The Heart of Una Sackville

by Mrs George de Horne Vaizey________________________________________________________________This book is not really in the same league as Pixie, but itcertainly is a well-written story about the inner life of ayoung woman in search of a wooer and future husband in themonths and years after she leaves school. All the characters, men and women, boys and girls, are well-drawn, and the book isan enjoyable read, which we would recommend, particularly to thefairer sex. Dated in 1895, it contains contains a good dealof local and historical colour, and is worth reading for theinsight into the social background of girls of the professionalmiddle classes of those days. ________________________________________________________________"THE HEART OF UNA SACKVILLE"A TALE OF A YOUNG WOMAN'S SEARCH FOR THE FUTURE LOVE OF HER LIFE

BY MRS. GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY

CHAPTER ONE. 

 _May 13th, 1895_. Lena Streatham gave me this diary. I can't think what possessed her, for she has been simply hateful to me sometimes this last term. Perhapsit was remorse, because it's awfully handsome, with just the sort ofback I like--soft Russia leather, with my initials in the corner, and aclasp with a dear little key, so that you can leave it about withoutother people seeing what is inside. I always intended to keep a diarywhen I left school and things began to happen, and I suppose I must havesaid so some day; I generally do blurt out what is in my mind, and Lenaheard and remembered. She's not a bad girl, except for her temper, butI've noticed the hasty ones are generally the most generous. There arehundreds and hundreds of leaves in it, and I expect it will be yearsbefore it's finished. I'm not going to write things every day--that'ssilly! I'll just keep it for times when I want to talk, and Lorna isnot near to confide in. It's quite exciting to think all that will bewritten in these empty pages! What fun it would be if I could read themnow and see what is going to happen! About half way through I shall beengaged, and in the last page of all I'll scribble a few words in mywedding-dress before I go on to church, for that will be the end of UnaSackville, and there will be nothing more to write after that. It'svery nice to be married, of course, but stodgy--there's no moreexcitement. 

There has been plenty of excitement to-day, at any rate. I alwaysthought it would be lovely when the time came for leaving school, andhaving nothing to do but enjoy oneself, but I've cried simplybucketfuls, and my head aches like fury. All the girls were sofearfully nice. I'd no idea they liked me so much. Irene May begancrying at breakfast-time, and one or another of them has been at it thewhole day long. Maddie made me walk with her in the crocodile, andsaid, "Croyez bien, ma cherie, que votre Maddie ne vous oublierajamais. " It's all very well, but she's been a perfect pig to me manytimes over about the irregular verbs! She gave me her photograph in agilt frame--not half bad; you would think she was quite nice-looking. 

The kiddies joined together and gave me a purse--awfully decent of thepoor little souls--and I've got simply dozens of books and ornaments andlittle picture things for my room. We had cake for tea, but half thegirls wouldn't touch it. Florence said it was sickening to gorge whenyour heart was breaking. She is going to ask her mother to let herleave next term, for she says she simply cannot stand our bedroom afterI'm gone. She and Lorna don't get on a bit, and I was always having tokeep the peace. I promised faithfully I would write sheets upon sheetsto them every single week, because my leaving at half term makes itharder for them than if they were going home too. 

"We shall be so flat and dull without you, Circle!" Myra said. Shecalls me "Circle" because I'm fat--not awfully, you know, but just alittle bit, and she's so thin herself. "I think I'll turn over a newleaf and go in for work. I don't seem to have any heart for gettinginto scrapes by myself!"

"Well, we _have_ kept them going, haven't we!" I said. "Do youremember, " and then we talked over the hairbreadth escapes we had had, and groaned to think that the good times were passed. 

"I will say this for Una, " said Florence, "however stupid she may be atlessons, I never met a girl who was cleverer at scenting a joke!"

When Florence says a thing, she _means_ it, so it was an awfulcompliment, and I was just trying to look humble when Mary came in tosay Miss Martin wanted me in the drawing-room. I did feel bad, becauseI knew it would be our last real talk, and she looked simply sweet inher new blue dress and her Sunday afternoon expression. She can look asfierce as anything and snap your head off if you vex her, but she's adarling all the same, and I adore her. She's been perfectly sweet to methese three years, and we have had lovely talks sometimes--serioustalks, I mean--when I was going to be confirmed, and when father wasill, and when I've been homesick. She's so good, but not a bit goody, and she makes you long to be good too. She's just the right person tohave a girls' school, for she understands how girls feel, and that itisn't natural for them to be solemn, unless of course they are prigs, and they don't count. 

