ifooted it up here, and got in just before dawn. And not too soon either, for I'm cleaned out, and food is precious hard to come by if you don'tcare to go shopping for it. I am only waiting till it's dark to go andget something from the old woman at the lodge. She looked after mebefore, but it wasn't so serious then as it is now. "

"It will be penal servitude for life this time for--Stephens, " saidCharles. 

"Yes, " said Raymond, thoughtfully. "It's playing deuced high. I knewthat at the time, but I thought it was worth it. It was a beautifulthing, and there was a mint of money in it if it had gone straight--amint of money;" and he shook his head regretfully. "But the luck isbound to change in the end, " he went on, after a moment of mournfulretrospection. "You'll see, I shall make my pile yet, Danvers. One can'tgo on turning up tails all the time. "

"You will turn them up once too often, " said Charles, "and get youraffairs wound up for you some day in a way you won't like. But I supposeit's no earthly use my saying anything. "

"Not much, " replied the other. "I guess I've heard it all before. Don'tyou remember how you held forth that night in the wood? You came out toostrong. I felt as if I were in church; but you forked out handsomely atthe collection afterwards. I will say that for you. "

"And what are you going to do now you've got here?" interrupted Charles, sharply. 

"Lie by. "

"How long?"

"Perhaps a week, perhaps ten days. Can't say. "

"And after that?"

"After that, some one, I don't say who, but some one will have toprovide me with the 'ready' to nip across to France. I have friends inParis where I can manage to scratch along for a bit till things haveblown over. "

Charles considered for a few moments, and then said:

"Are you going to dun your sister for money again, or give her anotherfright by lying in wait for her? Of course, if you broke your wordabout coming back, you might break it about trying to get money out ofher. "

"I might, " assented Raymond; "in fact, I was on the point of making mypresence known to her, and suggesting a pecuniary advance, when you cameup. I don't know at present what I shall do, as I let that opportunityslip. It just depends. "

Charles considered again. 

"It's a pity to trouble her, isn't it?" said Raymond, his shrewd eyeswatching him; "and women are best out of money-matters. Besides, if shehas promised you she won't pay up without advice, she'll stick to it. Nothing will turn her when she once settles on anything, if she is atall like what she used to be. She has got dollars of her own. You hadbetter settle with me, and pay yourself back when you are married. Dearme! There's no occasion to look so murderous. I suppose I'm at libertyto draw my own conclusions. "

"You had better draw them a little more carefully in future, " saidCharles, savagely. "Your sister is engaged to be married to a manwithout a sixpence. "

"By George, " said Raymond, "that won't suit my book at all. I'drather"--with another glance at Charles--"I'd rather she'd marry a manwith money. "

If Charles was of the same opinion he did not express it. He remainedsilent for a few minutes to give weight to his last remark, and thensaid, slowly:

"So you see you won't get anything more from that quarter. You hadbetter make the most you can out of me. "

Raymond nodded. 

"The most you will get, in fact, I may say _all_ you will get from me, is enough ready money to carry you to Paris, and a check for twentypounds to follow, when I hear you have arrived there. "

"It's mean, " said Raymond; "it's cursed mean; and from a man like you, too, whom I feel for as a brother. I'd rather try my luck with Ruth. She's not married yet, anyway. "

"You will do as you like, " said Charles, getting up. "If I find you havebeen trying your luck with her, as you call it, you won't get a farthingfrom me afterwards. And you may remember, she can't help you withoutconsulting her friends. And your complaint is one that requires absolutequiet, or I'm very much mistaken. "

Raymond bit his finger, and looked irresolute. 

"To-day is Wednesday, " said Charles; "on Saturday I shall come backhere in the afternoon, and if you have come to my terms by that time youcan cough after I do. I shall have the money on me. If you make anyattempt to write or speak to your sister, I shall take care to hear ofit, and you need not expect me on Saturday. That is the last remark Ihave to make, so good-afternoon;" and, without waiting for a reply, Charles walked away, conscious that Raymond would not dare either tocall or run after him. 

He walked slowly along the grass-grown road that led into thecarriage-drive, and was about to let himself out of the grounds by acrazy gate, which rather took away from the usefulness of the large ironlocked ones at the lodge, when he perceived an old man with a pail ofwater fumbling at it. He did not turn as Charles drew near, and evenwhen the latter came up with him, and said "Good-afternoon, " he made nosign. Charles watched him groping for the hasp, and, when he had got thegate open, feel about for the pail of water, which when he found hestruck against the gate-post as he carried it through. Charles lookedafter the old man as he shambled off in the direction of the lodge. 

"Blind and deaf! He'll tell no tales, at any rate, " he said to himself. "Raymond is in luck there. "

It had turned very cold; and, suddenly remembering that his absencemight be noticed, he set off through the woods to Slumberleigh at a goodpace. His nearest way took him through the church-yard and across theadjoining high-road, on the farther side of which stood the littlered-faced lodge, which belonged to the great new red-faced seat of theThursbys at a short distance. He came rapidly round the corner of theold church tower, and was already swinging down the worn sandstone stepswhich led into the road, when he saw below him at the foot of the stepsa little group of people standing talking. It was Mr. Alwynn and Ruthand Dare, who had evidently met them on his return from shooting, andwho, standing at ease with one elegantly gaitered leg on the loweststep, and a cartridge-bag slung over his shoulders in a way that hadaroused Charles's indignation earlier in the day, was recounting tothem, with vivid action of the hands on an imaginary gun, his ownperformances to right and left at some particularly hot corner. 

Mr. Alwynn was listening with a benignant smile. Charles saw that Ruthwas leaning heavily against the low stone-wall. Before he had time toturn back, Mr. Alwynn had seen him, and had gone forward a step to meethim, holding out a welcoming hand. Charles was obliged to stop a momentwhile his hand was inquired after, and a new treatment, which Mr. Alwynn had found useful on a similar occasion, was enjoined upon him. Asthey stood together on the church steps a fly, heavily laden withluggage, came slowly up the road towards them. 

"What, " said Mr. Alwynn, "more visitors! I thought all the Slumberleighparty arrived yesterday. "

The fly plodded past the Slumberleigh lodge, however, and as it reachedthe steps a shrill voice suddenly called to the driver to stop. As itcame grinding to a stand-still, the glass was hastily put down, and alittle woman with a very bold pair of black eyes, and a somewhatlaced-in figure, got out and came towards them. 

"Well, Mr. Dare!" she said, in a high distinct voice, with a strongAmerican accent. "I guess you did not expect to see me riding up thisway, or you'd have sent the carriage to bring your wife up from thestation. But I'm not one to bear malice; so if you want a lift hometo--what's the name of your fine new place?--you can get in, and ride upalong with me. "

Dare looked straight in front of him. No one spoke. Her quick eyeglanced from one to another of the little group, and she gave a shortconstrained laugh. 

"Well, " she said, "if you ain't coming, you can stop with your friends. I've had a deal of travelling one way and another, and I'll go onwithout you. " And, turning quickly away, she told the driver in the samedistinct high key to go on to Vandon, and got into the fly again. 

The grinning man chucked at the horse's bridle, and the fly rattledheavily away. 

No one spoke as it drove away. Charles glanced once at Ruth; but her setwhite face told him nothing. As the fly disappeared up the road, Daremoved a step forward. His face under his brown skin was ashen gray. Hetook off his cap, and extending it at arm's-length, not towards the sky, but, like a good churchman, towards the church, outside of which, as heknew, his Maker was not to be found, he said, solemnly, "I swear beforeGod what she says is one--great--_lie_!"

CHAPTER XXIV. 

If conformity to type is indeed the one great mark towards whichhumanity should press, Mrs. Thursby may honestly be said to haveattained to it. Everything she said or did had been said or done before, or she would never have thought of saying or doing it. Her whole lifewas a feeble imitation of the imitative lives of others; in short, itwas the life of the ordinary country gentlewoman, who lives on herhusband's property, and who, as Augustus Hare says, "has never lookedover the garden-wall. "

We do not mean to insinuate for a moment that the utmost energy andculture are not occasionally to be met with in the female portion ofthat interesting mass of our fellow-creatures who swell the largevolumes of the "Landed Gentry. " Among their ranks are those who comeboldly forward into the full glare of public life; and, conscious of agenius for enterprise, to which an unmarried condition perhaps affordsampler scope, and which a local paper is ready to immortalize, becomesecretaries of ladies' societies, patronesses of flower shows, breedersof choice poultry, or even associates of floral leagues of the highestpolitical importance. That such women should and do exist among us, theconscious salt-cellars of otherwise flavorless communities, is a factfor which we cannot be too thankful; and if Mrs. Thursby was not one ofthese aspiring spirits, with a yearning after "the mystical betterthings, " which one of the above pursuits alone can adequately satisfy, it was her misfortune and not her fault. 

It was her nature, as we have said, servilely to copy others. Herconversation was all that she could remember of what she had heard fromothers, her present dinner-party, as regards food, was a cross betweenthe two last dinner-parties she had been to. The dessert, however, conspicuous by its absence, conformed strictly to a type which she hadseen in a London house in June. 

Her dinner-party gave her complete satisfaction, which was fortunate, for to the greater number of the eighteen or twenty people who had beenindiscriminately herded together to form it, it was (with the exceptionof Mrs. Alwynn) a dreary or at best an uninteresting ordeal; while tofour people among the number, the four who had met last on the churchsteps, it was a period of slow torture, endured with varying degrees ofpatience by each, from the two soups in the beginning, to the peachesand grapes at the long-delayed and bitter end. 

Ruth, whose self-possession never wholly deserted her, had reached adepth of exhausted stupor, in which the mind is perfectly oblivious ofthe impression it is producing on others. By an unceasing effort shelistened and answered and smiled at intervals, and looked exceedinglydistinguished in the pale red gown which she had put on to please heraunt; but the color of which only intensified the unnatural pallor ofher complexion. The two men whom she sat between found her adisappointing companion, cold and formal in manner. At any other timeshe would have been humiliated and astonished to hear herself make suchcut-and-dried remarks, such little trite observations. She was sittingopposite Charles, and she vaguely wondered once or twice, when she sawhim making others laugh, and heard snatches of the flippant talk whichwas with him, as she knew now, a sort of defensive armor, how he couldmanage to produce it; while Charles, half wild with a mad surging hopethat would not be kept down by any word of Dare's, looked across at heras often as he dared, and wondered in his turn at the tranquil dignity, the quiet ordered smile of the face which a few hours ago he had seenshaken with emotion. 

Her eyes met his for a moment. Were they the same eyes that but now hadmet his, half blind with tears? He felt still the touch of those tearsupon his hand. He hastily looked away again, and plunged headlong intoan answer to something Mabel was saying to him on her favorite subjectof evolution. All well-brought-up young ladies have a subject nowadays, which makes their conversation the delightful thing it is; and Mabel, ofcourse, was not behind the fashion. 

"Yes, " Ruth heard Charles reply, "I believe with you we go through manylives, each being a higher state than the last, and nearer perfection. So a man passes gradually through all the various grades of thenobility, soaring from the lowly honorable upward into the duke, andthence by an easy transition into an angel. Courtesy titles, of course, present a difficulty to the more thoughtful; but, as I am sure you willhave found, to be thoughtful always implies difficulty of some kind. "

"It does, indeed, " said Mabel, puzzled but not a little flattered. "Isometimes think one reads too much; one longs so for deep books--Korans, and things. I must confess, "--with a sigh--"I can't interest myself inthe usual young lady's library that other girls read. "

"Can't you?" replied Charles. "Now, I can. I study that department ofliterature whenever I have the chance, and I have generally found thatthe most interesting part of a young lady's library is to be found inthat portion of the book-shelf which lies between the rows of books andthe wall. Don't you think so, Lady Carmian?" (to the lady on his otherside). "I assure you I have made the most delightful discoveries of thisdescription. Cheap editions of Ouida, Balzac's works, yellow backs ofthe most advanced order, will, as a rule, reward the inquirer, whootherwise might have had to content himself with 'The Heir ofRedclyffe, ' the Lily Series, and Miss Strickland's 'Queens of England. '"

Charles's last speech had been made in a momentary silence, and directlyit was finished every woman, old and young, except Lady Carmian andRuth, simultaneously raised a disclaiming voice, which by its vehemenceat once showed what an unfounded assertion Charles had made. LadyCarmian, a handsome young married woman, only smiled languidly, and, turning the bracelet on her arm, told Charles he was a cynic, and thatfor her own part, when in robust health, she liked what little she read"strong;" but in illness, or when Lord Carmian had been unusuallytrying, she always fell back on a milk-and-water diet. Mrs. Thursby, however, felt that Charles had struck a blow at the sanctity of homelife, and (for she was one of those persons whose single talent is thatof giving a personal turn to any remark) began a long monotonous recitalof the books she allowed her own daughters to read, and how they werekept, which proved the extensive range of her library, not inbook-shelves, but in a sliding book-stand, which contracted or expandedat will. 

Long before she had finished, however, the conversation at the other endof the table had drifted away to the topic of the season among sportingmen, namely the poachers, who, since their raid on Dare's property, hadkept fairly quiet, but who were sure to start afresh now that thepheasant shooting had begun; and from thence to the recent forgery casein America, which was exciting every day greater attention in England, especially since one of the accomplices had been arrested the day beforein Birmingham station, and the principal offender, though still atlarge, was, according to the papers, being traced "by means of a clew inthe possession of the police. "

Charles knew how little that sentence meant, but he found that itrequired an effort to listen unmoved to the various conjectures as tothe whereabouts of Stephens, in which Ruth, as the conversation becamegeneral, also joined, volunteering a suggestion that perhaps he might belurking somewhere in Slumberleigh woods, which were certainly verylonely in places, and where, as she said, she had been very much alarmedby a tramp in the summer. 

Mrs. Thursby, like an echo, began from the other end of the tablesomething vague about girls being allowed to walk alone, her owndaughters, etc. , and so the long dinner wore itself out. Dare was theonly one of the little party who had met on the church steps whosuccumbed entirely. Mr. Alwynn, who looked at him and Ruth with patheticinterest from time to time, made laudable efforts, but Dare made none. He had taken in to dinner the younger Thursby girl, a meek creature, without form and void, not yet out, but trembling in a high muslin, onthe verge, who kept her large and burning hands clutched together underthe table-cloth, and whose conversation was upon bees. Dare pleaded agun headache, and hardly spoke. His eyes constantly wandered to theother end of the table, where, far away on the opposite side, halfhidden by ferns and flowers, he could catch a glimpse of Ruth. Afterdinner he did not come into the drawing-room, but went off to thesmoking-room, where he paced by himself up and down, up and down, writhing under the torment of a horrible suspense. 

Outside the moon shone clear and high, making a long picturesque shadowof the great prosaic house upon the wide gravel drive. Dare leanedagainst the window-sill and looked out. "Would she give him up?" heasked himself. Would she believe this vile calumny? Would she give himup? And as he stood the Alwynns' brougham came with two gleaming eyesalong the drive and drew up before the door. He resolved to learn hisfate at once. There had been no possibility of a word with Ruth on thechurch steps. Before he had known where he was, he and Charles had beenwalking up to the Hall together, Charles discoursing lengthily on theimpropriety of wire fencing in a hunting country. But now he must andwould see her. He rushed down-stairs into the hall, where young Thursbywas wrapping Ruth in her white furs, while Mr. Thursby senior wasencasing Mrs. Alwynn in a species of glorified ulster of red plush whichshe had lately acquired. Dare hastily drew Mr. Alwynn aside and spoke afew words to him. Mr. Alwynn turned to his wife, after one rueful glanceat his thin shoes, and said:

"I will walk up. It is a fine night, and quite dry underfoot. "

"And a very pleasant party it has been, " said Mrs. Alwynn, as she andRuth drove away together, "though Mrs. Thursby has not such a knack withher table as some. Not that I did not think the chrysanthemums and whitechina swans were nice, very nice; but, you see, as I told her, I hadjust been to Stoke Moreton, where things were very different. And youlooked very well, my dear, though not so bright and chatty as Mabel; andMrs. Thursby said she only hoped your waist was natural. The idea! And Isaw Lady Carmian notice your gown particularly, and I heard her ask whoyou were, and Mrs. Thursby said--so like her--you were their clergyman'sniece. And so, my dear, I was not going to have you spoken of like that, and a little later on I just went and sat down by Lady Carmian, justwent across the room, you know, as if I wanted to be nearer the music, and we got talking, and she was rather silent at first, but presently, when I began to tell her all about you, and who you were, she becamequite interested, and asked such funny questions, and laughed, and wehad quite a nice talk. "

And so Mrs. Alwynn chatted on, and Ruth, happily hearing nothing, leanedback in her corner and wondered whether the evening were ever going toend. Even when she had bidden her aunt "Good-night, " and, havingpreviously told her maid not to sit up for her, found herself alone inher own room at last--even then it seemed that this interminable day wasnot quite over. She was standing by the dim fire, trying to gather upsufficient energy to undress, when a quiet step came cautiously alongthe passage, followed by a low tap at her door. She opened itnoiselessly, and found Mr. Alwynn standing without. 

"Ruth, " he said, "Dare has walked up with me. He is in the most dreadfulstate. I am sure I don't know what to think. He has said nothing furtherto me, but he is bent on seeing you for a moment. It's very late, butstill--could you? He's in the drawing-room now. My poor child, how illyou look! Shall I tell him you are too tired to-night to see any one?"

"I would rather see him, " said Ruth, her voice trembling a little; andthey went down-stairs together. In the hall she hesitated a moment. Shewas going to learn her fate. Had her release come? Had it come at theeleventh hour? Her uncle looked at her with kind, compassionate eyes, and hers fell before his as she thought how different her suspense wasto what he imagined. Suddenly--and such demonstrations were very rarewith her--she put her arms round his neck and pressed her cheek againsthis. 

"Oh, Uncle John! Uncle John!" she gasped, "it is not what you think. "

"I pray God it may not be what I suppose, " he said, sadly, stroking herhead. "One is too ready to think evil, I know. God forgive me if I havejudged him harshly. But go in, my dear;" and he pushed her gentlytowards the drawing-room. 

She went in and closed the door quietly behind her. 

Dare was leaning against the mantle-piece, which was draped in Mrs. Alwynn's best manner, with Oriental hangings having bits of glass wovenin them. He was looking into the curtained fire, and did not turn whenshe entered. Even at that moment she noticed, as she went towards him, that his elbow had displaced the little family of china hares on a plushstand which Mrs. Alwynn had lately added to her other treasures. 

"I think you wished to see me, " she said, as calmly as she could. 

He faced suddenly round, his eyes wild, his face quivering, and comingclose up to her, caught her hand and grasped it so tightly that the painwas almost more than she could bear. 