I sat down beside her and we talked for an hour. I wish I couldremember all the things she said, and put them down here to be my rulesfor life, but it's so difficult to remember. 

She said my gaiety and lightness of heart had been a great help to themall, and like sunshine in the school. Of course, it had led me intoscrapes at times, but they had been innocent and kindly, and so she hadnot been hard upon me. But now I was grown up and going out into thebattle of life, and everything was different. 

"You know, dear, the gifts which God gives us are our equipments forthat fight, and I feel sure your bright, happy disposition has beengiven to you to help you in some special needs of life. "

I didn't quite like her saying that! It made me feel creepy, as ifhorrid things were going to happen, and I should need my spirit to helpme through. I want to be happy and have a good time. I never canunderstand how people can bear troubles, and illnesses, and being poor, and all those awful things. I should die at once if they happened tome. 

She went on to say that I must make up my mind from the first not tolive for myself; that it was often a very trying time when a girl firstleft school and found little or nothing to occupy her energies at home, but that there were so many sad and lonely people in the world that noone need ever feel any lack of a purpose in life, and she advised me notto look at charity from a general standpoint, but to narrow it down tillit came within my own grasp. 

"Don't think vaguely of the poor all over the world; think of one personat your own gate, and brighten that life. I once heard a very good mansay that the only way he could reconcile himself to the seeminginjustice between the lots of the poor and the rich was by believingthat each of the latter was deputed by God to look after his poorerbrother, and was _responsible_ for his welfare. Find someone whom youcan take to your heart as your poor sister in God's great family, andhelp her in every way you can. It will keep you from growing selfishand worldly. In your parents' position you will, of course, go a greatdeal into society and be admired and made much of, as a bright, prettygirl. It is only natural that you should enjoy the experience, butdon't let it turn your head. Try to keep your frank, unaffectedmanners, and be honest in words and actions. Be especially careful notto be led away by greed of power and admiration. It is the best thingthat can happen to any woman to win the love of a good, true man, but itis cruel to wreck his happiness to gratify a foolish vanity. I hopethat none of my girls may be so forgetful of all that is true andwomanly. "

She looked awfully solemn. I wonder if she flirted when she was young, and he was furious and went away and left her! We always wondered whyshe didn't marry. There's a photograph of a man on her writing-table, and Florence said she is sure that was him, for he is in such a lovelyframe, and she puts the best flowers beside him like a shrine. 

Florence is awfully clever at making up tales. She used to tell us themin bed, (like that creature with the name in the _Arabian Nights_). Weused to say:

"Now then, Florence, go on--tell us Fraulein's love-story!" and shewould clear her throat, and cough, and say--"It was a glorious summerafternoon in the little village of Eisenach, and the sunshine peeringdown through the leaves turned to gold the tresses of young Elsa Behrendas she sat knitting under the trees. "

It was just like a book, and so true too, for Fraulein is alwaysknitting! The Romance de Mademoiselle was awfully exciting. There wasa duel in it, and one man was killed and the other had to run away, soshe got neither of them, and it was that that soured her temper. 

I really must go to bed--Lorna keeps calling and calling--and Florenceis crying still--I can hear her sniffing beneath the clothes. We shallbe perfect wrecks in the morning, and mother won't like it if I go homea fright. Heigho! the very last night in this dear old room! I hatethe last of anything--even nasty things--and except when we'vequarrelled we've had jolly times. It's awful to think I shall never bea school-girl any more! I don't believe I shall sleep a wink all night. I feel wretched. 

PS--Fancy calling me pretty! I'm so pleased. I shall look nicer stillin my new home clothes. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

 Bed-time; my own room. May 14th. It is different from school! My room is simply sweet, all newly done upas a surprise for me on my return. White paint and blue walls, andlittle bookcases in the corners, and comfy chairs and cushions, and awriting-table, and such lovely artistic curtains--dragons making facesat fleur-de-lys on a dull blue background. I'm awfully well off, andthey are all so good to me, I ought to be the happiest girl in theworld, but I feel sort of achey and strange, and a little bit lonely, though I wouldn't say so for the world. I miss the girls. 

It was awful this morning--positively awful. I should think there was aflood after I left--all the girls howled so, and I was sticking my headout of the carriage window all the journey to get my face cool before Iarrived. Father met me at the station, and we spanked up together inthe dog-cart. That was scrumptious. I do love rushing through the airbehind a horse like Firefly, and father is such an old love, and alwaysunderstands how you feel. He is very quiet and shy, and when anyoneelse is there he hardly speaks a word, but we chatter like anything whenwe are together. I have a kind of idea that he likes me best, thoughSpencer and Vere are the show members of the family. Spencer is theheir, and is almost always away because he is a soldier, and Vere isaway a lot too, because she hates the country, and likes visiting aboutand having a good time. She's awfully pretty, but--No! I won't say it. I hereby solemnly vow and declare that I shall never say nasty thingsof anyone in this book, only, of course, if they do nasty things, Ishall have to tell, or it won't be true. She isn't much with father, anyway, and he likes to be made a fuss of, because he's so quiethimself. Isn't it funny how people are like that! You'd think they'dlike you to be prim and quiet too, but they don't a bit, and the moreyou plague them the better they're pleased. 

"Back again, my girl, are you? A finished young lady, eh?" said father, flicking his whip. 

"Very glad of it, I can tell you. I'm getting old, and need someone tolook after me a bit. " He looked me up and down, with a sort of anxiouslook, as if he wanted to see if I were changed. "We had good timestogether when you were a youngster and used to trot round with me everymorning to see the dogs and the horses, but I suppose you won't care forthat sort of thing now. It will be all dresses and running about fromone excitement to another. You won't care for tramping about in thickboots with the old father!"

I laughed, and pinched him in his arm. "Don't fish! You know very wellI'll like it better than anything else. Of course, I shall like prettydresses too, and as much fun as I can get, but I don't think I shallever grow up properly, father--enough to walk instead of run, and smilesweetly instead of shrieking with laughter as we do at school. It willbe a delightful way of letting off steam to go off with you for somelong country rambles, and have some of our nice old talks. "

He turned and stared at me quite hard, and for a long time. He has sucha lot of wrinkles round his eyes, and they look so tired. I nevernoticed it before. He looked sort of sad, and as if he wantedsomething. I wonder if he has been lonely while I was away. Poor olddad! I'll be a perfect angel to him. I'll never neglect him for my ownamusement like Resolution number one! Sentence can't be finished. 

"How old are you, child?" father said at last, turning away with a sighand flicking Firefly gently with the whip, and I sat up straight andsaid proudly--

"Nearly nineteen. I begged to stay on another half year, you know, because of the exam, but I failed again in that hateful arithmetic: I'ma perfect dunce over figures, father; I hope you don't mind. I can singvery well; my voice was better than any of the other girls, and thatwill give you more pleasure than if I could do all the sums in theworld. They tried to teach me algebra, too. Such a joke; I once got anequation right. The teacher nearly had a fit. It was the most awfulfluke. "

"I don't seem to care much about your arithmetical prowess, " fathersaid, smiling. "I shall not ask you to help me with my accounts, but itwill be a pleasure to hear you sing, especially if you will indulge mewith a ballad now and then which I can really enjoy. You are older thanI thought; but keep as young as you can, child. I don't want to lose mylittle playfellow yet awhile. I've missed her very badly these lastyears. "

I liked to hear that. It was sad for him, of course, but I simply lovepeople to love me and feel bad when I'm gone. I was far and away themost popular girl at school, but it wasn't all chance as they seemed tothink. I'm sure I worked hard enough for the position. If a girldidn't like me I was so fearfully nice to her that she was simply forcedto come round. I said something like that to Lorna once, and she wasquite shocked, and called it self-seeking and greed for admiration, andall sorts of horrid names. I don't see it at all; I call it a mostamiable weakness. It makes you pleasant and kind even if you feelhorrid, and that must be nice. I felt all bubbling over with goodresolutions when father said that, and begged him to let me be not onlyhis playmate but his helper also, and to tell me at once what I coulddo. 

He smiled again in that sad sort of way grown-up people have, whichseems to say that they know such a lot more than you, and are sorry foryour ignorance. 

"Nothing definite, darling, " he said; "an infinite variety of thingsindefinite! Love me, and remember me sometimes among the newdistractions--that's about the best you can do;" and I laughed, andpinched him again. 

"You silly old dear! As if I could ever forget!" and just at thatmoment we drove up to the porch. 