"Are you going to give me up?" he asked, hoarsely. 

"I don't know, " she said; "it depends on yourself, on what you are, andwhat you have been. You say she is not your wife?"

"I swear it. "

"You need not do so. Your word is enough. "

"I swear she is not my wife. "

"One question remains, " said Ruth, firmly, a flame of color mounting toher neck and face. "You say she is not your wife. Ought you to make herso?"

"No, " said Dare, passionately; "I owe her nothing. She has no claim uponme. I swear--"

"Don't swear. I said your word was enough. "

But Dare preferred to embellish his speech with divers weightyexpressions, feeling that a simple affirmation would never carry so muchconviction to his own mind, or, consequently, to another, as an oath. 

A momentary silence followed. 

"You believe what I say, Ruth?"

"Yes, " with an effort. 

"And you won't give me up because evil is spoken against me?"

"No. "

"And all is the same as before between us?"

"Yes. "

Dare burst into a torrent of gratitude, but she broke suddenly away fromhim, and went swiftly up-stairs again to her own room. 

The release had not come. She laid her head down upon the table, andHope, which had ventured back to her for one moment, took her lamp andwent quite away, leaving the world very dark. 

There are turning-points in life when a natural instinct is a surerguide than noble motive or high aspiration, and consequently the morethoughtful and introspective nature will sometimes fall just where acommonplace one would have passed in safety. Ruth had acted for thebest. When for the first time in her life she had been brought intoclose contact with a life spent for others, its beauty had appealed toher with irresistible force, and she had willingly sacrificed herself toan ideal life of devotion to others. 

 "But we are punished for our purest deeds, And chasten'd for our holiest thoughts. "

And she saw now that if she had obeyed that simple law of human naturewhich forbids a marriage in which love is not the primary consideration, if she had followed that simple humble path, she would never havereached the arid wilderness towards which her own guidance had led her. 

For her wilful self-sacrifice had suddenly paled and dwindled downbefore her eyes into a hideous mistake--a mistake which yet had itsroots so firmly knit into the past that it was hopeless to think ofpulling it up now. To abide by a mistake is sometimes all that animpetuous youth leaves an honorable middle age to do. Poor middle age, with its clear vision, that might do and be so much if it were not forthe heavy burdens, grievous to be borne, which youth has bound upon itsshoulders. 

And worse than the dreary weight of personal unhappiness, harder to bearthan the pang of disappointed love, was the aching sense of failure, ofhaving misunderstood God's intention, and broken the purpose of herlife. For some natures the cup of life holds no bitterer drop than this. 

Ruth dimly saw the future, the future which she had chosen, stretchingout waste and barren before her. The dry air of the desert was on herface. Her feet were already on its sandy verge. And the iron of a greatdespair entered into her soul. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Dare left Slumberleigh Hall early the following morning, and drove up tothe rectory on his way to Vandon. After being closeted with Mr. Alwynnin the study for a short time, they both came out and drove awaytogether. Ruth, invisible in her own room with a headache, her onlymeans of defence against Mrs. Alwynn's society, heard the coming and thegoing, and was not far wrong in her surmise that Dare had come to begMr. Alwynn to accompany him to Vandon--being afraid to face alone themysterious enemy intrenched there. 

No conversation was possible in the dog-cart, with the groom on the backseat thirsting to hear any particulars of the news which had spread likewildfire from Vandon throughout the whole village the previousafternoon, and which was already miraculously flying from house to housein Slumberleigh this morning, as things discreditable do fly among aChristian population, which perhaps "thinks no evil, " but repeats itnevertheless. 

There was not a servant in Dare's modest establishment who was not onthe lookout for him on his return. The gardener happened to be tying upa plant near the front door; the house-maids were watching unobservedfrom an upper casement; the portly form of Mrs. Smith, the house-keeper, was seen to glide from one of the unused bedroom windows; the butlermust have been waiting in the hall, so prompt was his appearance whenthe dog-cart drew up before the door. 

Another pair of keen black eyes was watching too, peering out throughthe chinks between the lowered Venetian blinds in the drawing-room; wasobserving Dare intently as he got out, and then resting anxiously on hiscompanion. Then the owner of the eyes slipped away from the window, andwent back noiselessly to the fire. 

Dare ordered the dog-cart to remain at the door, flung down his hat onthe hall-table, and, turning to the servant who was busying himself infolding his coat, said, sharply, "Where is the--the person who arrivedhere yesterday?"

The man replied that "she" was in the drawing-room. The drawing-roomopened into the hall. Dare led the way, suppressed fury in his face, looking back to see whether Mr. Alwynn was following him. The two menwent in together and shut the door. 

The enemy was intrenched and prepared for action. 

Mrs. Dare, as we must perforce call her for lack of any otherdesignation rather than for any right of hers to the title, was seatedon a yellow brocade ottoman, drawn up beside a roaring fire, her twosmart little feet resting on the edge of the low brass fender, and asmall work-table at her side, on which an elaborate medley of silks andwools was displayed. Her attitude was that of a person at home, aggressively at home. She was in the act of threading a needle when Dareand Mr. Alwynn came in, and she put down her work at once, carefullyreplacing the needle in safety, as she rose to receive them, and heldout her hand, with a manner the assurance of which, if both men had notbeen too much frightened to notice it, was a little overdone. 

Dare disregarded her gesture of welcome, and she sat down again, andreturned to her work, with a laugh that was also a little overdone. 

"What do you mean by coming here?" he said, his voice hoarse with afurious anger, which the sight of her seemed to have increased ahundred-fold. 

"Because it is my proper place, " she replied, tossing her head, anddrawing out a long thread of green silk; "because I have a right tocome. "

"You lie!" said Dare, fiercely, showing his teeth. 

"Lord, Alfred!" said Mrs. Dare, contemptuously, "don't make a scenebefore strangers. We've had our tiffs before now, and shall have again, I suppose. It's the natur' of married people to fall out; but there's nocall to carry on before friends. Push up that lounge nearer the fire. Won't the other gentleman, " turning to Mr. Alwynn, "come and warmhimself? I'm sure it's cold enough. "

Mr. Alwynn, who was a man of peace, devoutly wished he were at homeagain in his own study. 

"It is a cold morning, " he said; "but we are not here to discuss theweather. "

He stopped short. He had been hurried here so much against his will, andso entirely without an explanation, that he was not quite sure what hehad come to discuss, or how he could best support his friend. 

"What do you want?" said Dare, in the same suppressed voice, withoutlooking at her. 

"My rights, " she said, incisively; "and, what's more, I mean to have'em. I've not come over from America for nothing, I can tell you that;and I've not come on a visit neither. I've come to stay. "

"What are these rights you talk of?" asked Mr. Alwynn, signing to Dareto restrain himself. 

"As his wife, sir. I am his wife, as I can prove. I didn't come withoutmy lines to show. I didn't come on a speculation, to see if he'd a fancyto have me back. No, afore I set my foot down anywheres I look to see asit's solid walking. "

"Show your proof, " said Mr. Alwynn. 

The woman ostentatiously got out a red morocco letter case, and produceda paper which she handed to Mr. Alwynn. 

It was an authorized copy of a marriage register, drawn out in the usualmanner, between Alfred Dare, bachelor, English subject, and Ellen, widowof the late Jaspar Carroll, of Neosho City, Kansas, U. S. A. The marriagewas dated seven years back. 

The names of Dare and Carroll swam before Mr. Alwynn's eyes. He glancedat the paper, but he could not read it. 

"Is this a forgery, Dare?" he asked, holding it towards him. 

"No, " said Dare, without looking at it; "it is right. But that is notall. Now, " turning to the woman, who was watching him triumphantly, "show the other paper--the divorce. "

"I made inquiries about that, " she replied, composedly. "I wasn't goingto be fooled by that 'ere, so I made inquiries from one as knows. Thedivorce is all very well in America; but it don't count in England. "

Dare's face turned livid. Mr. Alwynn's flushed a deep red. He sat withhis eyes on the ground, the paper in his hand trembling a little. Indignation against Dare, pity for him, anxiety not to judge himharshly, struggled for precedence in his kind heart, still beatingtumultuously with the shock of Dare's first admission. He felt ratherthan saw him take the paper out of his hand. 

"I shall keep this, " Dare said, putting it in his pocket-book; and then, turning to the woman again, he said, with an oath, "Will you go, or willyou wait till you are turned out?"

"I'll wait, " she replied, undauntedly. "I like the place well enough. "

She laughed and took up her work, and, after looking at her for amoment, he flung out of the room, followed by Mr. Alwynn. 

The defeat was complete; nay, it was a rout. 

The dog-cart was still standing at the door. The butler was talking tothe groom; the gardener was training some new shoots of ivy against thestone balustrade. 

Dare caught up his hat and gloves, and ordered that his portmanteau, which had been taken into the hall, should be put back into thedog-cart. As it was being carried down he looked at his watch. 

"I can catch the mid-day express for London, " he said. "I can do iteasily. "

Mr. Alwynn made no reply. 

"Get in, " continued Dare, feverishly; "the portmanteau is in. "

"I think I will walk home, " said Mr. Alwynn, slowly. It gave himexcruciating pain to say anything so severe as this; but he got out thewords nevertheless. 

Dare looked at him in astonishment. 

"Get in, " he said again, quickly. "I must speak to you. I will drive youhome. I have something to say. "

Mr. Alwynn never refused to hear what any one had to say. He went slowlydown the steps, and got into the cart, looking straight in front of him, as his custom was when disturbed in mind. Dare followed. 

"I shall not want you, James, " he said to the groom, his foot on thestep. 

At this moment the form of Mrs. Smith, the house-keeper, appearedthrough the hall door, clothed in all the awful majesty of an upperservant whose dignity has been outraged. 

"Sir, " she said, in a clear not to say a high voice, "asking yourpardon, sir, but am I, or am I not, to take my orders from--"

Goaded to frenzy, Dare poured forth a volley of horrible oaths Frenchand English, and, seizing up the reins, drove off at a furious rate. 

The servants remained standing about the steps, watching the dog-cartwhirl rapidly away. 

"He's been to church with her, " said the gardener, at last. "I said allalong she'd never have come, unless she had her lines to show. I ha'n'tcut them white grapes she ordered yet; but I may as well go and do it. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Smith, "grapes or no grapes, I'll never give up thekeys of the linen cupboards to the likes of her, and I'm not going tohave any one poking about among my china. I've not been here twentyyears to be asked for my lists in that way, and the winter curtainsordered out unbeknownst to me;" and Mrs. Smith retreated to thefastnesses of the house-keeper's room, whither even the audacious enemyhad not yet ventured to follow her. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Alwynn and Dare drove at moderated speed along the roadto Slumberleigh. For some time neither spoke. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Dare at last. "I lost my head. I becameenraged. Before a clergyman and a lady, I know well, it is not permittedto swear. "

"I can overlook that, " said Mr. Alwynn; "but, " turning very red again, "other things I can't. "

Dare began to flourish his whip, and become excited again. 

"I will tell you all, " he said with effusion--"every word. You have akind heart. I will confide in you. "

"I don't want confidences, " said Mr. Alwynn. "I want straight-forwardanswers to a few simple questions. "

"I will give them, these answers. I keep nothing back from a friend. "

"Then, first. Did you marry that woman?"

"Yes, " said Dare, shrugging his shoulders. "I married her, and oftenafterwards, almost at once, I regretted it; but _que voulez-vous_, I wasyoung. I had no experience. I was but twenty-one. "

Mr. Alwynn stared at him in astonishment at the ease with which theadmission was made. 

"How long afterwards was it that you were divorced from her?"

"Two years. Two long years. "

"For what reason?"

"Temper. Ah! what a temper. Also because I left her for one year. It wasin Kansas, and in Kansas it is very easy to marry, and also to bedivorced. "

"It is a disgraceful story, " said Mr. Alwynn, in great indignation. 

"Disgraceful!" echoed Dare, excitedly. "It is more than disgraceful. Itis abominable. You do not know all yet. I will tell you. I was young; Iwas but a boy. I go to America when I am twenty-one, to travel, to seethe world. I make acquaintances. I get into a bad set, what you callundesirable. I fall in love. I walk into a net. She was pretty, a prettywidow, all love, all soul; without friends. I protect her. I marry her. I have a little money. I have five thousand pounds. She knew that. Shespent it. I was a fool. In a year it was gone. " Dare's face had becomewhite with rage. "And then she told me why she married me. I becameenraged. There was a quarrel, and I left her. I had no more money. Sheleft me alone, and a year after we are divorced. I never see her or hearof her again. I return to Europe. I live by my voice in Paris. It isfive years ago. I have bought my experience. I put it from my mind. Andnow"--his hands trembled with anger--"now that she thinks I have moneyagain, now, when in some way she hears how I have come to Vandon, shedares to came back and say she is my wife. "

"Dare, " said Mr. Alwynn, sternly, "what excuse have you for nevermentioning this before--before you became engaged to Ruth?"

"What!" burst out Dare, "tell Ruth! Tell _her_! _Quelle idée. _ I wouldnever speak to her of what might give her pain. I would keep all fromher that would cause her one moment's grief. Besides, " he added, conclusively, "it is not always well to talk of what has gone before. Itis not for her happiness or mine. She has been, one sees it well, brought up since a young child very strictly. About some things she hasfixed ideas. If I had told her of these things which are passed away andgone, she might not, "--and Dare looked gravely at Mr. Alwynn--"she mightnot think so well of me. "

This view of the case was quite a new one to Mr. Alwynn. He looked backat Dare with hopeless perplexity in his pained eyes. To one whothroughout life has regarded the supremacy of certain truths andprinciples of actions as fixed, and recognized as a matter of course byall the world, however imperfectly obeyed by individuals, the discoverycomes as a shock, which is at the moment overwhelming, when these sametruths and principles are seen to be entirely set aside, and their veryexistence ignored by others. 

Where there is no common ground on which to meet, speech is unavailingand mere waste of time. It is like shouting to a person at a distancewhom it is impossible to approach. If he notices anything it will onlybe that, for some reasons of your own, you are making a disagreeablenoise. 

As Mr. Alwynn looked back at Dare his anger died away within him, and adull pain of deep disappointment and sense of sudden loneliness took itsplace. Dare and he seemed many miles apart. He felt that it would be ofno use to say anything; and so, being a man, he held his peace. 

Dare continued talking volubly of how he would get a lawyer's opinion atonce in London; of his certainty that the American wife had no claimupon him; of how he would go over to America, if necessary, to establishthe validity of his divorce; but Mr. Alwynn heard little or nothing ofwhat he said. He was thinking of Ruth with distress andself-upbraiding. He had been much to blame, of course. 

Dare's mention of her name recalled his attention. 

"She is all goodness, " he was saying. "She believes in me. She haspromised again that she will marry me--since yesterday. I trust her asmyself; but it is a grief which as little as possible must trouble her. You will not say anything to her till I come back, till I return withproof that I am free, as I told her? You will say nothing?"

Dare had pulled up at the bottom of the drive to the rectory. 

"Very well, " said Mr. Alwynn, absently, getting slowly out. He seemedmuch shaken. 

"I will be back perhaps to-night, perhaps to-morrow morning, " calledDare after him. 

But Mr. Alwynn did not answer. 

 * * * * *

Dare's business took him a shorter time than he expected, and the samenight found him hurrying back by the last train to Slumberleigh. It wasa wild night. He had watched the evening close in lurid and stormyacross the chimneyed wastes of the black country, until the darknesscovered all the land, and wiped out even the last memory of the dead dayfrom the western sky. 

Who, travelling alone at night, has not watched the glimmer of lightthrough cottage windows as he hurries past; has not followed withkeenest interest for one brief second the shadow of one who moveswithin, and imagination picturing a mysterious universal happinessgathered round these twinkling points of light, has not experienced astrange feeling of homelessness and loneliness?

Dare sat very still in the solitude of the empty railway carriage, andwatched the little fleeting, mocking lights with a heavy heart. Theymeant _homes_, and he should never have a home now. Once he saw a dooropen in a squalid line of low houses, and the figure of a man with achild in his arms stand outlined in the door-way against the ruddy lightwithin. Dare felt an unreasoning interest in that man. He found himselfthinking of him as the train hurried on, wondering whether his wife wasthere waiting for him, and whether he had other children besides the onehe was carrying. And all the time, through his idle musings, he couldhear one sentence ringing in his ears, the last that his lawyer had saidto him after the long consultation of the afternoon. 

"I am sorry to tell you that you are incontestably a married man. "

Everything repeated it. The hoofs of the cab-horse that took him to thestation had hammered it out remorselessly all the way. The engine hadcaught it up, and repeated it with unvarying, endless iteration. Thenewspapers were full of it. When Dare turned to them in desperation hesaw it written in large letters across the sham columns. There wasnothing but that anywhere. It was the news of the day. Sick at heart, and giddy from want of food, he sat crouched up in the corner of hisempty carriage, and vaguely wished the train would journey on for everand ever, nervously dreading the time when he should have to get out andcollect his wandering faculties once more. 

The old lawyer had been very kind to the agitated, incoherent young manwhose settlements he was already engaged in drawing up. At first, indeed, it had seemed that the marriage would not be legallybinding--the marriage and divorce having both taken place in Kansas, where the marriage laws are particularly lax--and he seemed inclined tobe hopeful; but as he informed himself about the particulars of thedivorce his face became grave and graver. When at last Dare produced thecopy of the marriage register, he shook his head. 

"'Alfred Dare, bachelor and English subject, '" he said. "That 'Englishsubject' makes a difficulty to start with. You had never, I believe, anyintention of acquiring what in law we call an American domicil? and, although the technicalities of this subject are somewhat complicated, Iam afraid that in your case there is little, if any, doubt. The Englishcourts are very jealous of any interference by foreigners with thestatus of an Englishman; and though a divorce legally granted by acompetent tribunal for an adequate cause might--I will not say would--beheld binding everywhere, there can be no doubt that where in the eyes ofour law the cause is _not_ adequate, our courts would refuse torecognize it. Have you a copy of the register of divorce as well?"

"No. "

"It is unfortunate; but no doubt you can remember the grounds on whichit was granted. "

"Incompatibility of temper, and she said I had deserted her. I had lefther the year before. We both agreed to separate. "

The lawyer shook his head. 