If it had been another girl's mother, she would have been waiting at thedoor to receive me. I've been home with friends, so I know; but mymother is different. I don't think I should like it if she did come!It doesn't fit into my idea of her, some way. Mother is like a queen--everyone waits upon her, and goes up to her presence like a throne-room. I peeped into the mirror in the hall as I passed, and tucked back someends of hair, and straightened my tie, and then the door opened, andthere she stood--the darling!--holding out her arms to welcome me, withher eyes all soft and tender, as they used to be when she came to say"good night. " Mother is not demonstrative as a rule, so you simply loveit when she is. She looks quite young, and she was the beauty of thecounty when she was a girl, and I never did see in all my life anybodyso immaculately perfect in appearance! Her dresses fit as if she hadbeen melted into them; her skirts stand out, and go crinkling in and outinto folds just exactly like the fashion-plates; her hair looks as if ithad been done a minute before--I don't believe she would have a singleloose end if she were out in a tornado. It's the same, morning, noonand night; if she were wrecked on a desert island she would be a visionof elegance. It's the way she was born. I can't think how I came to beher daughter, and I know I'm a trial to her with my untidiness. 

We hugged each other, and she put her hands on each side of my face, andwe kissed and kissed again. She is taller than I am, and very dark, with beautiful aquiline features, and deep brown eyes. She is veryslight--I'm sure my waist is about twice as big--and her hands look sopretty with the flashing rings. I'm awfully proud of my mother!

"My darling girl! How rejoiced I am to have you back. Sit down hereand let me see you. How well you look, dear--not any thinner yet, Isee! It will be delightful to have you at home for good, for Vere isaway so much that I have felt quite bereft. Sit up, darling--don'tstoop! It will be so interesting to have another girl to bring out!There are plenty of young people about here now, so you need not bedull, and I hope we shall be great companions. You were a sad littlehoyden in the old days, but now that you have passed eighteen you willbe glad to settle down, won't you, dear, and behave like the woman youare. Have you no little brooch, darling, to keep that collar straightat the neck? It is all adrift, and looks so untidy. Those littlethings are of such importance. I had such a charming letter from MissMartin, full of nice speeches about you. She says you sing so sweetly. You must have some good lessons, for nothing is more taking than a youngvoice properly trained, and I hope you have no foolish nervousness aboutsinging in public. You must get over it, if you have, for I rely on youto help me when we have visitors. "

"I want to help you, mother. I will truly try, " I said wistfully. Idon't know why exactly, but I felt depressed all of a sudden. I wantedher to be so pleased at my return that she didn't notice anything butjust me, and it hurt to be called to order so soon. I looked across theroom, and caught a glimpse of our two figures reflected in a glass--sucha big, fair, tousled creature as I looked beside her, and my heart wentdown lower then ever. I shall disappoint her, I know I shall! Sheexpects me to be an elegant, accomplished young lady like Vere, and Ifeel a hoyden still, and not a bit a grown-up woman; besides, fathersaid I was to keep young. How am I to please them both, and have timeleft over to remember Miss Martin's lessons? It strikes me, UnaSackville, you have got your work cut out. 

Mother brought me up to see my room. She has looked after it allherself, and taken no end of trouble making the shades. It looked sweetin the sunshine, and I shall love sitting in the little round windowwriting my adventures in this book; but now that it's dark I miss thegirls: I wonder what Lorna and Florence are doing now? Talking of me, Iexpect, and crying into their pillows. It seems years since we parted, and already I feel such miles apart. It seems almost impossible tobelieve that last night I was eating thick bread-and-butter for supperand lying down in the middle bed in the bare old dormitory. Now alreadyI feel quite grown up and responsible. Oh, if I live to be a hundredyears old, I shall never, never be at school again! I've been so happy. I wonder, I wonder shall I ever be as happy again?

CHAPTER THREE. 

 _June 20th_. I've been home a month. I've got tails to my dresses and silk linings, and my hair done up like the people in advertisements, and parasols withfrills, and a pearl necklace to wear at nights with real eveningdresses. I wear white veils, too, and such sweet hats--I don't mindsaying it here where no one will see, but I really do look most awfullynice. I should just simply love to be lolling back in the victoria, allfrills and feathers, and the crocodiles to march by. Wouldn't theystare! It was always so interesting to see how the girls looked grownup. 

The weather has been lovely, and I do think ours is the very dearest oldhouse in the world. It is described in the guide-books as "a fine oldJacobean mansion, " and all sorts of foreign royal creatures have stayedhere as a place of refuge in olden days before father's people boughtit. It is red brick covered with ivy, and at the right side the wallsgo out in a great semicircle, with windows all round giving the mostlovely view. Opposite the door is a beautiful old cedar, which I usedto love to climb as a child, and should now if I had my own way. Itslower branches dip down to the grass and make the most lovely bridge tothe old trunk. On the opposite side of the lawn there's another hugetree; hardly anyone knows what it is, but it's a Spanish maple really--such a lovely thing, all shining silver leaves on dark stems. I used tolook from one to the other and think that they looked like youth andage, and summer and winter, and all sorts of poetical things like that. 

On the south side there is another entrance leading down to the terraceby a long flight of stone stairs, the balustrades of which are coveredby a tangle of clematis and roses. When I come walking down those stepsand see the peacock strutting about in the park, and the old sundial, and the row of beeches in the distance, I feel a thrill of somethingthat makes me hot and cold and proud and weepy all at the same time. Father says he feels just the same, in a man-ey way, of course, and thatit is much the same thing as patriotism--love of the soil that has comedown to you from generations of ancestors, and that it's a right andnatural feeling and ought to be encouraged. I know it is in him, for hewill deny himself anything and everything to keep the place in order andgive his tenants a good time, but--Resolution number two--I, UnaSackville, solemnly vow to speak the plain truth about my own feelingsin this book, and not cover them up with a cloak of fine words--I thinkthere's a big sprinkling of conceit in my feelings. I _do_ like beingthe Squire's daughter, and having people stare at me as I go through thetown, and rush about to attend to me when I enter a shop. Ours is onlya little bit of a town, and there is so little going on that people takean extra special interest in us and our doings. I know some of thegirls quite well--the vicar's daughter and the doctor's, and the Heywoodgirls at the Grange, and I am always very nice to them, but I feel allthe time that I am being nice, and they feel it too, so we never seem tobe real friends. Is that being a snob, I wonder? If it is, it's asmuch their fault as mine, because they are quite different to me fromwhat they are to each other--so much more polite and well-behaved. 

I spend the mornings with father, and the afternoons with mother. Atfirst she had mapped out my whole day for me--practising, reading, driving, etcetera, but I just said straight out that I'd promised to gothe rounds with father, and I think she was glad, though very muchsurprised. 

"He will be so pleased to have you! It's nice of you, dear, to think ofit, and after all it will be exercise, and there's not much going on inthe morning. "

She never seemed to think I should enjoy it, and I suppose it would boreher as much to walk round to the stables and kennels, and talk to thekeepers about game, and the steward about new roofs to cottages, andcutting timber, as it does him to go to garden-parties and pay formalcalls. It seems strange to live together so long and to be sodifferent. 

I have not met many strangers as yet, because Vere is bringing down aparty of visitors for August, and mother is not in a hurry to take meabout until I have got all my things; but one morning, when I was outwith father, I met such a big, handsome man, quite young, with a brownface and laughing eyes, dressed in the nice country fashion which Ilove--Norfolk jacket, knickerbockers and leggings. Father hailed him atonce, and they talked together for a moment without taking any notice ofme, and then father remembered me suddenly, and said--

"This is my youngest daughter. Come home from school to play with me, haven't you, Babs?" and the strange man smiled and nodded, and said, "How do, Babs?" just as calmly and patronisingly as if I had been two. For a moment I was furious, until I remembered my hockey skirt and clothcap, and hair done in a door-knocker, with no doubt ends flying aboutall round my face. I daresay I looked fourteen at the most, and hethought I was home for the holidays. I decided that it would be ratherfun to foster the delusion, and behave just as I liked without thinkingof what was proper all the time, and then some day he would find out hismistake, and feel properly abashed. His name is Will Dudley, and he isstaying with Mr Lloyd, the agent for the property which adjoinsfather's, learning how to look after land, for some day he will inherita big estate from an uncle, so he likes to get all the experience hecan, and to talk to father, and go about with him whenever he has thechance, and father likes to have him--I could tell it by the way helooks and talks. We walked miles that morning, over gates and stiles, and across brooks without dreaming of waiting for the bridges, and Iclimbed and splashed with the best, and Mr Dudley twinkled his eyes atme, and said, "Well jumped, Babs!" and lifted me down from the stiles asif I had been a doll. He must be terrifically strong, for I am no lightweight, and he didn't seem to feel me at all. 

After that morning we were constantly meeting, and we grew to be quitefriends. He has thick, crinkly eyebrows, and is clean-shaven, which Ilike in his case, as his mouth has such a nice expression. He went ontreating me as a child, and father seemed to think it was quite natural. He likes to pretend I am young, poor dear, so that I may be hisplaymate as long as possible. 

Yesterday father went in to see some cottagers, and Mr Dudley and I satoutside on a log of wood, and talked while we waited for him like this. He--patronisingly--

"I suppose it's a great treat for you to getaway from school for a time. Where is your school? Town or country? Brighton--ugh!" and he made agrimace of disgust. "Shops--piers--hotels--an awful place! Not a bitof Nature left unspoiled; the very sea looks artificial and unlikeitself in such unnatural surroundings!"