"What's incompatibility?" he said. "What's a year's absence? Nothing inthe eyes of an Englishman. Nothing in the law of this country. "

"But the divorce was granted. It was legal. There was no question, "said Dare, eagerly. "I was divorced in the same State as where Imarried. I had lived there more than a year, which was all that wasnecessary. No difficulty was made at the time. "

"No. Marriage is slipped into and slipped out of again with gratifyingfacility in America, and Kansas is notorious for the laxity prevailingthere as regards marriage and divorce. It will be advisable to take theopinion of counsel on the matter, but I can hold out very little hopethat your divorce would hold good, even in America. You see, you areentered as a British subject on the marriage register, and I imaginethese words must have been omitted in the divorce proceedings, or somedifficulty would have been raised at the time, unless your residence inKansas made it unnecessary. But, even supposing by American law you arefree, that will be of no avail in England, for by the law of England, which alone concerns you, I regret to be obliged to tell you that youare incontestably a married man. "

And in spite of frantic reiterations, of wild protests on the part ofDare, as if the compassionate old man represented the English law, andcould mould it at his pleasure, the lawyer's last word remained insubstance the same, though repeated many times. 

"Whether you are at liberty or not to marry again in America, I amhardly prepared to say. I will look into the subject and let you know;but in England I regret to repeat that you are a married man. "

Dare groaned in body and in spirit as the words came back to him; andhis thoughts, shrinking from the despair and misery at home, wanderedaimlessly away, anywhere, hither and thither, afraid to go back, afraidto face again the desolation that sat so grim and stern in solitarypossession. 

The train arrived at Slumberleigh at last, and he got out, and shiveredas the driving wind swept across the platform. It surprised him thatthere was a wind, although at every station down the line he had seenpeople straining against it. He gave up his ticket mechanically, andwalked aimlessly away into the darkness, turning with momentarycuriosity to watch the train hurry on again, a pillar of fire by night, as it had been a pillar of smoke by day. 

He passed the blinking station inn, forgetting that he had put up hisdog-cart there to await his return, and, hardly knowing what he did, took from long habit the turn for Vandon. 

It was a wild night. The wind was driving the clouds across the moon ata tremendous rate, and sweeping at each gust flights of spectre leavesfrom the swaying trees. It caught him in the open of the bare high-road, and would not let him go. It opposed him, and buffeted him at everyturn; but he held listlessly on his way. His feet took him, and he letthem take him whither they would. They led him stumbling along the dimroad, the dust of which was just visible like a gray mist before him, until he reached the bridge by the mill. There his feet stopped of theirown accord, and he went and leaned against the low stone-wall, lookingdown at the sudden glimpses of pale hurried water and trembling reed. 

The moon came out full and strong in temporary victory, and made blackshadows behind the idle millwheel and open mill-race, and black shadows, black as death, under the bridge itself. Dare leaned over the wall towatch the mysterious water and shadow run beneath. As he looked, he sawthe reflection of a man in the water watching him. He shook his fistsavagely at it, and it shook its fist amid a wavering of broken lightand shadow back at him. But it did not go away; it remained watchinghim. There was something strange and unfamiliar about the riverto-night. It had a voice, too, which allured and repelled him--a voiceat the sound of which the grim despair within him stirred ominously atfirst, and then began slowly to rise up gaunt and terrible; began tomove stealthily, but with ever-increasing swiftness through the desertedchambers of his heart. 

No strong abiding principle was there to do battle with the enemy. Theminor feelings, sensibilities, emotions, amiable impulses, thosecourtiers of our prosperous days, had all forsaken him and fled. Dare'shouse in his hour of need was left unto him desolate. 

And the river spoke in a guilty whisper, which yet the quarrel of thewind and the trees could not drown, of deep places farther down, wherethe people were never found, people who--But there were shallows, too, he remembered, shallow places among the stones where the trout were. Ifanybody were drowned, Dare thought, gazing down at the pale shiftingmoon in the water, he would be found there, perhaps, or at any rate, hishat--he took his hat off, and held it tightly clinched in both hishands--his hat would tell the tale. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Charles left Slumberleigh Hall a few hours later than Dare had done, butonly to go back to Atherstone. He could not leave the neighborhood. Thisburning fever of suspense would be unbearable at any other place, and inany case he must return by Saturday, the day on which he had promised tomeet Raymond. His hand was really slightly injured, and he made the mostof it. He kept it bound up, telegraphed to put off his next shootingengagement on the strength of it, and returned to Atherstone, eventhough he was aware that Lady Mary had arrived there the day before, onher way home to her house in London. 

Ralph and Evelyn were accustomed to sudden and erratic movements on thepart of Charles, and to Molly he was a sort of archangel, who mightarrive out of space at any moment, untrammelled by such details asdistance, trains, time, or tide. But to Lady Mary his arrival was asignificant fact, and his impatient refusal to have his handinvestigated was another. Her cold gray eyes watched him narrowly, and, conscious that they did so, he kept out of her way as much as possible, and devoted himself to Molly more than ever. 

He was sailing a mixed fleet of tin ducks and fishes across the tank bythe tool shed, under her supervision, on the afternoon of the day he hadarrived, when Ralph came to find him in great excitement. His keeper hadjust received private notice from the Thursbys' keeper that a raid onthe part of a large gang of poachers was expected that night in theparts of the Slumberleigh coverts that had not yet been shot over, andwhich adjoined Ralph's own land. 

"Whereabout will that be?" said Charles, inattentively, drawing hismagnet slowly in front of the fleet. 

"Where?" said Ralph, excitedly, "why, round by the old house, round byArleigh, of course. Thursby and I have turned down hundreds of pheasantsthere. Don't you remember the hot corner by the coppice last year, belowthe house, where we got forty at one place, and how the wind took themas they came over?"

"Near _Arleigh_?" repeated Charles, with sudden interest. 

"Uncle Charles, " interposed Molly, reproachfully, "don't let all theducks stick onto the magnet like that. I told you not before. Make it goon in front. "

But Charles's attention had wandered from the ducks. 

"Yes, " continued Ralph, "near Arleigh. There was a gang of poachersthere last year, and the keepers dared not attack them they were sostrong, though they were shooting right and left. But we'll be even withthem this year. My men are going, and I shall go with them. You hadbetter come too, and join the fun. The more the better. "

"Why should I go?" said Charles, listlessly. "Am I my brother's keeper, or even his underkeeper? Molly, don't splash your uncle's wardrobe. Besides, I expect it is a false alarm or a blind. "

"False alarm!" retorted Ralph. "I tell you Thursby's head keeper, Shaw--you know Shaw--saw a man himself only last night in the Arleighcoverts; came upon him suddenly, reconnoitring, of course; for to-night, and would have collared him too if the moon had not gone in, and when itcame out again he was gone. "

"Of course, and he will warn off the rest to-night. "

"Not a bit of it. He never saw Shaw. Shaw takes his oath he didn't seehim. I'll lay any odds they will beat those coverts to-night, and, byGeorge! we'll nail some of them, if we have an ounce of luck. "

Ralph's sporting instinct, to which even the fleeting vision of a chanceweasel never appealed in vain, was now thoroughly aroused, and evenCharles shared somewhat in his excitement. 

How could he warn Raymond to lie close? The more he thought of it themore impossible it seemed. It was already late in the afternoon. Hecould not, for Raymond's sake, risk being seen hanging about in thewoods near Arleigh for no apparent reason, and Raymond was not expectingto see him in any case for two days to come, and would probably beimpossible to find. He could do nothing but wait till the evening came, when he might have some opportunity, if the night were only dark enough, of helping or warning him. 

The night was dark enough when it came; but it was unreliable. A tearingautumn wind drove armies of clouds across the moon, only to sweep themaway again at a moment's notice. The wind itself rose and fell, droppedand struggled up again like a furious wounded animal. 

"It will drop at midnight, " said Ralph to Charles below his breath, asthey walked in the darkness along the road towards Slumberleigh; "andthe moon will come out when the wind goes. I have told Evans and Brooksto go by the fields, and meet us at the cross-roads in the low woods. Itis a good night for us. We don't want light yet a while; and the morerow the wind kicks up till we are in our places ready for them thebetter. "

They walked on in silence, nearly missing in the dark the turn forSlumberleigh, where the road branched off to Vandon. 

"We must be close upon the river by this time, " said Ralph; "but I can'thear it for the wind. "

The moon came out suddenly, and showed close on their right the millblocking out the sky, and the dark sweep of the river below, betweenpale wastes of flooded meadow. Upon the bridge, leaning over the wall, stood the figure of a man, bareheaded, with his hat in his hands. 

He could not see his face, but something in his attitude struck Charleswith a sudden chill. 

"By ----, " he said, below his breath, plucking Ralph's arm, "there'smischief going on there!"

Ralph did not hear, and in another moment Charles was thankful he hadnot done so. 

The man raised himself a little, and the light fell full on his whitedesperate face. He was feeling up and down the edge of the stone-parapetwith his hands. As he moved, Charles recognized him, and drew in hisbreath sharply. 

"Who is that?" said Ralph, his obtuser faculties perceiving the man forthe first time. 

Charles made no answer, but began to whistle loudly one of the tunes ofthe day. He saw Dare give a guilty start, and, catching at the wall forsupport, lean heavily against it as he looked wildly down the road, where the shadow of the trees had so far served to screen the approachof Charles and Ralph, who now emerged into the light, or at least wouldhave done so, if the moonlight had not been snatched away at thatmoment. 

"Holloa, Dare!" said Ralph, cheerfully, through the darkness, "I sawyou. What are you up to standing on the bridge at midnight, with theclock striking the hour, and all that sort of thing; and what have youdone with your hat--dropped it into the water?"

Dare muttered something unintelligible, and peered suspiciously throughthe darkness at Charles. 

The moon made a feint at coming out again, which came to nothing, butwhich gave Charles a moment's glimpse of Dare's convulsed face. And thegrave penetrating glance that met his own so fixedly told Dare in thatmoment that Charles had guessed his business on the bridge. Both menwere glad of the returning darkness, and of the presence of Ralph. 

"Come along with us, " the latter was saying to Dare, explaining theerrand on which they were bound; and Dare, stupefied with past emotion, and careless of what he did or where he went, agreed. 

It was less trouble to agree than to find a reason for refusing. Hemechanically put on his hat, which he had unconsciously crushed togethera few minutes before, in a dreadful dream from which even now he had notthoroughly awaked. And, still walking like a man in a dream, he set offwith the other two. 

"There was suicide in his face, " thought Charles, as he swung alongbeside his brother. "He would have done it if we had not come up. GoodGod! can it be that it is all over between him and Ruth?" The bloodrushed to his head, and his heart began to beat wildly. He walked on insilence, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Raymond and the poachers werealike forgotten. 

It was not until a couple of men joined them silently in the woods, andothers presently rose up out of the darkness, to whisper directions andsink down again, that Charles came to himself with a start, and pulledhimself together. 

The party had halted. It was pitch-dark, and he was conscious ofsomething towering up above him, black and lowering. It was the ruinedhouse of Arleigh. 

"You and Brooks wait here, and keep well under the lea of the house, "said Ralph, in a whisper. "If the moon comes out, get into the shadow ofthe wall. Don't shout till you're sure of them. Shaw is down by thestables. Dare and Evans you both come on with me. Shaw's got two men atthe end of the glade, but it's the nearest coverts he is keenest on, because they can get a horse and cart up close to take the game, and getoff sharp if they are surprised. They did last year. Don't stir if youhear wheels. Wait for them. " And with this parting injunction Ralphdisappeared noiselessly with Dare and the other keeper in the directionof the stables. 

Ralph had been right. The wind was dropping. It came and went fitfully, returning as if from great distances, and hurrying past weak andimpotent, leaving sudden silences behind. Charles and his companion, astrapping young underkeeper, evidently anxious to distinguish himself, waited, listening intently in the intervals of silence. The ivy on theold house shivered and whispered over their heads, and against one ofthe shuttered windows near the ground some climbing plant, torn loose bythe wind, tapped incessantly, as if calling to the ghosts within. Charles glanced ever and anon at the sky. It showed no trace ofclearing--as yet. He was getting cramped with standing. He wished he hadgone on to the stables. His anxiety for Raymond was sharpened by thislong inaction. He seemed to have been standing for ages. What were theothers doing? Not a sound reached him between the lengthening pauses ofthe wind. His companion stood drawn up motionless beside him; and sothey waited, straining eye and ear into the darkness, conscious thatothers were waiting and listening also. 

_At last_ in the distance came a faint sound of wheels. Charles andBrooks instinctively drew a long breath; and Charles for the first timebelieved the alarm of poachers had not been a false one after all. Itwas the faintest possible sound of wheels. It would hardly have beenheard at all but for some newly broken stones over which it passed. Then, without coming nearer, it stopped. 

Charles listened intently. The wind had dropped down dead at last, andin the stillness he felt as if he could have heard a mouse stir milesaway. But all was quiet. There was no sound but the tremulous whisper ofthe ivy. The spray near the window had ceased its tapping against theshutter, and was listening too. Slowly the moon came out, and looked on. 

And then suddenly, from the direction of the stables, came a roar ofmen's voices, a sound of bursting and crashing through the under-wood, athundering of heavy feet, followed by a whirring of frightened birdsinto the air. Brooks leaned forward breathing hard, and tightening hisnewly moistened grip on his heavy knotted stick. 

Another moment and a man's figure darted across the open, followed by achorus of shouts, and Charles's heart turned sick within him. It wasRaymond. 

"Cut him off at the gate, Charles, " roared Ralph from behind; "down tothe left. "

There was not a second for reflection. As Brooks rushed headlongforward, Charles hurriedly interposed his stick between his legs, andleaving him to flounder, started off in pursuit. 

"Down to your left, " cried a chorus of voices from behind, as he shotout of the shadow of the house; for Charles was some way ahead of therest owing to his position. 

He could hear Raymond crashing in front; then he saw him again for amoment in a strip of open, running as a man does who runs for his life, with a furious recklessness of all obstacles. Charles saw he was makingfor the rocky thickets below the house, where the uneven ground and thebracken would give him a better chance. Did he remember the deep sunkenwall which, broken down in places, still separated the wilderness of thegarden from the wilderness outside? Charles was lean and active, and hesoon out-distanced the other pursuers, but a man is hard to overtake whohas such reasons for not being overtaken as Raymond, and do what hewould he could not get near him. He bore down to the left, but Raymondseemed to know it, and, edging away again, held for the woods a littlehigher up. Charles tacked, and then as he ran he saw that Raymond wasmaking with headlong blindness through the shrubbery direct for the deepsunk wall which bounded the Arleigh grounds. Would he see it in theuncertain light? He must be close upon it now. He was running like amadman. As Charles looked he saw him pitch suddenly forward out of sightand heard a heavy fall. If Charles ever ran in his life, it was then. Ashe swiftly let himself drop over the wall, lower than Raymond had takenit, he saw Ralph and Dare, followed by the others, come streaming downthe slope in the moonlight, spreading as they came. It was now or never. He rushed up the fosse under cover of the wall, and almost stumbled overa prostrate figure, which was helplessly trying to raise itself on itshands and knees. 

"Danvers, it's me, " gasped Raymond, turning a white tortured face feeblytowards him. "Don't let those devils get me. "

"Keep still, " panted Charles, pushing him down among the bracken. "Lieclose under the wall, and make for the house again when it's quiet;" Anddarting back under cover of the wall, to the place where he had droppedover it, he found Dare almost upon him, and rushed headlong down thesteep rocky descent, roaring at the top of his voice, and calling wildlyto the others. The pursuit swept away through the wood, down the hill, and up the sandy ascent on the other side; swept almost over the top ofCharles, who had flung himself down, dead-beat and gasping for breath, at the bottom of the gully. 

He heard the last of the heavy lumbering feet crash past him, and heardthe shouting die away before he stiffly dragged himself up again, andbegan to struggle painfully back up the slippery hill-side, down whichhe had rushed with a whole regiment of loose and hopping stones tenminutes before. He regained the wall at last, and crept back to theplace where he had left Raymond. It was with a sigh of relief that hefound that he was gone. No doubt he had got into safety somewhere, perhaps in the cottage itself, where no one would dream of looking forhim. He stumbled along among the loose stones by the wall till he cameto the place by the gate where it was broken down, and clambering up, for the gate was locked, made his way back through the shrubberies, anddesolate remains of garden, towards the point near the house whereRaymond had first broken cover. As he came round a clump of bushes hisheart gave a great leap, and then sank within him. 

Three men were standing in the middle of the lawn in the moonlight, gathered round something on the ground. Seized by a horrible misgiving, he hurried towards them. At a little distance a dog-cart was beingslowly led over the grass-grown drive towards the house. 

"What is it? Any one hurt?" he asked, hoarsely, joining the littlegroup; but as he looked he needed no answer. One glance told him thatthe prostrate, unconscious figure on the ground, with blood slowlyoozing from the open mouth, was Raymond Deyncourt. 

"Great God! the man's dying, " he said, dropping on his knees beside him. 

"He's all right, sir; he'll come to, " said a little brisk man, in acomplacent, peremptory tone. "It's only the young chap, "--pointing tothe bashful but gratified Brooks--"as crocked him over the head a bitsharper than needful. Here, Esp, "--to the grinning Slumberleighpoliceman, whom Charles now recognized, "tell the lad to bring up the'orse and trap over the grass. We shall have a business to shift him asit is. "

"Is he a poacher?" asked Charles. "He doesn't look like it. "

"Lord! no, sir, " replied the little man, and Charles's heart wentstraight down into his boots and stayed there. "I'm come down fromBirmingham after him. He's no poacher. The police have wanted him veryspecial for some time for the Francisco forgery case. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Charles watched the detective and the policeman hoist Raymond into thedog-cart and drive away, supporting him between them. No doubt it hadbeen the wheels of that dog-cart which they had heard in the distance. Then he turned to Brooks. 

"How is it you remained behind?" he asked, sharply. 

Brooks's face fell, and he explained that just as he was starting in thepursuit he had caught his legs on "Sir Chawles sir's" stick, and "barkedhisself. "

"I remember, " said Charles. "You got in my way. You should look outwhere you are going. You may as well go and find my stick. "

The poor victim of duplicity departed rather crestfallen, and at thismoment Dare came up. 

"We have lost him, " he said, wiping his forehead. "I don't know what hasbecome of him. "

"He doubled back here, " said Charles. "I followed, but you all went on. The police have got him. He was not a poacher after all, so they said. "

"Ah!" said Dare. "They have him? I regret it. He ran well. I could wishhe had escaped. I was in the door-way of a stable watching a long time, and all in a moment he rushed past me out of the door. The policeman wasseeking within when he came out, but though he touched me I could notstop him. And now, " with sudden weariness as his excitement evaporated, "all is, then, over for the night? And the others? Where are they? Do wewait for them here?"

"We should wait some time if we did, " replied Charles. "Ralph is certainto go on to the other coverts. He has poachers on the brain. Probablythe rumor that they were coming here was only a blind, and they aredoing a good business somewhere else. I am going home. I have had enoughenjoyment for one evening. I should advise you to do the same. "

Dare winced, and did not answer, and Charles suddenly remembered thatthere were circumstances which might make it difficult for him to goback to Vandon. 

They walked away together in silence. Dare, who had been wildly excited, was beginning to feel the reaction. He was becoming giddy and faint withexhaustion and want of food. He had eaten nothing all day. They had notgone far when Charles saw that he stumbled at every other step. 

"Look out, " he said once, as Dare stumbled more heavily than usual, "you'll twist your ankle on these loose stones if you're not morecareful. "

"It is so dark, " said Dare, faintly. 

The moon was shining brightly at the moment, and as Charles turned tolook at him in surprise, Dare staggered forward, and would havecollapsed altogether if he had not caught him by the arm. 

"Sit down, " he said, authoritatively. "Here, not on me, man, on thebank. Always sit down when you can't stand. You have had too muchexcitement. I felt the same after my first Christmas-tree. You will bebetter directly. "

Charles spoke lightly, but he knew from what he had seen that Dare musthave passed a miserable day. He had never liked him. It was impossiblethat he should have done so. But even his more active dislike of thelast few months gave way to pity for him now, and he felt almost ashamedat the thought that his own happiness was only to be built on the ruinof poor Dare's. 

He made him swallow the contents of his flask, and as Dare choked andgasped himself back into the fuller possession of his faculties, andexperienced the benign influences of whiskey, entertained at firstunawares, his heart, always easily touched, warmed to the owner of thesilver flask, and of the strong arm that was supporting him with anunwillingness he little dreamed of. His momentary jealousy of Charles inthe summer had long since been forgotten. He felt towards him now, asCharles helped him up, and he proceeded slowly on his arm, as a friendand a brother. 

Charles, entirely unconscious of the noble sentiments which he and hisflask had inspired, looked narrowly at his companion, as they neared theturn for Atherstone, and said with some anxiety:

"Where are you going to-night?"

Dare made no answer. He had no idea where he was going. 

Charles hesitated. He could not let him walk back alone to Vandon--overthe bridge. It was long past midnight. Dare's evident inability to thinkwhere to turn touched him. 

"Can I be of any use to you?" he said, earnestly. "Is there anything Ican do? Perhaps, at present, you would rather not go to Vandon. "

"No, no, " said Dare, shuddering; "I will not go there. "

Charles felt more certain than ever that it would not be safe to leavehim to his own devices, and his anxiety not to lose sight of him in hispresent state gave a kindness to his manner of which he was hardlyaware. 

"Come back to Atherstone with me, " he said, "I will explain it to Ralphwhen he comes in. It will be all right. "

Dare accepted the proposition with gratitude. It relieved him for themoment from coming to any decision. He thanked Charles with effusion, and then--his natural impulsiveness quickened by the quantity of rawspirits he had swallowed, by this mark of sympathy, by the moonlight, byHeaven knows what that loosens the facile tongue of unreticence--thensuddenly, without a moment's preparation, he began to pour forth histroubles into Charles's astonished and reluctant ears. It was vain totry to stop him, and, after the first moment of instinctive recoil, Charles was seized by a burning curiosity to know all where he alreadyknew so much, to put an end to this racking suspense. 

"And that is not the worst, " said Dare, when he had recounted how thewoman he had seen on the church steps was in very deed the wife sheclaimed to be. "That is not the worst. I love another. We are affianced. We are as one. I bring sorrow upon her I love. "

"She knows, then?" asked Charles, hoarsely, hating himself for beingsuch a hypocrite, but unable to refrain from putting a leading question. 

"She knows that some one--a person--is at Vandon, " replied Dare, "whocalls herself my wife, but I tell her it is not true and she, allgoodness, all heavenly calm, she trusts me, and once again she promisesto marry me if I am free, as I tell her, as I swear to her. "

Charles listened in astonishment. He saw Dare was speaking the truth, but that Ruth could have given such a promise was difficult to believe. He did not know, what Dare even had not at all realized, that she hadgiven it in the belief that Dare, from his answers to her questions, hadnever been married to the woman at all, in the belief that she was amere adventuress seeking to make money out of him by threatening ascandalous libel, and without the faintest suspicion that she was hisdivorced wife, whether legally or illegally divorced. 

Dare had understood the promise to depend on the legality or illegalityof that divorce, and told Charles so in all good faith. With anextraordinary effort of reticence he withheld the name of his affianced, and pressing Charles's arm, begged him to ask no more. And Charles, half-sorry, half-contemptuous, wholly ashamed of having allowed such aconfidence to be forced upon him, marched on in silence, now dividedbetween mortal anxiety for Raymond and pity for Dare, now striving tokeep down a certain climbing rapturous emotion which would not besuppressed. 

One of the servants had waited up for their return, and, after gettingDare something to eat, Charles took him up to the room which had beenprepared for himself, and then, feeling he had done his duty by him, andthat he was safe for the present, went back to smoke by the smoking-roomfire till Ralph came in, which was not till several hours later. When hedid at last return it was in triumph. He was dead-beat, voiceless, andfoot-sore; but a sense of glory sustained him. Four poachers had beentaken red-handed in the coverts farthest from Arleigh. The rumor aboutArleigh had, of course, been a blind; but he, Ralph, thank Heaven, wasnot to be taken in in such a hurry as all that! He could look after hisinterests as well as most men. In short, he was full of glorification tothe brim, and it was only after hearing a hoarse and full account of thewhole transaction several times over that Charles was able in a pausefor breath to tell him that he had offered Dare a bed, as he was quitetired out, and was some distance from Vandon. 

"All right. Quite right, " said Ralph, unheeding; "but you and he missedthe best part of the whole thing. Great Scot! when I saw them comedodging round under the Black Rock and--" He was off again; and Charlesdoubted afterwards, as he fell asleep in his arm-chair by the fire, whether Ralph, already slumbering peacefully opposite him, had paid theleast attention to what he had told him, and would not have entirelyforgotten it in the morning. And, in fact, he did, and it was not untilEvelyn desired, with dignity, on the morrow, that another timeunsuitable persons should not be brought at midnight to _her_ house, that he remembered what had happened. 

Charles, who was present, immediately took the blame upon himself, butEvelyn was not to be appeased. By this time the whole neighborhood wasringing with the news of the arrival of a foreign wife at Vandon, andEvelyn felt that Dare's presence in her blue bedroom, with crockery andcrewel-work curtains to match, compromised that apartment and herself, and that he must incontinently depart out of it. It was in vain thatRalph and even Charles expostulated. She remained unmoved. It was not, she said, as if she had been unwilling to receive him, in the firstinstance, as a possible Roman Catholic, though many might have blamedher for that, and perhaps she _had_ been to blame; but she had never, no, never, had any one to stay that anybody could say anything about. (This was a solemn fact which it was impossible to deny. ) Ralph mightremember her own cousin, Willie Best, and she had always liked Willie, had never been asked again after that time--Ralph chuckled--that time heknew of. She was very sorry, and she quite understood all Charles meant, and she quite saw the force of what he said; but she could not allowpeople to stay in the house who had foreign wives that had been keptsecret. What was poor Willie, who had only--Ralph need not laugh; therewas nothing to laugh at--what was Willie to this? She must beconsistent. She could see Charles was very angry with her, but she couldnot encourage what was wrong, even if he was angry. In short, Dare mustgo. 

But, when it came to the point, it was found that Dare could not go. Nothing short of force would have turned the unwelcome guest out of thebed in the blue bedroom, from which he made no attempt to rise, and onwhich he lay worn-out and feverish, in a stupor of sheer mental andphysical exhaustion. 

Charles and Ralph went and looked at him rather ruefully, with masculinehelplessness, and the end of it was that Evelyn, in nowise softened, forshe was a good woman, had to give way, and a doctor was sent for. 

"Send for the man in D----. Don't have the Slumberleigh man, " saidCharles; "it will only make more talk;" and the doctor from D---- wasaccordingly sent for. 

He did not arrive till the afternoon, and after he had seen Dare, andgiven him a sleeping draught, and had talked reassuringly of a mentalshock and a feverish temperament he apologized for his delay in coming. He had been kept, he said, drawing on his gloves as he spoke, by a veryserious case in the police-station at D----. A man had been arrested onsuspicion the previous night, and he seemed to have sustained some fatalinternal injury. He ought to have been taken to the infirmary at once;but it had been thought he was only shamming when first arrested, andonce in the police-station he could not be moved, and--the doctor tookup his hat--he would probably hardly outlive the day. 

"By-the-way, " he added, turning at the door, "he asked over and overagain, while I was with him, to see you or Mr. Danvers. I'm sure Iforget which, but I promised him I would mention it. Nearly slipped mymemory, all the same. He said one of you had known him in his betterdays, at--Oxford, was it?"

"What name?" asked Charles. 

"Stephens, " replied the doctor. "He seemed to think you would rememberhim. "

"Stephens, " said Charles, reflectively. "Stephens! I once had a valet ofthat name, and a very good one he was, who left my service ratherabruptly, taking with him numerous portable memorials of myself, including a set of diamond studs. I endeavored at the time to keep up myacquaintance with him; but he took measures effectually to close it. Infact, I have never heard of him from that day to this. "

"That's the man, no doubt, " replied the doctor. "He has--er--a sort oflook about him as if he might have been in a gentleman's service once;seen-better-days-sort of look, you know. "

Charles said he should be at D---- in the course of the afternoon, andwould make a point of looking in at the police-station; and a quarter ofan hour later he was driving as hard as he could tear in Ralph's highdog-cart along the road to D----. It was a six-mile drive, and heslackened as he reached the straggling suburbs of the little town, lyingbefore him in a dim mist of fine rain and smoke. 

Arrived at the dismal building which he knew to be the police-station, he was shown into a small room hung round with papers, where the wardenwas writing, and desired, with an authority so evidently accustomed toobedience that it invariably insured it, to see the prisoner. Theprisoner, he said, at whose arrest he had been present, had expressed awish to see him through the doctor; and as the warden demurred for thespace of one second, Charles mentioned that he was a magistrate andjustice of the peace, and sternly desired the confused official to showhim the way at once. That functionary, awed by the stately manner whichnone knew better than Charles when to assume, led the way down a narrowstone passage, past numerous doors behind one of which a banging sound, accompanied by alcoholic oaths, suggested the presence of a freebornBriton chafing under restraint. 

"I had him put up-stairs, sir, " said the warden, humbly. "We didn't knowwhen he came in as it was a case for the infirmary; but seeing he waswanted for a big thing, and poorly in his 'ealth, I giv' him one of thesuperior cells, with a mattress and piller complete. "

The man was evidently afraid that Charles had come as a magistrate togive him a reprimand of some kind, for, as he led the way up a narrowstone staircase, he continued to expatiate on the luxury of the"mattress and piller, " on the superiority of the cell, and how a nursehad been sent for at once from the infirmary, when, owing to his ownshrewdness, the prisoner was found to be "a hospital case. "

"The doctor wouldn't have him moved, " he said, opening a closed door ina long passage full of doors, the rest of which stood open. "It's notreg'lar to have him in here, sir, I know; but the doctor wouldn't havehim moved. "

Charles passed through the door, and found himself in a narrowwhitewashed cell, with a bed at one side, over which an old woman in thedress of a hospital nurse was bending. 

"You can come out, Martha, " said the warden. "The gentleman's come tosee 'im. "

As the old woman disappeared, courtesying, he lingered to say, in awhisper, "Do you know him, sir?"

"Yes, " said Charles, looking fixedly at the figure on the bed. "Iremember him. I knew him years ago, in his better days. I dare say hewill have something to tell me. "

"If it should be anything as requires a witness, " continued theman--"he's said a deal already, and it's all down in proper form--but ifthere's anything more----"

"I will let you know, " said Charles, looking towards the door, and thewarden took the hint and went out of it, closing it quietly. 

Charles crossed the little room, and, sitting down in the crazy chairbeside the bed, laid his hand gently on the listless hand lying palmupward on the rough gray counterpane. 

"Raymond, " he said; "it is I, Danvers. "

The hand trembled a little, and made a faint attempt to clasp his. Charles took the cold, lifeless hand, and held it in his strong gentlegrasp. 

"It is Danvers, " he said again. 

The sick man turned his head slowly on the pillow, and looked fixedly athim. Death's own color, which imitation can never imitate, nor ignorancemistake, was stamped upon that rigid face. 

"I'm done for, " he said with a faint smile, which touched the lips butdid not reach the solemn far-reaching eyes. 

Charles could not speak. 

"You said I should turn up tails once too often, " continued Raymond, with slow halting utterance, "and I've done it. I knew it was all upwhen I pitched over that d----d wall onto the stones. I felt I'd killedmyself. "

"How did they get you?" said Charles. 

"I don't know, " replied Raymond, closing his eyes wearily, as if thesubject had ceased to interest him. "I think I tried to creep alongunder the wall towards the place where it is broken down, when I fancysome one came over long after the others and knocked me on the head. "

Charles reflected with sudden wrath that Brooks, no doubt, had been theman, and how much worse than useless his manoeuvre with the stick hadbeen. 

"I did my best, " he said, humbly. 

"Yes, " replied the other; "and I would not have forgotten it, either, if--if there had been any time to remember it in; but there won't be. I've owned up, " he continued, in a labored whisper. "Stephens has made afull confession. You'll have it in all the papers to-morrow. And while Iwas at it I piled on some more I never did, which will get friends overthe water out of trouble. Tom Flavell did me a good turn once, and he'sbeen in hiding these two years for--well, it don't much matter what, butI've shoved that in with the rest, though it was never in myline--never. He'll be able to go home now. "

"Have not you confessed under your own name?"

"No, " replied Raymond, with a curious remnant of that pride of race atwhich it is the undisputed privilege of low birth and a plebeiantemperament to sneer. "I won't have my own name dragged in. I dropped ityears ago. I've confessed as Stephens, and I'll die and be buried asStephens. I'm not going to disgrace the family. "

There was a constrained silence of some minutes. 

"Would you like to see your sister?" asked Charles; but Raymond shookhis head with feeble decision. 

"That man!" he said, suddenly, after a long pause. "That man in thedoor-way! How did he come there?"

"There is no man in the door-way, " said Charles, reassuringly. "There isno one here but me. "

"Last night, " continued Raymond, "last night in the stables. I watchedhim stand in the door-way. "

Charles remembered how Dare had said Raymond had bolted out past him. 

"That was Dare, " he said; "the man who was to have been yourbrother-in-law. "

"Ah!" said Raymond with evident unconcern. "I thought I'd seen himbefore. But he's altered. He's grown into a man. So he is to marry Ruth, is he?"

"Not now. He was to have done, but a divorced wife from America hasturned up. She arrived at Vandon the day before yesterday. It seems thedivorce in America does not hold in England. "

Raymond started. 

"The old fox, " he said, with feeble energy. "Tracked him out, has she?We used to call them fox and goose when she married him. By ----, shesqueezed every dollar out of him before she let him go, and now she'sgot him again, has she? She always was a cool hand. The old fox, " hecontinued, with contempt and admiration in his voice. "She's playing abold game, and the luck is on her side, but she's no more his wife thanI am, and she knows that perfectly well. "

"Do you mean that the divorce was----"

"Divorce, bosh!" said Raymond, working himself up into a state of feebleexcitement frightful to see. "I tell you she was never married to himlegally. She called herself a widow when she married Dare, but she had ahusband living, Jasper Carroll, serving his time at Baton Rouge Jail, down South, all the time. He died there a year afterwards, but hardly asoul knows it to this day; and those that do don't care about bringingthemselves into public notice. They'll prefer hush-money, if they findout what she's up to now. The prison register would prove it directly. But Dare will never find it out. How should he?"

Raymond sank back speechless and panting. A strong shudder passed overhim, and his breath seemed to fail. 

"It's coming, " he whispered, hoarsely. "That lying doctor said I hadseveral hours, and I feel it coming already. "

"Danvers, " he continued, hurriedly, "are you still there?" Then, asCharles bent over him, "Closer; bend down. I want to see your face. Keepyour own counsel about Dare. There's no one to tell if you don't. He'snot fit for Ruth. You can marry her now. I saw what I saw. She'll takeyou. And some day--some day, when you have been married a long time, tell her I'm dead; and tell her--about Flavell, and how I owned toit--but that I did not do it. I never sank so low as that. " His voicehad dropped to a whisper which died imperceptibly away. 

"I will tell her, " said Charles; and Raymond turned his face to thewall, and spoke no more. 

The struggle had passed, and for the moment death held aloof; but hisshadow was there, lying heavy on the deepening twilight, and darkeningall the little room. Raymond seemed to have sunk into a stupor, and atlast Charles rose silently and went out. 

He was dimly conscious of meeting some one in the passage, of answeringsome question in the negative, and then he found himself gathering upthe reins, and driving through the narrow lighted streets of D---- inthe dusk, and so away down the long flat high-road to Atherstone. 

A white mist had risen up to meet the darkness, and had shrouded all theland. In sweeps and curves along the fields a gleaming pallor lay ofheavy dew upon the grass, and on the road the long lines of dim water inthe ruts reflected the dim sky. 

Carts lumbered past him in the darkness once or twice, the men in thempeering back at his reckless driving; and once a carriage with lampscame swiftly up the road towards him, and passed him with a flash, grazing his wheel. But he took no heed. Drive as quickly as he wouldthrough mist and darkness, a voice followed him, the voice of a pursuingdevil close at his ear, whispering in the halting, feeble utterance of adying man:

"Keep your own counsel about Dare. There is no one to tell if youdon't. "

Charles shivered and set his teeth. High on the hill among the trees thedistant lights of Slumberleigh shone like glowworms through the mist. Helooked at them with wild eyes. She was there, the woman who loved him, and whom he passionately loved. He could stretch forth his hand to takeher if he would. His breath came hard and thick. A hand seemed clutchingand tearing at his heart. And close at his ear the whisper came:

_"There is no one to tell if you don't. "_

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

It was close on dressing-time when Charles came into the drawing-room, where Evelyn and Molly were building castles on the hearth-rug in theruddy firelight. After changing his damp clothes, he had gone to thesmoking-room, but he had found Dare sitting there in a vastdressing-gown of Ralph's, in a state of such utter dejection, with hishead in his hands, that he had silently retreated again before he hadbeen perceived. He did not want to see Dare just now. He wished he werenot in the house. 

Quite oblivious of the fact that he was not in Evelyn's good graces, hewent and sat by the drawing-room fire, and absently watched Mollyplaying with her bricks. Presently, when the dressing-bell rang, Evelynwent away to dress, and Molly, tired of her castles, suggested that shemight sit on his knee. 

He let her climb up and wriggle and finally settle herself as it seemedgood to her, but he did not speak; and so they sat in the firelighttogether, Molly's hand lovingly stroking his black velvet coat. But hertalents lay in conversation, not in silence, and she soon broke it. 