"Plenty of crocodiles on the bank, however--that's natural enough!" Isaid pertly. I thought it was rather smart, too, but he smiled in asuperior "I-will-because-I-must, " sort of way, and said--

"How thankful you must be to get away from it all to this exquisitecalm!"

I don't know much about young men, except what I've seen of Spencer andhis friends, but they would call exquisite calm by a very differentname, so I decided at once that Mr Will Dudley must have had a secrettrouble which had made him hate the world and long for solitude. Perhaps it was a love affair! It would be interesting if he couldconfide in me, and I could comfort him, so I looked pensive, and said--

"You do get very tired of the glare and the dust! Some of the girlswear smoked glasses in summer, and you get so sick of marching up anddown the front. Do you hate Brighton only, or every towny place?"

"I hate all towns, and can't understand how anyone can live in them whois not obliged. I have tried it for the last five years, but neveragain!" He stretched his big shoulders, and drew a long breath ofdetermination. "I've said `Good-bye' for ever to a life of trammelledcivilisation, with its so-called amusements and artificial manners, andhollow friendships, and"--he put his hand to his flannel collar, andpatted it with an air of blissful satisfaction--"and stiff, uncomfortable clothing! It's all over and done with now, thankgoodness--a dream of the past!"

"And I am just beginning it! And I expect to like it very much, " Ithought to myself, but I didn't say so to him; and he went on mutteringand grumbling all the time he was rolling his cigarette and preparing tosmoke. 

"You don't understand--a child like you. It's a pity you ever should, but in a few years' time you will be so bound round with conventionsthat you will not dare to follow your own wishes, unless you make a boldstroke for liberty, as I have done, and free yourself once for all; butnot many people have the courage to do that--"

"I don't think it takes much courage to give up what one dislikes, andto do what one likes best, " I said calmly; and he gave a little jump ofsurprise, and stared at me over the smoke of the match with amused eyes, just as you look at a child who has said a funny thing--ratherprecocious for its age. 

"Pray, does that wise remark apply to me or to you?" he asked; and I putmy chin in the air and said--

"It was a general statement. Of course, I can't judge of your actions, and, for myself, I can't tell as yet what I _do_ like. I must try bothlives before I can decide. "

"Yes, yes. You must run the gauntlet. Poor little Babs!" he sighed;and after that we sat for quite an age without speaking a word. He wasremembering his secret, no doubt, and I was thinking of myself andwondering if it was really true that I was going to have such a badtime. That reminded me of Miss Martin and her advice, and it came to mewith a shock that I'd been home a whole month, and had been so taken upwith my own affairs that I had had no time to think of my "sister. " Iwas in a desperate hurry to find her at once. I always am in a hurrywhen I remember things, and the sight of the cottages put an idea intomy head. 

"Do you know the people who live in these cottages, Mr Dudley? I knewthe old tenants, of course, but these are new people, and I have notseen them. Are they old or young, and have they any children?"

He puffed out words and smoke in turns. 

"John Williams--_puff_--wife--_puff_--one baby, guaranteed to make asmuch noise as five--it's a marvel it's quiet now--_puff_. You cangenerally hear it a mile off--"

"Is it ill, then, the poor little thing?"

"Healthiest child in the world to judge from its appearance and thestrength of its lungs! Natural depravity, nothing else"--_puff_!

"And in the next house?"

"Thompson--oldish man--widower. Maiden sister to keep the house inorder--Thompson, too, I suspect by the look of him. Looks very sorryfor himself, poor soul!"

"What's the matter with him--rheumatism? Is he quite crippled or ableto get about?"

"Thompson? Splendid workman--agile as a boy. It was his mentalcondition to which I referred!"

"And in the end house of all?"

"Don't know the name. Middle-aged couple, singularly uninteresting, andtwo big hulking sons--"

Big--hulking! It was most disappointing! _No one_ was delicate! Itwisted about on my seat, and cried irritably--

"Are they _all_ well, every one of them? Are you quite sure? Are thereno invalid daughters, or crippled children, nor people like that?"

"Not that I know of, thank goodness! You don't mean to say you _want_them to be ill?" He stared at me as if I were mad, and then suddenlyhis face changed, and he said softly, "Oh, I see! You want to lookafter them! That's nice of you, and it would have been uncommonly nicefor them, too; but, never fear, you will find plenty of people to help, if that's what you want. Their troubles may not take quite such anobvious form as crutches, but they are in just as much need of sympathy, nevertheless. In this immediate neighbourhood, for instance--" Hepaused for a moment, and I knew he was going to make fun by the twinklein his eye and the solemn way he puffed out the smoke. "There's--myself!" So I just paid him back for his patronage, and led up to themystery by saying straight out--

"Yes, I know! I guessed by what you said about town that you had hadsome disappointment. I'm dreadfully sorry, and if there's anything atall that I can do--"

He simply jumped with surprise and stared at me in dead silence for amoment, and then--horrid creature!--he began to laugh and chuckle as ifit was the most amusing thing in the world. 