"You do look beautiful to-night, Uncle Charles. "

"Do I?" without elation. 

"Do you know, Uncle Charles, Ninny's sister with the wart on her cheekhas been to tea? She's in the nursery now. Ninny says she's to have abite of supper before she goes. "

"You don't say so?"

"And we had buttered toast to tea, and she said you were the mostsplendid gentleman she ever saw. "

Charles did not answer. He did not even seem to have heard thisinteresting tribute to his personal appearance. Molly felt thatsomething must be gravely amiss, and, laying her soft cheek against his, she whispered, confidentially:

"Uncle Charles, are you uncomferable inside?"

There was a long pause. 

"Yes, Molly, " at last, pressing her to him. 

"Is it there?" said Molly, sympathetically, laying her hand on the frontportion of her amber sash. 

"No, Molly; I only wish it were. "

"It's not the little green pears, then, " said Molly, with the sigh ofexperience, "because it's always _just_ there, _always_, with them. Itwas again yesterday. They're nasty little pears, "--with a touch ofpersonal resentment. 

Uncle Charles smiled at last, but it was not quite his usual smile. 

"Miss Molly, " said a voice from the door, "your mamma has sent for you. "

"It's not bedtime yet. "

"Your mamma says you are to come at once, " was the reply. 

Molly, knowing from experience that an appeal to Charles was useless onthese occasions, wriggled down from her perch rather reluctantly, andbade her uncle "Good-night. "

"Perhaps it will be better to-morrow, " she said, consolingly. 

"Perhaps, " he said, nodding at her; and he took her little head betweenhis hands, and kissed her. She rubbed his kiss off again, and walkedgravely away. She could not be merry and ride in triumph up-stairs onkind curvetting Sarah's willing back, while her friend was "uncomferableinside. " There was no galloping down the passage that night, nopleasantries with the sponge in Molly's tub, no last caperings in lightattire. Molly went silently to bed, and as on a previous occasion whenin great anxiety about Vic, who had thoughtlessly gone out in thetwilight for a stroll, and had forgotten the lapse of time, she added awhispered clause to her little petitions which the ear of "Ninny" failedto catch. 

Charles recognized, in the way Evelyn had taken Molly from him, that shewas not yet appeased. It should be remembered, in order to do herjustice, that a good woman's means of showing a proper resentment are sostraitened and circumscribed by her conscience that she is obliged, fromactual want of material, to resort occasionally to little acts ofdomestic tyranny, small in themselves as midge bites, but, fortunatelyfor the cause of virtue, equally exasperating. Indeed, it is improbablethat any really good woman would ever so far forget herself as to loseher temper, if she were once thoroughly aware how much more irritatingin the long-run a judicious course of those small persecutions may bemade, which the tenderest conscience need not scruple to inflict. 

Charles was unreasonably annoyed at having Molly taken from him. As hesat by the fire alone, tired in mind and body, a hovering sense ofcold, and an intense weariness of life took him; and a great longingcame over him like a thirst--a longing for a little of the personalhappiness which seemed to be the common lot of so many round him; for ahome where he had now only a house; for love and warmth andcompanionship, and possibly some day a little Molly of his own, whowould not be taken from him at the caprice of another. 

The only barrier to the fulfilment of such a dream had been aconscientious scruple of Ruth's, to which at the time he had urged uponher that she did wrong to yield. That barrier was now broken down; butit ought never to have existed. Ruth and he belonged to each other bydivine law, and she had no right to give herself to any one else tosatisfy her own conscience. And now--all would be well. She was absolvedfrom her promise. She had been wrong to persist in keeping it, in hisopinion; but at any rate she was honorably released from it now. And shewould marry him. 

And that _second_ promise, which she had made to Dare, that she wouldstill marry him if he were free to marry?

Charles moved impatiently in his chair. From what exaggerated sense ofduty she had made that promise he knew not; but he would save her fromthe effects of her own perverted judgment. He knew what Ruth's wordmeant, since he had tried to make her break it. He knew that she hadpromised to marry Dare if he were free. He knew that, having made thatpromise, she would keep it. 

It would be mere sentimental folly on his part to say the word thatwould set Dare free. Even if the American woman were not his wife in theeye of the law, she had a moral claim upon him. The possibility ofRuth's still marrying Dare was too hideous to be thought of. If herjudgment was so entirely perverted by a morbid conscientious fear offollowing her own inclination that she could actually give Dare thatpromise, directly after the arrival of the adventuress, Charles wouldtake the decision out of her hands. As she could not judge fairly forherself, he would judge for her, and save her from herself. 

For her sake as much as for his own he resolved to say nothing. He hadonly to keep silence. 

_"There's no one to tell if you don't. "_

The door opened, and Charles gave a start as Dare came into the room. Hewas taken aback by the sudden rush of jealous hatred that surged upwithin him at his appearance. It angered and shamed him, and Dare, muchshattered but feebly cordial, found him very irresponsive and silent forthe few minutes that remained before the dinner-bell rang, and theothers came down. 

It was not a pleasant meal. If Dare had been a shade less ill, he musthave noticed the marked coldness of Evelyn's manner, and how Ralphgood-naturedly endeavored to make up for it by double helpings of soupand fish, which he was quite unable to eat. Charles and Lady Mary werenever congenial spirits at the best of times, and to-night was not thebest. That lady, after feebly provoking the attack, as usual, sustainedsome crushing defeats, mainly couched in the language of Scripture, which was, as she felt with Christian indignation, turning her ownfavorite weapon against herself, as possibly Charles thought shedeserved, for putting such a weapon to so despicable a use. 

"I really don't know, " she said, tremulously, afterwards in thedrawing-room, "what Charles will come to if he goes on like this. Idon't mind"--venomously--"his tone towards myself. That I do not regard;but his entire want of reverence for the Church and apostolicsuccession; his profane remarks about vestments; in short, his entireattitude towards religion gives me the gravest anxiety. "

In the dining-room the conversation flagged, and Charles was beginningto wonder whether he could make some excuse and bolt, when a servantcame in with a note for him. It was from the doctor in D----, and ran asfollows:

 "DEAR SIR, "I have just seen (6. 30 P. M. ) Stephens again. I found him in a state of the wildest excitement, and he implored me to send you word that he wanted to see you again. He seemed so sure that you would go if you knew he wished it, that I have commissioned Sergeant Brown's boy to take this. He wished me to say 'there was something more. ' If there is any further confession he desires to make, he has not much time to do it in. I did not expect he would have lasted till now. As it is, he is going fast. Indeed, I hardly think you will be in time to see him; but I promised to give you this message. 

 Yours faithfully, R. WHITE. "

"I must go, " Charles said, throwing the note across to Ralph. "Give theboy half a crown, will you? I suppose I may take Othello?" and beforeRalph had mastered the contents of the note, and begun to fumble for ahalf-crown, Charles was saddling Othello himself, without waiting forthe groom, and in a few minutes was clattering over the stones out ofthe yard. 

There was just light enough to ride by, and he rode hard. What wasit--what could it be that Raymond had still to tell him? He felt certainit had something to do with Ruth, and probably Dare. Should he arrive intime to hear it? There at last were the lights of D---- in front of him. Should he arrive in time? As he pulled up his steaming horse before thepolice-station his heart misgave him. 

"Am I too late?" he asked of the man who came to the door. 

He looked bewildered. 

"Stephens! Is he dead?"

The man shook his head. 

"They say he's a'most gone. "

Charles threw the rein to him, and hurried in-doors. He met some onecoming out, the doctor probably, he thought afterwards, who took himup-stairs, and sent away the old woman who was in attendance. 

"I can't do anything more, " he said, opening the door for him. "Wantedelsewhere. Very good of you, I'm sure. Not much use, I'm afraid. Good-night. I'll tell the old woman to be about. "

A dim lamp was burning on the little corner cupboard near the door, and, as Charles bent over the bed, he saw in a moment, even by that palelight, that he was too late. 

Life was still there, if that feeble tossing could be called life; butall else was gone. Raymond's feet were already on the boundary of theland where all things are forgotten; and, at the sight of that dimcountry, memory, affrighted, had slipped away and left him. 

Was it possible to recall him to himself even yet?

"Raymond, " he said, in a low distinct voice, "what is it you wish tosay? Tell me quickly what it is. "

But the long agony of farewell between body and soul had begun, and theeyes that seemed to meet his with momentary recognition only looked athim in anguish, seeking help and finding none, and wandered away again, vainly searching for that which was not to be found. 

Charles could do nothing, but he had not the heart to leave him tostruggle with death entirely alone, and so, in awed and helplesscompassion, he sat by him through one long hour after another, waitingfor the end which still delayed, his eyes wandering ever and anon fromthe bed to the high grated window, or idly spelling out the differentnames and disparaging remarks that previous occupants had scratched andscrawled over the whitewashed walls. 

And so the hours passed. 

At last, all in a moment, the struggle ceased. The dying man vainlytried to raise himself to meet what was coming, and Charles put hisstrong arm round him and held him up. He knew that consciousnesssometimes returns at the moment of death. 

"Raymond, " he whispered, earnestly. "Raymond. "

A tremor passed over the face. The lips moved. The homeless, lingeringsoul came back, and looked for the last time fixedly and searchingly athim out of the dying eyes, and then--seeing no help for it--wenthurriedly on its way, leaving the lips parted to speak, leaving thedeserted eyes vacant and terrible, until after a time Charles closedthem. 

He had gone without speaking. Whatever he had wished to say would remainunsaid forever. Charles laid him down, and stood a long time looking atthe set face. The likeness to Raymond seemed to be fading away under thetouch of the Mighty Hand, but the look of Ruth, the better look, remained. 

At last he turned away and went out, stopping to wake the old nurse, heavily asleep in the passage. His horse was brought round for him fromsomewhere, and he mounted and rode away. He had no idea how long he hadbeen there. It must have been many hours, but he had quite lost sight oftime. It was still dark, but the morning could not be far off. He rodemechanically, his horse, which knew the road, taking him at its ownpace. The night was cold, but he did not feel it. All power of feelinganything seemed gone from him. The last two days and nights of suspenseand high-strung emotion seemed to have left him incapable of any furthersensation at present beyond that of an intense fatigue. 

He rode slowly, and put up his horse with careful absence of mind. Theeastern horizon was already growing pale and distinct as he found hisway in-doors through the drawing-room window, the shutter of which hadbeen left unhinged for him by Ralph, according to custom when either ofthem was out late. He went noiselessly up to his room, and sat down. After a time he started to find himself still sitting there; but heremained without stirring, too tired to move, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands. He felt he could not sleep if he were to draghimself into bed. He might just as well stay where he was. 

And as he sat watching the dawn his mind began to stir, to shake off itslethargy and stupor, to struggle into keener and keener consciousness. 

There are times, often accompanying great physical prostration, when aveil seems to be lifted from our mental vision. As in the Mediterraneanone may glance down suddenly on a calm day, and see in the blue depthswith a strange surprise the sea-weed and the rocks and the fretted sandsbelow, so also in rare hours we see the hidden depths of the soul, overwhich we have floated in heedless unconsciousness so long, and catch aglimpse of the hills and the valleys of those untravelled regions. 

Charles sat very still with his chin in his hands. His mind did notwork. It looked right down to the heart of things. 

There is, perhaps, no time when mental vision is so clear, when the mindis so sane, as when death has come very near to us. There is a lightwhich he brings with him, which he holds before the eyes of the dying, the stern light, seldom seen, of reality, before which self-deceptionand meanness, and that which maketh a lie, cower in their nativedeformity and slip away. 

And death sheds at times a strange gleam from that same light upon thesouls of those who stand within his shadow, and watch his kingdomcoming. In an awful transfiguration all things stand for what they are. Evil is seen to be evil, and good to be good. Right and wrong sundermore far apart, and we cannot mistake them as we do at other times. Thedebatable land stretching between them--that favorite resort ofundecided natures--disappears for a season, and offers no longer itsfalse refuge. The mind is taken away from all artificial supports, andthe knowledge comes home to the soul afresh, with strong conviction that"truth is our only armor in all passages of life, " as with awed heartswe see it is the only armor in the hour of death, the only shield thatwe may bear away with us into the unknown country. 

Charles shuddered involuntarily. His decision of the afternoon to keepsecret what Raymond had told him was gradually but surely assuming adifferent aspect. What was it, after all, but a suppression of truth--akind of lie? What was it but doing evil that good might come?

It was no use harping on the old string of consequences. He saw that hehad resolved to commit a deliberate sin, to be false to that greatprinciple of life--right for the sake of right, truth for the love oftruth--by which of late he had been trying to live. So far it had notbeen difficult, for his nature was not one to do things by halves, butnow--

Old voices out of the past, which he had thought long dead, rose out offorgotten graves to urge him on. What was he that he should stick atsuch a trifle? Why should a man with his past begin to split hairs?

And conscience said nothing, only pointed, only showed, with a clearnessthat allowed of no mistake, that he had come to a place where two roadsmet. 

Charles's heart suffered then "the nature of an insurrection. " The oldlawless powers that had once held sway, and had been forced back intoservitude under the new rule of the last few years of responsibility andhonor, broke loose, and spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom ofhis heart. 

The struggle deepened to a battle fierce and furious. His soul was rentwith a frenzy of tumult, of victory and defeat ever changing sides, everreturning to the attack. 

Can a kingdom divided against itself stand?

He sat motionless, gazing with absent eyes in front of him. 

And across the shock of battle, and above the turmoil of conflictingpassions, Ruth's voice came to him. He saw the pale spiritual face, thedeep eyes so full of love and anguish, and yet so steadfast with a greatresolve. He heard again her last words, "I cannot do what is wrong, evenfor you. "

He stretched out his hands suddenly. 

"You would not, Ruth, " he said, half aloud; "you would not. Neither willI do what I know to be wrong for you, so help me God! not even for you. "

The dawn was breaking, was breaking clear and cold, and infinitely faraway; was coming up through unfathomable depths and distances, throughgleaming caverns and fastnesses of light, like a new revelation freshfrom God. But Charles did not see it, for his head was down on thetable, and he was crying like a child. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Dare was down early the following morning, much too early for theconvenience of the house-maids, who were dusting the drawing-room whenhe appeared there. He was usually as late as any of the young and gildedunemployed who feel it incumbent on themselves to show by these publicdemonstrations their superiority to the rules and fixed hours of theworking and thinking world, with whom, however, their fear of beingidentified is a groundless apprehension. But to-day Dare experienced amournful satisfaction in being down so early. He felt the underlyingpathos of such a marked departure from his usual habits. It was obviousthat nothing but deep affliction or cub-hunting could have been thecause, and the cub-hunting was over. The inference was not one thatcould be missed by the meanest capacity. 

He took up the newspaper with a sigh, and settled himself in front ofthe blazing fire, which was still young and leaping, with the enthusiasmof dry sticks not quite gone out of it. 

Charles heard Dare go down just as he finished dressing, for he too wasearly that morning. There was more than half an hour beforebreakfast-time. He considered a moment, and then went down-stairs. Someresolutions once made cannot be carried out too quickly. 

As he passed through the hall he looked out. The mist of the nightbefore had sought out every twig and leaflet, and had silvered it tomeet the sun. The rime on the grass looked cool and tempting. Charles'shead ached, and he went out for a moment and stood in the crisp stillair. The rooks were cawing high up. The face of the earth had notaltered during the night. It shimmered and was glad, and smiled at hisgrave, care-worn face. 

"Hallo!" called a voice; and Ralph's head, with his hair stickingstraight out on every side, was thrust out of a window. "I say, Charles, early bird you are!"

"Yes, " said Charles, looking up and leisurely going in-doors again; "youare the first worm I have seen. "

He found Dare, as he expected, in the drawing-room, and proceeded atonce to the business he had in hand. 

"I am glad you are down early, " he said. "You are the very man I want. "

"Ah!" replied Dare, shaking his head, "when the heart is troubled thereis no sleep, none. All the clocks are heard. "

"Possibly. I should not wonder if you heard another in the course ofhalf an hour, which will mean breakfast. In the mean time----"

"I want no breakfast. A sole cup of----"

"In the mean time, " continued Charles, "I have some news for you. " And, disregarding another interruption, he related as shortly as he could thestory of Stephens's recognition of him in the door-way, and thesubsequent revelations in the prison concerning Dare's marriage. 

"Where is this man, this Stephens?" said Dare, jumping up. "I will go tohim. I will hear from his own mouth. Where is he?"

"I don't know, " replied Charles, curtly. "It is a matter of opinion. Heis dead!"

Dare looked bewildered, and then sank back with a gasp of disappointmentinto his chair. 

Charles, whose temper was singularly irritable this morning, repeatedwith suppressed annoyance the greater part of what he had just said, andproved to Dare that the fact that Stephens was dead would in no wayprevent the illegality of his marriage being proved. 

When Dare had grasped the full significance of that fact he was quiteovercome. 

"Am I, then, " he gasped--"is it true?--am I free--to marry?"

"Quite free. "

Dare burst into tears, and, partially veiling with one hand the manlyemotion that had overtaken him, he extended the other to Charles, whodid not know what to do with it when he had got it, and dropped it assoon as he could. But Dare, like many people whose feelings are all onthe surface, and who are rather proud of displaying them, was slow tonotice what was passing in the minds of others. 

He sprang to his feet, and began to pace rapidly up and down. 

"I will go after breakfast--at once--immediately after breakfast, toSlumberleigh Rectory. "

"I suppose, in that case, Miss Deyncourt is the person whose name youwould not mention the other day?"

"She is, " said Dare. "You are right. It is she. We are betrothed. I willfly to her after breakfast. "

"You know your own affairs best, " said Charles, whose temper had notbeen improved by the free display of Dare's finer feelings; "but I amnot sure you would not do well to fly to Vandon first. It is best to beoff with the old love, I believe, before you are on with the new. "

"She must at once go away from Vandon, " said Dare, stopping short. "Sheis a scandal, the--the old one. But how to make her go away?"

It was in vain for Charles to repeat that Dare must turn her out. Darehad premonitory feelings that he was quite unequal to the task. 

"I may tell her to go, " he said, raising his eyebrows. "I may be firm asthe rock, but I know her well; she is more obstinate than me. She willnot go. "

"She must, " said Charles, with anger. "Her presence compromises MissDeyncourt. Can't you see that?"

Dare raised his eyebrows. A light seemed to break in on him. 

"Any fool can see that, " said Charles, losing his temper. 

Dare saw a great deal--many things besides that. He saw that if afriend, a trusted friend, were to manage her dismissal, it would be moreeasy for that friend than for one whose feelings at the moment mightcarry him away. In short, Charles was the friend who was evidentlypointed out by Providence for that mission. 

Charles considered a moment. He began to see that it would not be donewithout further delays and scandal unless he did it. 

"She must and shall go at once, even if I have to do it, " he said atlast, looking at Dare with unconcealed contempt. "It is not my affair, but I will go, and you will be so good as to put off the flying over toSlumberleigh till I come back. I shall not return until she has left thehouse. " And Charles marched out of the room, too indignant to trusthimself a moment longer with the profusely grateful Dare. 

"That man must go to-day, " said Evelyn, after breakfast, to her husband, in the presence of Lady Mary and Charles. "While he was ill I overlookedhis being in the house; but I will not suffer him to remain now he iswell. "

"You remove him from all chance of improvement, " said Charles, "if youtake him away from Aunt Mary, who can snatch brands from the burning, aswe all know; but I am going over to Vandon this morning, and if you wishit I will ask him if he would like me to order his dog-cart to come forhim. I don't suppose he is very happy here, without so much as atooth-brush that he can call his own. "

"You are going to Vandon?" asked both ladies in one voice. 

"Yes. I am going on purpose to dislodge an impostor who has arrivedthere, who is actually believed by some people (who are not suchexemplary Christians as ourselves, and ready to suppose the worst) to behis wife. "

Lady Mary and Evelyn looked at each other in consternation, and Charleswent off to see how Othello was after his night's work, and to order thedog-cart, Ralph calling after him, in perfect good-humor, that "afellow's brother got more out of a fellow's horses than a fellow didhimself. "

Dare waylaid Charles on his return from the stables, and linked his armin his. He felt the most enthusiastic admiration for the tall reservedEnglishman who had done him such signal service. He longed for anopportunity of showing his gratitude to him. It was perhaps just as wellthat he was not aware how very differently Charles regarded himself. 

"You are just going?" Dare asked. 

"In five minutes. "

Charles let his arm hang straight down, but Dare kept it. 

"Tell me, my friend, one thing. " Dare had evidently been turning oversomething in his mind. "This poor unfortunate, this Stephens, why did henot tell you all this the _first_ time you went to see him in theafternoon?"

"He did. "

"What?" said Dare, looking hard at him. "He _did_, and you only tell methis morning! You let me go all through the night first. Why was this?"

Charles did not answer. 

"I ask one thing more, " continued Dare. "Did you divine two nights ago, from what I said in a moment of confidence, that Miss Deyncourt wasthe--the--"

"Of course I did, " said Charles, sharply. "You made it sufficientlyobvious. "

"Ah!" said Dare. "Ah!" and he shut his eyes and nodded his head severaltimes. 

"Anything more you would like to know?" asked Charles, inattentive andimpatient, mainly occupied in trying to hide the nameless exasperationwhich invariably seized him when he looked at Dare, and to stifle thecontemptuous voice which always whispered as he did so, "And you havegiven up Ruth to him--to _him_!"

"No, no, no!" said Dare, shaking his head gently, and regarding him thewhile with infinite interest through his half-closed eyelids. 

The dog-cart was coming round, and Charles hastily turned from him, and, getting in, drove quickly away. Whatever Dare said or did seemed to sethis teeth on edge, and he lashed up the horse till he was out of sightof the house. 

Dare, with arms picturesquely folded, stood looking after him with mixedfeelings of emotion and admiration. 

"One sees it well, " he said to himself. "One sees now the reason of manythings. He kept silent at first, but he was too good, too noble. In thenight he considered; in the morning he told all. I wondered that he wentto Vandon; but he did it not for me. It was for her sake. "

Dare's feelings were touched to the quick. 

How beautiful! how pathetic was this _dénouement_! His former admirationfor Charles was increased a thousand-fold. _He also loved!_ Ah! (Darefelt he was becoming agitated. ) How sublime, how touching was hisself-sacrifice in the cause of honor! He had been gradually workinghimself up to the highest pitch of pleasurable excitement and emotion;and now, seeing Ralph the prosaic approaching, he fled precipitatelyinto the house, caught up his hat and stick, hardly glancing at himselfin the hall-glass, and, entirely forgetting his promise to Charles toremain at Atherstone till the latter returned from Vandon, followed theimpulse of the moment, and struck across the fields in the direction ofSlumberleigh. 

Charles, meanwhile, drove on to Vandon. The stable clock, stillpartially paralyzed from long disuse, was laboriously striking eleven ashe drew up before the door. His resounding peal at the bell startled thehousehold, and put the servants into a flutter of anxious expectation, while the sound made some one else, breakfasting late in thedining-room, pause with her cup midway to her lips and listen. 

"There is a train which leaves Slumberleigh station for London a littleafter twelve, is not there?" asked Charles, with great distinctness, ofthe butler as he entered the hall. He had observed as he came in thatthe dining-room door was ajar. 

"There is, Sir Charles. Twelve fifteen, " replied the man, who recognizedhim instantly, for everybody knew Charles. 

"I am here as Mr. Dare's friend, at his wish. Tell Mr. Dare's coachmanto bring round his dog-cart to the door in good time to catch thattrain. Will it take luggage?"

"Yes, Sir Charles, " with respectful alacrity. 

"Good! And when the dog-cart appears you will see that the boxes arebrought down belonging to the person who is staying here, who will leaveby that train. "

"Yes, Sir Charles. "

"If the policeman from Slumberleigh should arrive while I am here, askhim to wait. "

"I will, Sir Charles. "

"I don't suppose, " thought Charles, "he will arrive, as I have not sentfor him; but, as the dining-room door happens to be ajar, it is just aswell to add a few artistic touches. "

"Is this person in the drawing-room?" he continued aloud. 

The man replied that she was in the dining-room, and Charles walked inunannounced, and closed the door behind him. 

He had at times, when any action of importance was on hand, a certaincool decision of manner that seemed absolutely to ignore the possibilityof opposition, which formed a curious contrast with his usual carelessdemeanor. 

"Good-morning, " he said, advancing to the fire. "I have no doubt that myappearance at this early hour cannot be a surprise to you. You have, ofcourse, anticipated some visit of this kind for the last few days. Prayfinish your coffee. I am Sir Charles Danvers. I need hardly add that Iam justice of the peace in this county, and that I am here officially onbehalf of my friend, Mr. Dare. "

The little woman, who had risen, and had then sat down again at hisentrance, eyed him steadily. There was a look in her dark bead-like eyeswhich showed Charles why Dare had been unable to face her. The look, determined, cunning, watchful, put him on his guard, and his mannerbecame a shade more unconcerned. 

"Any friend of my husband's is welcome, " she said. 

"There is no question for the moment about your husband, though no doubta subject of peculiar interest to yourself. I was speaking of Mr. Dare. "

She rose to her feet, as if unable to sit while he was standing. 

"Mr. Dare is my husband, " she said, with a little gesture of defiance, tapping sharply on the table with a teaspoon she held in her hand. 

Charles smiled blandly, and looked out of the window. 

"There is evidently some misapprehension on that point, " he observed, "which I am here to remove. Mr. Dare is at present unmarried. "

"I am his wife, " reiterated the woman, her color rising under her rouge. "I am, and I won't go. He dared not come himself, a poor coward that heis, to turn his wife out-of-doors. He sent you; but it's no manner ofuse, so you may as well know it first as last. I tell you nothing shallinduce me to stir from this house, from my home, and you needn't thinkyou can come it over me with fine talk. I don't care a red cent what yousay. I'll have my rights. "

"I am here, " said Charles, "to see that you get them, Mrs. --_Carroll_. "

There was a pause. He did not look at her. He was occupied in taking awhite thread off his coat. 

"Carroll's dead, " she said, sharply. 

"He is. And your regret at his loss was no doubt deepened by the unhappycircumstances in which it took place. He died in jail. "

"Well, and if he did--"

"Died, " continued Charles, suddenly fixing his keen glance upon her, "nearly a year after your so-called marriage with Mr. Dare. "

"It's a lie, " she said, faintly; but she had turned very white. 

"No, I _think_ not. My information is on reliable authority. A slightexertion of memory on your part will no doubt recall the date of yourbereavement. "

"You can't prove it. "

"Excuse me. You have yourself kindly furnished us with a copy of themarriage register, with the date attached, without which I must own wemight have been momentarily at a loss. I need now only apply for a copyof the register of the decease of Jasper Carroll, who, as you do notdeny, died under personal restraint in jail; in Baton Rouge Jail inLouisiana, I have no doubt you intended to add. "

She glared at him in silence. 

"Some dates acquire a peculiar interest when compared, " continuedCharles, "but I will not detain you any longer with business details ofthis kind, as I have no doubt that you will wish to superintend yourpacking. "

"I won't go. "

"On the contrary, you will leave this house in half an hour. Thedog-cart is ordered to take you to the station. "

"What if I refuse to go?"

"Extreme measures are always to be regretted, especially with a lady, "said Charles. "Nothing, in short, would be more repugnant to me; but Ifear, as a magistrate, it would be my duty to--" And he shrugged hisshoulders, wondering what on earth could be done for the moment if shepersisted. "But, " he continued, "motives of self-interest suggest theadvisability of withdrawing, even if I were not here to enforce it. WhenI take into consideration the trouble and expense you have incurred incoming here, and the subsequent disappointment of the affections, awidow's affections, I feel justified in offering, though without myfriend's permission, to pay your journey back to America, an offer whichany further unpleasantness or delay would of course oblige me toretract. "

She hesitated, and he saw his advantage and kept it. 

"You have not much time to lose, " he said, laying his watch on thetable, "unless you would prefer the house-keeper to do your packing foryou. No? I agree with you. On a sea voyage especially, one likes to knowwhere one's things are. If I give you a check for your return journey, Ishall, of course, expect you to sign a paper to the effect that you haveno claim on Mr. Dare, that you never were his legal wife, and that youwill not trouble him in future. You would like a few moments forreflection? Good! I will write out the form while you consider, as thereis no time to be lost. "

He looked about for writing materials, and, finding only an ancientinkstand and pen, took a note from his pocket-book and tore a blankhalf-sheet off it. His quiet deliberate movements awed her as heintended they should. She glanced first at him writing, then at the goldwatch on the table between them, the hours of which were marked on thehalf-hunting face by alternate diamonds and rubies, each stone being thememorial of a past success in shooting-matches. The watch impressed her;to her practised eye it meant a very large sum of money, and she knewthe power of money; but the cool, unconcerned manner of this tall, keen-eyed Englishman impressed her still more. As she looked at him heceased writing, got out a check, and began to fill it in. 

"What Christian name?" he asked, suddenly. 

"Ellen, " she replied, taken aback. 

"Payable to order or bearer?"

"Bearer, " she said, confused by the way he took her decision forgranted. 

"Now, " he said, authoritatively, "sign your name there;" and he pushedthe form he had drawn up towards her. "I am sorry I cannot offer you abetter pen. "

She took the pen mechanically and signed her name--_Ellen Carroll_. Charles's light eyes gave a flash as she did it. 

"Manner is everything, " he said to himself. "I believe the mention ofthat imaginary policeman may have helped, but a little stage effect didthe business. "

"Thank you, " he said, taking the paper, and, after glancing at thesignature, putting it in his pocket-book. "Allow me to give youthis"--handing her the check. "And now I will ring for the house-keeper, for you will barely have time to make the arrangements for your journey. I can allow you only twenty minutes. " He rang the bell as he spoke. 

She started up as if unaware how far she had yielded. A rush of angrycolor flooded her face. 

"I won't have that impertinent woman touching my things. "

"That is as you like, " said Charles, shrugging his shoulders; "but shewill be in the room when you pack. It is my wish that she should bepresent. " Then turning to the butler, who had already answered the bell, "Desire the house-keeper to go to Mrs. Carroll's rooms at once, and togive Mrs. Carroll any help she may require. "

Mrs. Carroll looked from the butler to Charles with baffled hatred inher eyes. But she knew the game was lost, and she walked out of the roomand up-stairs without another word, but with a bitter consciousness inher heart that she had not played her cards well, that, though herdownfall was unavoidable, she might have stood out for better terms forher departure. She hated Dare, as she threw her clothes together intoher trunks, and she hated Mrs. Smith, who watched her do so with foldedhands and with a lofty smile; but most of all she hated Charles, whosevoice came up to the open window as he talked to Dare's coachman, already at the door, about splints and sore backs. 

Charles felt a momentary pity for the little woman when she came down atlast with compressed lips, casting lightning glances at the grinningservants in the background, whom she had bullied and hectored over inthe manner of people unaccustomed to servants, and who were rejoicing inthe ignominy of her downfall. 

Her boxes were put in--not carefully. 

Charles came forward and lifted his cap, but she would not look at him. Grasping a little hand-bag convulsively, she went down the steps, andgot up, unassisted, into the dog-cart. 

"You have left nothing behind, I hope?" said Charles, civilly, for thesake of saying something. 

"She have left nothing, " said Mrs. Smith, swimming forward with dignity, "and she have also took nothing. I have seen to that, Sir Charles. "

"Good-bye, then, " said Charles. "Right, coachman. "

Mrs. Carroll's eyes had been wandering upward to the old house risingabove her with its sunny windows and its pointed gables. Perhaps, afterall the sordid shifts and schemes of her previous existence, she hadimagined she might lead an easier and a more respectable life withinthose walls. Then she looked towards the long green terraces, thevalley, and the forest beyond. Her lip trembled, and turning suddenly, she fixed her eyes with burning hatred on the man who had ousted herfrom this pleasant place. 

Then the coachman whipped up his horse, the dog-cart spun over thesmooth gravel between the lines of stiff, clipped yews, and she wasgone. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Mr. Alwynn had returned from his eventful morning call at Vandon verygrave and silent. He shook his head when Ruth came to him in the studyto ask what the result had been, and said Dare would tell her himself onhis return from London, whither he had gone on business. 

Ruth went back to the drawing-room. She had not strength or energy totry to escape from Mrs. Alwynn. Indeed it was a relief not to be alonewith her own thoughts, and to allow her exhausted mind to be towed alongby Mrs. Alwynn's, the bent of whose mind resembled one of thosemechanical toy animals which, when wound up, will run very fast in anydirection, but if adroitly turned, will hurry equally fast the oppositeway. Ruth turned the toy at intervals, and the morning was draggedthrough, Mrs. Alwynn in the course of it exploring every realm--known toher--of human thought, now dipping into the future, and speculating onspring fashions, now commenting on the present, now dwelling fondly onthe past, the gayly dressed, officer-adorned past of her youth. 

There was a meal, and after that it was the afternoon. Ruth supposedthat some time there would be another meal, and then it would beevening, but it was no good thinking of what was so far away. Shebrought her mind back to the present. Mrs. Alwynn had just finished adetailed account of a difference of opinion between herself and thecurate's wife on the previous day. 

"And she had not a word to say, my dear, not a word--quite _hors decombat_--so I let the matter drop. And you remember that beautiful pigwe killed last week? You should have gone to look at it hanging up, Ruth, rolling in fat, it was. Well, it is better to give than toreceive, so I shall send her one of the pork-pies. And if you will getme one of those round baskets which I took the dolls down to theschool-feast in--they are in the lowest shelf of the oak chest in thehall--I'll send it down to her at once. "

Ruth fetched the basket and put it down by her aunt. Reminiscences ofthe school-feast still remained in it, in the shape of ends of ribbonand lace, and Mrs. Alwynn began to empty them out, talking all the time, when she suddenly stopped short, with an exclamation of surprise. 

"Goodness! Well, now! I'm sure! Ruth!"

"What is it, Aunt Fanny?"

"Why, my dear, if there isn't a letter for you under the odds and ends, "holding it up and gazing resentfully at it; "and now I remember, aletter came for you on the morning of the school-feast, and I said toJohn, 'I sha'n't forward it, because I shall see Ruth this afternoon, 'and, dear me! I just popped it into the basket, for I thought you wouldlike to have it, and you know how busy I was, Ruth, that day, first onething and then another, so much to think of--and--_there it is_. "

"I dare say it is of no importance, " said Ruth, taking it from her, while Mrs. Alwynn, repeatedly wondering how such a thing could havehappened to a person so careful as herself, went off with her basket tothe cook. 

When she returned in a few minutes she found Ruth standing by thewindow, the letter open in her hand, her face without a vestige ofcolor. 

"Why, Ruth, " she said, actually noticing the alteration in herappearance, "is your head bad again?"

Ruth started violently. 

"Yes--no. I mean--I think I will go out. The fresh air--"

She could not finish the sentence. 

"And that tiresome letter--did it want an answer?"

"None, " said Ruth, crushing it up unconsciously. 

"Well, now, " said Mrs. Alwynn, "that's a good thing, for I'm sure Ishall never forget the way your uncle was in once, when I put a letterof his in my pocket to give him (it was a plum-colored silk, Ruth, donewith gold beads in front), and then I went into mourning for my poordear Uncle James--such an out-of-the-common person he was, Ruth, andsuch a beautiful talker--and it was not till six months later--niece'smourning, you know--that I had the dress on again--and a business I hadto meet it, for all my gowns seem to shrink when they are put by--and Iput my hand in the pocket, and--"

But Ruth had disappeared. 

Mrs. Alwynn was perfectly certain at last that something must be wrongwith her niece. Earlier in the day she had had a headache. Reasoning byanalogy, she decided that Ruth must have eaten something at Mrs. Thursby's dinner-party which had disagreed with her. If any one was ill, she always attributed it to indigestion. If Mr. Alwynn coughed, or ifshe read in the papers that royalty had been unavoidably preventedattending some function at which its presence had been expected, sheinstantly put down both mishaps to the same cause; and when Mrs. Alwynnhad come to a conclusion it was not her habit to keep it to herself. 

She told Lady Mary the exact state in which, reasoning always byanalogy, she knew Ruth's health must be, when that lady drove over thatafternoon in the hope of seeing Ruth, partly from curiosity, or, rather, a Christian anxiety respecting the welfare of others, and partly, too, from a real feeling of affection for Ruth herself. Mrs. Alwynn bored herintensely; but she sat on and on in the hope of Ruth's return, who hadgone out, Mrs. Alwynn agreeing with every remark she made, and treatingher with that pleased deference of manner which some middle-classpeople, not otherwise vulgar, invariably drop into in the presence ofrank; a Scylla which is only one degree better than the Charybdis ofwould-be ease of manner into which others fall. If ever the enormousadvantages of noble birth and ancient family, with all their attendantheirlooms and hereditary instincts of refinement, chivalrous feeling, and honor, become in future years a mark for scorn (as already they area mark for the envy that calls itself scorn), it will be partly thefault of the vulgar adoration of the middle classes. Mrs. Alwynn being, as may possibly have already transpired in the course of this narrative, a middle-class woman herself, stuck to the hereditary instincts of _her_class with a vengeance, and when Ruth at last came in Lady Mary wasthankful. 