"So you have been making up stories about me, eh? Am I a blightedcreature? Am I hiding a broken heart beneath my Norfolk jacket? Has alovely lady scorned me and left me in grief to pine--eh, Babs? I didnot know you were harbouring such unkind thoughts of me. You can'taccuse me of showing signs of melancholy this last week, I'm sure, andas to my remarks about town, they were founded on nothing more romanticthan my rooted objection to smoke and dust, and bachelor diggings withcareless landladies. I assure you I have no tragic secrets to disclose!I'm sorry, as I'm sure you would find me infinitely more interestingwith a broken heart. "

"Oh, I'm exceedingly glad, of course; but if you are so happy andcontented I don't see how you need my help, " I said disagreeably; andjust then father came out of the cottage, and we started for home. 

Mr Dudley talked to him about business in the most proper fashion, butif he caught my eye, even in the middle of a sentence, he would drop hishead on his chest and put on the most absurd expression of misery, andthen I would toss my head and smile a scornful smile. Some day, when hefinds out how old I am, he will be ashamed of treating me like a child. 

William Dudley is the first stranger mentioned in these pages. For thatreason I shall always feel a kind of interest in him, but I amdisappointed in his character. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

 _July 10th_. To-day I went a round of calls with mother, driving round the countryfor over twenty miles. It was rather dull in one way and interesting inanother, for I do like to see other people's drawing-rooms and how theyarrange the things. Some are all new and garish, and look as if theywere never used except for an hour or two in the evening, and some aregrand and stiff like a hotel, and others are all sweet and chintzy andhome-like, with lots of plants and a scent of _pot-pourri_ in chinavases. That's the sort of room I like. I mean to marry a man whobelongs to a very ancient family, so that I may have lots of beautifulold furniture. 

Mother gave me histories of the various hostesses as we drove up to thehouses. 

"A dreadfully trying woman, I do hope she is out. " "Rather amusing. Ishould like you to see her. " "A most hopeless person--absolutely noconversation. Now, darling, take a lesson from her and never, neverallow yourself to relapse into monosyllables. It is such a hopelessstruggle if all one's remarks are greeted with a `No' or a `Yes, ' andwhen girls first come out they are very apt to fall into this habit. Make a rule that you will never reply to a question in less than fourwords, and it is wonderful what a help you will find it. 

"Twist the ends of your veil, dear, they are sticking out. .. Oh dear, dear, she is at home! I do have such shocking bad fortune. "

She trailed out of the carriage sighing so deeply that I was terrifiedlest the servant should hear. I shall never call on people unless Iwant to see them. It does seem such a farce to grumble because they areat home, and then to be sweet and pleasant when you meet. 

Mrs Greaves was certainly very silent, but I liked her. She lookedworn and tired, but she had beautiful soft brown eyes which looked atyou and seemed to say a great deal more than her lips. Do you know thekind of feeling when you like people and know they like you in return?I was perfectly certain Mrs Greaves had taken a fancy to me before shesaid, "I should like to introduce my daughter to you, " and sent amessage upstairs by the servant. I wondered what the girl would belike; a young edition of Mrs Greaves might be pretty, but there was anexpression on mother's face which made me uncertain. Then she came in, a pale badly dressed girl, with a sweet face and shy awkward manners. Her name was Rachel, and she took me to see the conservatory, and Iwondered what on earth we should find to say. Of course she asked firstof all--

"Are you fond of flowers?" and I remembered mother's rule and replied, "Yes, I love them. " That was four words, but it didn't seem to take usmuch further somehow, so I made a terrific effort and added, "But Idon't know much about their names, do you?"

"Yes, I think I do. I feel as if it was a kind of courtesy we owe themfor giving us so much pleasure. We take it as a slight if our ownfriends mispronounce or misspell our own names, and surely flowersdeserve as much consideration from us, " quoth she. 

Goodness! how frightfully proper and correct. I felt so quelled thatthere was no more spirit left in me, and I followed her round listeningto her learned descriptions and saying, "How pretty!" "Oh, really!" inthe most feeble manner you can imagine. 