Her cold, pale eyes lighted up a little as she greeted Ruth, and lookedsearchingly at her. She saw by the colorless lips and nervouscontraction of the forehead, and by the bright, restless fever of theeyes that had formerly been so calm and clear, that something wasamiss--terribly amiss. 

"I've been telling Lady Mary how poorly you've been, Ruth, ever sinceMrs. Thursby's dinner-party, " said Mrs. Alwynn, by way of opening theconversation. 

But in spite of so auspicious a beginning the conversation flagged. LadyMary made a few conventional remarks to Ruth, which she answered, andMrs. Alwynn also; but there was a constraint which every momentthreatened a silence. Lady Mary proceeded to comment on the poachingaffray of the previous night, and the arrest of a man who had beenseriously injured; but at her mention of the subject Ruth became sosilent, and Mrs. Alwynn so voluble, that she felt it was useless to stayany longer, and had to take her leave without a word with Ruth. 

"Something is wrong with that girl, " she said to herself, as she droveback to Atherstone. "I know what it is. Charles has been behaving in hisusual manner, and as there is no one else to point out to him howinfamous such conduct is, I shall have to do it myself. Shameful! Thatcharming, interesting girl! And yet, and yet, there was a look in herface more like some great anxiety than disappointment. If she had had adisappointment, I do not think she would have let any one see it. ThoseDeyncourts are all too proud to show their feelings, though they havegot them, too, somewhere. Perhaps, on the whole, considering howexcessively disagreeable and scriptural Charles can be, and whatunexpected turns he can give to things, I had better say nothing to himat present. "

The moment Lady Mary had left the house, Ruth hurried to her uncle'sstudy. He was not there. He had not yet come in. She gave a gesture ofdespair, and flung herself down in the old leather chair opposite to hisown, on which many a one had sat who had come to him for help orconsolation. All the buttons had been gradually worn off that chair byrestless or heavy visitors. Some had been lost, but others--the greaterpart, I am glad to say--Mr. Alwynn had found and had deposited in aSèvres cup on the mantle-piece, till the wet afternoon should come whenhe and his long packing-needle should restore them to their home. 

The room was very quiet. On the mantle-piece the little conscientioussilver clock ticked, orderly, gently (till Ruth could hardly bear thesound), then hesitated, and struck a soft, low tone. She started to herfeet, and paced up and down, up and down. Would he never come in? Shedared not go out to look for him for fear of missing him. Why did not hecome back when she wanted him so terribly? She sat down again. Shetried to be patient. It was no good. Would he never come?

She heard a sound, rushed out to meet him in the passage, and pulled himinto the study. 

"Uncle John, " she gasped, holding out a letter in her shaking hand. "That man who was taken up last night was--Raymond. He is in prison. Heis ill. Let us go to him, " and she explained as best she could that aletter had only just been found written to her by Raymond in July, warning her he was in the neighborhood of Arleigh, near the old nurse'scottage, and that she might see him at any moment, and must have moneyin readiness. The instant she had read the letter she rushed up toArleigh, to see her old nurse, and met her coming down, in greatagitation, to tell her that Raymond, whom she had shielded once beforeunder promise of secrecy, had been arrested the night before. 

In a quarter of an hour Mr. Alwynn and Ruth were driving swiftly throughthe dusk, in a close carriage, in the direction of D----. On their waythey met a dog-cart driving as quickly in the opposite direction whichgrazed their wheel as it passed; and Ruth, looking out, caught aglimpse, by the flash of their lamps, of Charles's face, with a lookupon it so fierce and haggard that she shivered in nameless forebodingof evil, wondering what could have happened to make him look like that. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

It was still early on the following morning that Dare, forgetting, as wehave seen, his promise to Charles, arrived at Slumberleigh Rectory--soearly that Mrs. Alwynn was still ordering dinner, or, in other words, was dashing from larder to scullery, from kitchen to dairy, with herusual energy. He was shown into the empty drawing-room, where, afterpacing up and down, he was reduced to the society of a photograph album, which, in his present excited condition, could do little to soothe thetumult of his mind. Not that any discredit should be thrown on Mrs. Alwynn's album, a gorgeous concern with a golden "Fanny" embossed on it, which afforded her infinite satisfaction, inside which her friends'portraits appeared to the greatest advantage, surrounded by birds andnests and blossoms of the most vivid and life-like coloring. Mr. Alwynnwas encompassed on every side by kingfishers and elaborate bone nests, while Ruth's clear-cut face looked out from among long-tailed tomtits, arranged one on each side of a nest crowded with eggs, on which a stronglight had been thrown. 

Dare was still looking at Ruth's photograph, when Mr. Alwynn came in. 

"Do you wish to speak to Ruth?" he asked, gravely. 

"Now, at once. " Dare was surprised that Mr. Alwynn, with whom he hadbeen so open, should be so cold and unsympathetic in manner. Thealteration and alienation of friends is certainly one of the saddest andmost inexplicable experiences of this vale of tears. 

"You will find her in the study, " continued Mr. Alwynn. "She isexpecting you. I have told her nothing, according to your wish. I hopeyou will explain everything to her in full, that you will keep nothingback. "

"I will explain, " said Dare; and he went, trembling with excitement, into the study. Fired by Charles's example, he had made a sublimeresolve as he skimmed across the fields, made it in a hurry, in a momentof ecstasy, as all his resolutions were made. He felt he had never actedsuch a noble part before. He only feared the agitation of the momentmight prevent him doing himself justice. 

Ruth rose as he came in, but did not speak. A swift spasm passed overher face, leaving it very stern, very fixed, as he had never seen it, ashe had never thought of seeing it. An overwhelming suspense burned inthe dark, lustreless eyes which met his own. He felt awed. 

"Well?" she said, pressing her hands together, and speaking in a lowvoice. 

"Ruth, " said Dare, solemnly, laying his outspread hand upon his breastand then extending it in the air, "I am free. "

Ruth's eyes watched him like one in torture. 

"How?" she said, speaking with difficulty. "You said you were freebefore. "

"Ah!" replied Dare, raising his forefinger, "I said so, but it was anerror. I go to Vandon, and she will not go away. I go to London to mylawyer, and he says she is my wife. "

"You told me she was not. "

"It was an error, " repeated Dare. "I had formerly been a husband to her, but we had been divorced; it was finished, wound up, and I thought shewas no more my wife. There is in the English law something extraordinarywhich I do not comprehend, which makes an American divorce to remain amarriage in England. "

"Go on, " said Ruth, shading her eyes with her hand. 

"I come back to Vandon, " continued Dare, in a suppressed voice, "I comeback overwhelmed, broken down, crushed under feet; and then, "--he wasbecoming dramatic, he felt the fire kindling--"I meet a friend, a nobleheart, I confide in him. I tell all to Sir Charles Danvers, "--Ruth'shand was trembling--"and last night he finds out by a chance that shewas not a true widow when I marry her, that her first husband was yetalive, that I am free. This morning he tells me all, and I am here. "

Ruth pressed her hands before her face, and fairly burst into tears. 

He looked at her in astonishment. He was surprised that she had anyfeelings. Never having shown them to the public in general, likehimself, he had supposed she was entirely devoid of them. She nowappeared quite _émue_. She was sobbing passionately. Tears came into hisown eyes as he watched her, and then a light dawned upon him for thesecond time that day. Those tears were not for him. He folded his armsand waited. How suggestive in itself is a noble attitude!

After a few minutes Ruth overcame her tears with a great effort, and, raising her head, looked at him, as if she expected him to speak. Thesuspense was gone out of her dimmed eyes, the tension of her face wasrelaxed. 

"I am free, " repeated Dare, "and I have your promise that if I am freeyou will still marry me. "

Ruth looked up with a pained but resolute expression, and she would havespoken if he had not stopped her by a gesture. 

"I have your promise, " he repeated. "I tell my friend, Sir CharlesDanvers, I have it. He also loves. He does not tell me so; he is notopen with me, as I with him, but I see his heart. And yet--figure toyourself--he has but to keep silence, and I must go away, I must give upall. I am still married--_Ou!_--while he--But he is noble, he issublime. He sacrifices love on the altar of honor, of truth. He tellsall to me, his rival. He shows me I am free. He thinks I do not know hisheart. But it is not only he who can be noble. " (Dare smote himself uponthe breast. ) "I also can lay my heart upon the altar. Ruth, "--with greatsolemnity--"do you love him even as he loves you?"

There was a moment's pause. 

"I do, " she said, firmly, "with my whole heart. "

"I knew it. I divined it. I sacrifice myself. I give you back yourpromise. I say farewell, and voyage in the distance. I return no more toVandon. There is no longer a home for me in England. I leave only behindwith you the poor heart you have possessed so long!"

Dare was so much affected by the beauty of this last sentence that hecould say no more, but even at that moment, as he glanced at Ruth to seewhat effect his eloquence had upon her, she looked so pallid and thin(her beauty was so entirely eclipsed) that the sacrifice did not seemquite so overwhelming, after all. 

She struggled to speak, but words failed her. 

He took her hands and kissed them, pressed them to his heart (it was apity there was no one there to see), endeavored to say something more, and then rushed out of the room. 

She stood like one stunned after he had left her. She saw him a momentlater cross the garden, and flee away across the fields. She knew shehad seen that gray figure and jaunty gray hat for the last time; but shehardly thought of him. She felt she might be sorry for him presently, but not now. 

The suspense was over. The sense of relief was too overwhelming to admitof any other feeling at first. She dropped on her knees beside thewriting-table, and locked her hands together. 

"_He told_, " she whispered to herself. "Thank God! Thank God!"

Two happy tears dropped onto Mr. Alwynn's old leather blotting-book, that worn cradle of many sermons. 

Was this the same world? Was this the same sun which was shining in uponher? What new songs were the birds practising outside? A strangewonderful joy seemed to pervade the very air she breathed, to flood herinmost soul. She had faced her troubles fairly well, but at this newgreat happiness she did not dare to look; and with a sudden involuntarygesture she hid her face in her hands. 

It would be rash to speculate too deeply on the nature of Dare'sreflections as he hurried back to Atherstone; but perhaps, under thevery real pang of parting with Ruth, he was sustained by a sense of themagnanimity of what, had he put it into words, he would have called hisattitude, and possibly also by a lurking conviction, which had assistedhis determination to resign her that life at Vandon, after the episodeof the American wife's arrival, would be a social impossibility, especially to one anxious and suited to shine in society. Be that how itmay, whatever had happened to influence him most of the chance emotionof the moment, it would be tolerably certain that in a few hours hewould be sorry for what he had done. He was still, however, in a stateof mental exaltation when he reached Atherstone, and began fumblingnervously with the garden-gate. Charles, who had been stalking up anddown the bowling-green, went slowly towards him. 

"What on earth do you mean by going off in that way?" he asked, coldly. 

"Ah!" said Dare, perceiving him, "and she--the--is she gone?"

"Yes, half an hour ago. Your dog-cart has come back from taking her tothe station, and is here now. "

Dare nodded his head several times, and stood looking at him. 

"I have been to Slumberleigh, " he said. 

"Yes, contrary to agreement. "

"My friend, " Dare said, seizing the friend's limp, unresponsive hand andpressing it, "I know now why you keep silence last night. I reason withmyself. I see you love her. Do not turn away. I have seen her. I havegiven her back her promise. I give her up to you whom she loves; andnow--I go away, not to return. "

And then, in the full view of the Atherstone windows, of the butler, andof the dog-cart at the front door, Dare embraced him, kissing theblushing and disconcerted Charles on both cheeks. Then, in a moment, before the latter had recovered his self-possession, Dare had darted tothe dog-cart, and was driving away. 

Charles looked after him in mixed annoyance and astonishment, until henoticed the butler's eye upon him, when he hastily retreated, with aheightened complexion, to the shrubberies. 

CONCLUSION. 

It was the last day of October, about a week after a certain very quietlittle funeral had taken place in the D---- Cemetery. The death ofRaymond Deyncourt had appeared in the papers a day or two afterwards, without mention of date or place, and it was generally supposed that ithad taken place some considerable time previously, without the knowledgeof his friends. 

Charles had been sitting for a long time with Mr. Alwynn, and after heleft the rectory he took the path over the fields in the direction ofthe Slumberleigh woods. 

The low sun was shining redly through a golden haze, was sending longburning shafts across the glade where Charles was pacing. He sat down atlast upon a fallen tree to wait for one who should presently come bythat way. 

It was a still, clear afternoon, with a solemn stillness that speaks ofcoming change. Winter was at hand, and the woods were transfigured witha passing glory, like the faces of those who depart in peace when deathdraws nigh. 

Far and wide in the forest the bracken was all aflame--aflame beneaththe glowing trees. The great beeches had turned to bronze and ruddygold, and had strewed the path with carpets glorious and rare, which thefirst wind would sweep away. Upon the limes the amber leaves still hung, faint yet loath to go, but the horse-chestnut had already dropped itsgarment of green and yellow at its feet. 

A young robin was singing at intervals in the silence, telling how thesecrets of the nests had been laid bare, singing a requiem on the dyingleaves and the widowed branches, a song new to him, but with the oldplaintive rapture in it that his fathers had been taught before himsince the world began. 

 * * * * *

She came towards him down the yellow glade through the sunshine and theshadow, with a spray of briony in her hand. Neither spoke. She put herhands into the hands that were held out for them, and their eyes met, grave and steadfast, with the light in them of an unalterable love. Solong they had looked at each other across a gulf. So long they had stoodapart. And now, at last--at last--they were together. He drew her closeand closer yet. They had no words. There was no need of words. And inthe silence of the hushed woods, and in the silence of a joy too deepfor speech, the robin's song came sweet and sad. 

"Charles!"

"Ruth!"

"I should like to tell you something. "

"And I should like to hear it. "

"I know what Raymond told you to conceal. I went to him just after youdid. We passed you coming back. He did not know me at first. He thoughtI was you, and he kept repeating that you must keep your own counsel, and that, unless you showed Mr. Dare's marriage was illegal, he wouldnever find it out. At last, when he suddenly recognized me, he seemedhorror-struck, and the doctor came in and sent me away. "

Charles knew now why Raymond had sent for him the second time. 

There was a long pause. 

"Ruth, did you think I should tell?"

"I hoped and prayed you would, but I knew it would be hard, because I dobelieve you actually thought at the time I should still consider it myduty to marry Mr. Dare. I never should have done such a thing after whathad happened. I was just going to tell him so when he began to give meup, and it evidently gave him so much pleasure to renounce me nobly inyour favor that I let him have it his own way, as the result was thesame. My great dread, until he came, was that you had not spoken. I hadbeen expecting him all the previous evening. Oh, Charles, Charles! Iwaited and watched for his coming as I had never done before. Yoursilence was the only thing I feared, because it was the only thing thatcould have come between us. "

"God forgive me! I meant at first to say nothing. "

"Only at first, " said Ruth, gently; and they walked on in silence. 

The sun had set. A slender moon had climbed unnoticed into the southernsky amid the shafts of paling fire which stretched out across the wholeheaven from the burning fiery furnace in the west. Across the gray dimfields voices were calling the cattle home. 

Charles spoke again at last in his usual tone. 

"You quite understand, Ruth, though I have not mentioned it so far, thatyou are engaged to marry me?"

"I do. I will make a note of it if you wish. "

"It is unnecessary. I shall be happy, when I am at leisure to remind youmyself. Indeed, I may say I shall make a point of doing so. There doesnot happen to be any one else whom you feel it would be your duty tomarry?"

"I can't think of any one at the moment. Charles, you never _could_ havebelieved I would marry _him_, after all?"

"Indeed, I did believe it. Don't I know the stubbornness of your heart?You see, you are but young, and I make excuses for you; but, after youhave been the object of my special and judicious training for a fewyears, I quite hope your judgment may improve considerably. "

"I trust it will, as I see from your remarks--it will certainly be allwe shall have to guide us both. "

 * * * * *

POSTSCRIPT. --Lady Mary would not allow even Providence any of the creditof Charles's engagement; she claimed the whole herself. She calledEvelyn to witness that from the first it had been her work entirely. Sheonly allowed Charles himself a very secondary part in the great event, to which she was apt to point in later years as the crowning work of alife devoted--under Church direction--to the temporal and spiritualwelfare of her fellow-creatures; and Charles avers that a mention of itin the long list of her virtues will some day adorn the tombstone whichshe has long since ordered to be in readiness. 

Molly was disconsolate for many days, but work, that panacea of grief, came to the rescue, and it was not long before she was secretly andbusily engaged on a large kettle-holder, with kettle and motto entwined, for Charles's exclusive use, without which she had been led tounderstand his establishment would be incomplete. When this work of artwas finished her feelings had become so far modified towards Ruth thatshe consented to begin another very small and inferior one--merely akettle on a red ground--for that interloper, but whether it was everpresented is not on record. 

 * * * * *

Vandon is to let. The grass has grown up again through the niches of thestone steps. The place looks wild and deserted. Mr. Alwynn comessometimes, and looks up at its shuttered windows and trailing, neglectedivy, but not often, for it gives him a strange pang at the heart. And ashe goes home the people come out of the dilapidated cottages, and askwistfully when the new squire is coming back. 

But Mr. Alwynn does not know. 

 THE END. 

 * * * * *

TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS CORRECTED

The following typographical errors in the text were corrected asdetailed here. 

In the text: " . .. Mrs. Alwynn had the delight of taking her completely. .. " the word "competely" was corrected to "completely. "

In the text: "You evidently imagine that I have gone in for thefashionable creed of the young man" the word "fashionble" was correctedto "fashionable. "

In the text: "Molly, tired of her castles, suggested that she might siton his knee, " the word "hnee" was corrected to "knee. "

In the text: " . .. Molly has formed a habit of expressing herself withunnecessary freedom. " the word "Mary" was changed to "Molly. "

In the text: " . .. As it reached the steps a shrill voice suddenlycalled" the word "suddedly" was corrected to "suddenly. "

In the text: "I considered her to be a pink-and-white nonentity. .. " theword "nonenity" was corrected to "nonentity. "

In the text: " . .. Pressing invitation to to come down. .. " the word"to" is repeated and one instance was removed. 

Misspelt proper names were also corrected: "Thurshy" was corrected to"Thursby, " "Alywnn" was corrected to "Alwynn, " and "Eveyln" wascorrected to "Evelyn. "

Some punctuation was also regularized. 

 * * * * *

BY LAFCADIO HEARN. 

TWO YEARS IN THE FRENCH WEST INDIES. By LAFCADIO HEARN. Pp. 517. Copiously Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth. $2 00. 

THE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARD. By ANATOLE FRANCE. The Translation andIntroduction by LAFCADIO HEARN. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

CHITA: A Memory of Last Island. By LAFCADIO HEARN. Pp. Vi. , 204. Post8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. 

 * * * * *

To such as are unfamiliar with Mr. Hearn's writings, "Chita" will be arevelation of how near language can approach the realistic power ofactual painting. His very words seem to have color--his pages glow--hisbook is a kaleidoscope. --_N. Y. Mail and Express. _

A powerful story, rich in descriptive passages. .. . The tale is a tragicone, but it shows remarkable imaginative force, and is one that will notsoon be forgotten by the reader. --_Saturday Evening Gazette_, Boston. 

Lafcadio Hearn's exquisite story. .. . A tale full of poetry and vividdescription that nobody will want to miss. --_N. Y. Sun. _

A pathetic little tale, simple but deeply touching, and told with thebeauty of phrasing and the deep and subtle sympathy of thepoet. --_Chicago Times. _

There is no page--no paragraph even--but holds more of vital qualitythan would suffice to set up an ordinary volume. --_The Epoch_, N. Y. 

. .. A wonderfully sustained effort in imaginative prose, full of theglamour and opulent color of the tropics and yet strong with the saltbreath of the sea. --_San Francisco Chronicle. _

Mr. Hearn is a poet, and in "Chita" he has produced a prose poem of muchbeauty. .. . His style is tropical, full of glow and swift movement andvivid impressions, reflecting strong love and keen sympatheticobservation of nature, picturesque and flexible, luxuriant in imagery, and marked by a delicate perception of effective values. --_N. Y. Tribune. _

In the too few pages of this wonderful little book tropical Nature findsa living voice and a speech by which she can make herself known. All thesplendor of her skies and the terrors of her seas make to themselves alanguage. So living a book has scarcely been given to ourgeneration. --_Boston Transcript. _

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 * * * * *

THE ODD NUMBER. 

Thirteen Tales by GUY DE MAUPASSANT. The Translation by JONATHANSTURGES. An Introduction by HENRY JAMES. Pp. Xviii. , 226. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. 

The tales included in "The Odd Number" are little masterpieces, and doneinto very clear, sweet, simple English. --WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. 

There is a charming individuality in each of these fascinating littletales; something elusive and subtle in every one, something quaint orsurprising, which catches the fancy and gives a sense of satisfactionlike that felt when one discovers a rare flower in an unexpected place. I predict that "The Odd Number" will soon be found lying in the cornerof the sofa or on the table in the drawing-rooms of cultivated womeneverywhere. --MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 

Masterpieces. .. . Nothing can exceed the masculine firmness, the quietforce, of his own style, in which every phrase is a close sequence, every epithet a paying piece, and the ground is completely cleared ofthe vague, the ready-made, and the second-best. Less than any one to-daydoes he beat the air, more than any one does he hit out from theshoulder. .. . He came into the literary world, as he has himself related, under the protection of the great Flaubert. This was but a dozen yearsago--for Guy de Maupassant belongs, among the distinguished Frenchmen ofhis period, to the new generation. --HENRY JAMES. 

As a rule I do not take kindly to translations. They are apt to resemblethe originals as canned or dried fruits resemble fresh. But Mr. Sturgeshas preserved flavor and juices in this collection. Each story is adelight. Some are piquant, some pathetic--all are fascinating. --MARIONHARLAND. 

What pure and powerful outlines, what lightness of stroke, and whatprecision; what relentless truth, and yet what charm! "The Beggar, " "LaMère Sauvage, " "The Wolf, " grim as if they had dropped out of themediæval mind; "The Necklace, " with its applied pessimism; thetremendous fire and strength of "A Coward"; the miracle of splendor in"Moonlight"; the absolute perfection of a short story in"Happiness"--how various the view, how daring the touch! What freshness, what invention, and what wit! They are beautiful and heart-breakinglittle masterpieces, and "The Odd Number" makes one feel that Guy deMaupassant lays his hand upon the sceptre which only Daudetholds. --HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. 

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 * * * * *

MARÍA:

A South American Romance. By JORGE ISAACS. Translated by ROLLO OGDEN. AnIntroduction by THOMAS A. JANVIER. Pp. Xvi. , 302. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. (_The Odd Number Series. _)

The great forests of cotton-wood, palms, and other tropical plants, thealmost impassable rivers, the rich flowers which seem to spread theirfragrance over every page, make a fascinating background to a story oftender sentiment. --_Boston Journal. _

Jorge Isaacs has given such a picture of home life, and of pure, almostideal love in a Spanish American home, as to prove him a poetical geniusand certainly a most charming romancer. .. . Simple and unaffected instyle, yet with a sublime pathos, it is without doubt worthy to beranked with "Paul and Virginia" among the classics. --_PresbyterianBanner_, Pittsburg. 

A treasure in romance which should at once take a well-deserved place inthe front rank of modern fiction. --_North American_, Phila. 

It bears all the evidence of truthful portrayal of the Spanish Americanhome, and the story is told so pleasingly and ingeniously as to make thechapters delightful. --_Chicago Inter-Ocean. _

Distinguished by a freshness and simplicity which recall some of theFrench sentimental novelists of the eighteenth century, and especiallyBernardin St. Pierre. --_N. Y. Tribune. _

No novel reader will fail to read this beautiful story, which shouldfind its way wherever the beautiful and the pure in literature arerespected and loved. --_Catholic Review_, N. Y. 

The charm of the book is its simplicity and purity. .. . The author is aliterary artist; his style is clear and winning, his thoughtstimulating, his purpose healthful. The story of love is told with muchsweetness and pathos, while the descriptive passages display singularstrength and sympathy for nature. --_Jewish Messenger_, N. Y. 

"María" is read and admired through all of South America. It would bedifficult to find an educated South American who is not familiar withthis idyllic story. --Judge JOSÉ ALFONSO, Chilian Delegate to thePan-American Congress. 

_María: Novela Americana_ is one of the most charming stories I haveever read, and worthy the leading author of any country. --W. H. BISHOP, in _Scribner's Magazine. _

Aside altogether from the broad glimpses it gives of a life whereof weNorthern Americans know absolutely nothing, it is a beautiful story, sadin its ending, but free from any tinge of coarseness or sensationalism, pure, sweet, warm with human love and tenderness. --_Chicago Times. _

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 * * * * *

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. 

A LITTLE JOURNEY IN THE WORLD. A Novel. Pp. Iv. , 396. Post 8vo, HalfLeather, $1 50. 

STUDIES IN THE SOUTH AND WEST, with Comments on Canada. Pp. Iv. , 484. Post 8vo, Half Leather, $1 75. 

A witty, instructive book, as brilliant in its pictures as it is warm inits kindness; and we feel sure that it is with a patriotic impulse thatwe say that we shall be glad to learn that the number of its readersbears some proportion to its merits and its power for good. --_N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. _

Sketches made from studies of the country and the people upon theground. .. . They are the opinions of a man and a scholar withoutprejudices, and only anxious to state the facts as they were. .. . Whentold in the pleasant and instructive way of Mr. Warner the studies areas delightful as they are instructive. --_Chicago Inter-Ocean. _

Perhaps the most accurate and graphic account of these portions of thecountry that has appeared, taken all in all. .. . It is a book mostcharming--a book that no American can fail to enjoy, appreciate, andhighly prize. --_Boston Traveller. _

THEIR PILGRIMAGE. Richly Illustrated by C. S. REINHART. Pp. Viii. , 364. Post 8vo, Half Leather, $2 00. 

Mr. Warner's pen-pictures of the characters typical of each resort, ofthe manner of life followed at each, of the humor and absurditiespeculiar to Saratoga, or Newport, or Bar Harbor, as the case may be, areas good-natured as they are clever. The satire, when there is any, is ofthe mildest, and the general tone is that of one glad to look on thebrightest side of the cheerful, pleasure-seeking world with which hemingles. --_Christian Union, N. Y. _

Mr. Reinhart's spirited and realistic illustrations are very attractive, and contribute to make an unusually handsome book. We have alreadycommented upon the earlier chapters of the text; and the happy blendingof travel and fiction which we looked forward to with confidence did, infact, distinguish this story among the serials of the year. --_N. Y. Evening Post. _

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 * * * * *

BY W. D. HOWELLS. 

A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents; 12mo, Cloth, 2 vols. , $2 00. 

MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Versions. With Portraits. 12mo, HalfCloth, $2 00. 

A portfolio of delightsome studies among the Italian poets; musings in agolden granary full to the brim with good things. .. . We venture to saythat no acute and penetrating critic surpasses Mr. Howells in trueinsight, in polished irony, in effective and yet graceful treatment ofhis theme, in that light and indescribable touch that lifts you over awhole sea of froth and foam, and fixes your eye, not on the froth andfoam, but on the solid objects, the true heart and soul of thetheme. --_Critic_, N. Y. 

ANNIE KILBURN. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Mr. Howells has certainly never given us in one novel so many portraitsof intrinsic interest. Annie Kilburn herself is a masterpiece of quietlyveracious art--the art which depends for its effect on unswervingfidelity to the truth of Nature. .. . It certainly seems to us the verybest book that Mr. Howells has written. --_Spectator_, London. 

APRIL HOPES. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Mr. Howells never wrote a more bewitching book. It is useless to denythe rarity and worth of the skill that can report so perfectly and withsuch exquisite humor all the fugacious and manifold emotions of themodern maiden and her lover. --_Philadelphia Press. _

THE MOUSE-TRAP, and Other Farces. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 00. 

Mr. Howells's gift of lively appreciation of the humors that lie on thesurface of conduct and conversation, and his skill in reproducing themin literary form, make him peculiarly successful in his attempts atgraceful, delicately humorous dialogue. .. . He can make his characterstalk delightful badinage, or he can make them talk so characteristicallyas to fill the reader with silent laughter over their completeunconsciousness of their own absurdity. --_Boston Advertiser. _

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 * * * * *

STEPNIAK'S WORKS. 

THE CAREER OF A NIHILIST. A Novel. 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

THE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY: Their Agrarian Condition, Social Life, andReligion. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

All thinking and disinterested people for whom Russia has an interestshould read this volume not only for Russia's sake, but for ourown. --_N. Y. Times. _

An absorbingly interesting volume. .. . Stepniak deserves the gratitude ofhis country and all mankind for painting Russian life as it is, andpointing out a practicable solution of its worst distresses. --_LiteraryWorld_, Boston. 

Altogether Stepniak's best book. --_St. James's Gazette_, London. 

A deeply interesting study of a subject full of strange newelements. --_N. Y. Tribune. _

For the student of Russia the book is invaluable. It contains moreinformation, and gives us a better insight into the economic anddomestic conditions of life among the peasants, and in Russia generally, than in any other book we know. --_The Academy_, London. 

RUSSIA UNDER THE TZARS. Illustrated. 4to, Paper, 20 cents. 

The book is very bold and very brilliant; it rests very largely on theauthor's personal experience, and no student of Russia should leave itunread or unnoticed. --_Boston Beacon. _

A graphic and startling picture of the despotism that rules theMuscovite nation, drawn by the pen of one of the ablest and mostpronounced Nihilists of the day. --_Chicago Journal. _

THE RUSSIAN STORM-CLOUD; or, Russia in Her Relation to NeighboringCountries. 4to, Paper, 20 cts. 

The author writes with a calmness and precision not generally associatedwith the class of revolutionists to which he belongs. --_N. Y. Sun. _

Stepniak gives a comprehensive view of the matter which he discusses, and his work is valuable as furnishing "the true inwardness" of affairsin the empire of the Tzar. --_Christian Advocate_, Cincinnati. 

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 * * * * *

SEBASTOPOL. 

By Count LEO TOLSTOÏ. Translated by F. D. MILLET from the French (_Scenesdu Siége de Sebastopol_). With Introduction by W. D. HOWELLS. WithPortrait. 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

In his Sebastopol sketches Tolstoï is at his best, and perhaps no morestriking example of his manner and form can be found. --_N. Y. Tribune. _

There is much strong writing in the book; indeed, it is strength itself, and there is much tenderness as well. --_Boston Traveller. _

Its workmanship is superb, and morally its influence should beimmense. --_Boston Herald. _

It carries us from the shams of society to the realities of war, andsets before us with a graphic power and minuteness the inner life ofthat great struggle in which Count Tolstoï took part. .. . A thrillingtale of besieged Sebastopol. All is intensely real, intensely life-like, and doubly striking from its very simplicity. We have before our eyeswar as it really is. --_N. Y. Times. _

The various incidents of the siege which he selects in order to presentit in its different aspects form a graphic whole which can never beforgotten by any one who has once read it, and it must be read to beappreciated. --_Nation_, N. Y. 

The descriptions, it is needless to say, are masterly. No novelist hasever before succeeded in thus depicting the emotions and utterances ofthe soldier in battle. --_Boston Beacon. _

A powerful appeal against warfare, written in that wonderful style whichlends life and character to the most trivial incidents he describes. Itis a fascinating book, and one of its chief merits is the introspectiveart and analytical power which every page reveals. .. . This is the mostnervous and dramatic production of Tolstoï that has been rendered intoEnglish. --_N. Y. Sun. _

It is, undoubtedly, the most graphic and powerful of Tolstoï's worksthat has been given to the American reading public. .. . It should be readand pondered by Christians, philanthropists, statesmen--by every one whocan think. --_Chicago Interior. _

The profound realism of the book, its native, organic strength, willmake it one of the great books of the day. Certainly the underlying, theever-present horrors of war have seldom been so strikingly setforth. --_St. Louis Republican. _

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 * * * * *

By CAPT. CHARLES KING. 

A WAR-TIME WOOING. Illustrated by R. F. ZOGBAUM. Pp. Iv. , 196. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 00. 

BETWEEN THE LINES. A Story of the War. Illustrated by GILBERT GAUL. Pp. Iv. , 312. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. 

In all of Captain King's stories the author holds to lofty ideals ofmanhood and womanhood, and inculcates the lessons of honor, generosity, courage, and self-control. --_Literary World_, Boston. 

The vivacity and charm which signally distinguish Captain King's pen. .. . He occupies a position in American literature entirely his own. .. . Hisis the literature of honest sentiment, pure and tender. .. . His heroesand his charming heroines are the product of the army, and it ispleasant to meet, even in this intangible way, women who can break theirhearts and men who would die rather than sacrifice their honor. --_N. Y. Press. _

A romance by Captain King is always a pleasure, because he has socomplete a mastery of the subjects with which he deals. .. . Captain Kinghas few rivals in his domain. .. . The general tone of Captain King'sstories is highly commendable. The heroes are simple, frank, andsoldierly; the heroines are dignified and maidenly in the mostunconventional situations. --_Epoch_, N. Y. 

All Captain King's stories are full of spirit and with the true ringabout them. --_Philadelphia Item. _

Captain King's stories of army life are so brilliant and intense, theyhave such a ring of true experience, and his characters are so life-likeand vivid that the announcement of a new one is always received withpleasure. --_New Haven Palladium. _

Captain King is a delightful story-teller. --_Washington Post. _

In the delineation of war scenes Captain King's style is crisp andvigorous, inspiring in the breast of the reader a thrill of genuinepatriotic fervor. --_Boston Commonwealth. _

Captain King is almost without a rival in the field he has chosen. .. . His style is at once vigorous and sentimental in the best sense of thatword, so that his novels are pleasing to young men as well as youngwomen. --_Pittsburgh Bulletin. _

It is good to think that there is at least one man who believes that allthe spirit of romance and chivalry has not yet died out of the world, and that there are as brave and honest hearts to-day as there were inthe days of knights and paladins. --_Philadelphia Record. _

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 * * * * *

BY THEODORE CHILD. 

DELICATE FEASTING. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. 

Will be found invaluable in many a household where the mistress (or themaster himself) takes an interest in preparing the supplies that come tothe table. --_N. Y. Journal of Commerce. _

Recognizing the fact that the wise man does not live to eat, but rathereats to live, the author furnishes such rules as will enable cooks tomake what is eaten palatable and healthful. People that give dinnerswill here find much assistance. --_Troy Press. _

The most hard-headed cook will acknowledge the pith, pointedness, andlucidity of Mr. Child's chapters on the chemistry of cookery, on themethods of preparing meats or vegetables, on acetaria, soups, andsauces; while the closing chapters on dining tables, dining-roomdecoration, table service, art in eating and on being invited to dine, have, to all who would further the amenities of civilization, a valuethat needs no comment. --_Brooklyn Times. _

A more sensible and delightful book of its kind would be difficult toname. .. . We cannot open this entertaining volume at any page withoutfinding matter to instruct, or at least to invite reflection. Theaphorisms on the gastronomic art, original or gathered from the highestauthorities on the subject, are thoroughly sound. --_N. Y. Sun. _

SUMMER HOLIDAYS. Travelling Notes in Europe. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. 

A delightful book of notes of European travel. .. . Mr. Child is an artcritic, and takes us into the picture-galleries, but we never get anylarge and painful doses of art information from this skilful anddiscriminating guide. There is not a page of his book that approaches todull reading. --_N. Y. Sun. _

Mr. Child is a shrewd observer and writer of an engaging style. Heinterests the reader with abundant information, and pleases him by hislively manner in communicating it. --_Hartford Courant. _

Mr. Child is a very agreeable travelling companion, and his choice ofplaces for a summer ramble is excellent. .. . The French chapters--onLimoges, Reims, Aix-les-Bains, and especially the voyage on Frenchrivers--are abundant in novelty and odd bits of interest, as well as inbeauty of scene and sympathy. --_Nation_, N. Y. 

A very pleasant volume of sketches by an accomplished traveller, whoknows how to see and how to describe, and who can give real informationwithout wearisome detail. --_Providence Journal. _

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 * * * * *

BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 

By LEW WALLACE. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature ofthis romance does not often appear in works of fiction. .. . Some of Mr. Wallace's writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenesdescribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill ofan accomplished master of style. --_N. Y. Times. _

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans atthe beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible andbrilliant. .. . We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; wewitness a sea-fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Romangalley, domestic interiors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among thetribes of the desert; palaces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Romanyouth, the houses of pious families of Israel. There is plenty ofexciting incident; everything is animated, vivid, and glowing. --_N. Y. Tribune. _

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader's interestwill be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced byall one of the greatest novels of the day. --_Boston Post. _

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, andthere is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc. , to greatly strengthen the semblance. --_Boston Commonwealth. _

"Ben-Hur" is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene islaid, and will help those who read it with reasonable attention torealize the nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Romanlife at Antioch at the time of our Saviour's advent. --_Examiner_, N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ's time clothed gracefully anddelicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. .. . Fewlate works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. --_N. Y. Graphic. _

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and warmas life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroicchapters of history. --_Indianapolis Journal. _

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with unwontedinterest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel andromance. --_Boston Journal. _

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