All the while I was really looking at her more than the flowers, anddiscovering lots of things. Number one--sweet eyes just like hermother's; number two--sweet lips with tiny little white teeth like achild's; number three--a long white throat above that awful collar. Quotient--a girl who ought to be quite sweet, but who made herself afright. I wondered why! Did she think it wrong to look nice--but then, if she did, why did she love the flowers just for that very reason?Rachel Greaves! I thought the name sounded like her somehow--old-fashioned, and prim, and grey; but the next moment I felt ashamed, for, as if she guessed what I was thinking, she turned to me and saidsuddenly--

"Will you tell me your name? I ought to know it to add to mycollection, for you are like a flower yourself. "

Wasn't it a pretty compliment? I blushed like anything, and said--

"It must be a wild one, I'm afraid. I look hot-housey this afternoon, for I'm dressed up to pay calls, but really I have just left school, andfeel as wild as I can be. You mustn't be shocked if you meet me in ashort frock some morning tearing about the fields. "

She leant back against the stand, staring at me with such big eyes, andthen she said the very last thing in the world which I expected to hear. 

"May I come with you? Will you let me come too some day?"

Come with me! Rachel Greaves, with her solemn face, and dragged-backhair, and her proper conversation. To tear about the fields! I nearlyhad a fit. 

"I suppose you want to botanise?" I asked feebly, and she shook herhead and said--

"No; I want to talk to you--I want to do just what you do when you arealone. "

"Scramble through the hedges, and jump the streams, and swing on thegates, and go bird's-nesting in the hedges?"

She gave a gulp of dismay, but stuck to her guns. 

"Y-es! At least, I could try--you could teach me. I've learned such anumber of things in my life, but I don't know how to play. That part ofmy education has been neglected. "

"Wherever did you go to school? What a dreadful place it must havebeen!"

"I never went to school; I had governesses at home, and I have nobrothers nor sisters; I am very much interested in girls of my own age, especially poor girls, and try to work among them, but I am not verysuccessful. They are afraid of me, and I can't enter into theiramusements; but if I could learn to romp and be lively, it might bedifferent. "

It was such a funny thing to ask, and she looked so terribly in earnestover it, that I was simply obliged to laugh. 

"Do you mean to say you want to learn to be lively, as a lesson--thatyou are taking it up like wood-carving or poker-work--for the sake ofyour class and your influence there?"

She blinked at me like an owl, and said--

"I think, so far as I can judge of my own motives, that that is atruthful statement of the case! I have often wished I knew someone likeyou--full of life and spirit; but there are not many girls in thisneighbourhood, and I met no one suitable until you came. It is a greatdeal to ask, but if you would spend a little time with me sometimes Ishould be infinitely grateful. "

"Oh, don't be grateful, please, until you realise what you have toendure. Nothing worth having can be gained without suffering, " I saidsolemnly. "I shall lead you a terrible dance, and you must promiseimplicit obedience. I'm a terrible bully when I get the chance. "

I privately determined that I'd teach her other things besides play, andwe agreed to meet next morning at eleven o'clock to take our first walk. Mother was much amused when I told her of our conversation. 

"You'll soon grow tired of her, darling; she is impossibly dull, but agood creature who can do you no harm. You can easily drop her if shebores you too much. "

But I don't expect to be bored, I expect it will be very amusing. 

 _Next Day_. It was! She was there to meet me with a mushroom hat over her face, looking as solemn as ever, and never in all my life did I see a poorcreature work so hard at trying to enjoy herself. She runs like anelephant, and puffs like a grampus; says, "One, two, three, " at the edgeof the streams, then gives a convulsive leap, and lands right in themiddle of the water. She was splashed from head to foot, and quite pinkin the cheeks imagining she was going to be drowned, and in the nexthedge her hat caught in a branch, and was literally torn from her head. Then we sat down to consider the situation, and to collect the fallenhairpins from the ground. 

She has a great long rope of hair, and she twists and twists and twistsit together like a nurse wringing out a fomentation, so I politelyoffered to fasten it for her, and loosened it out and pulled it up overher forehead, and you wouldn't believe the difference it made. We foundsome wild strawberries, and ate them for lunch, and I wreathed theleaves round her head, and when her fingers were nicely stained with thejuice, and she looked thoroughly disreputable, I held out the littlelooking-glass on my chatelaine, and gave her a peep at herself, andsaid--

"That's the result of the first lesson! What do you think of the effecton your appearance?"

"I beg your pardon! I'm quite ashamed. What have I been doing?" shecried all in a breath, and up went both hands to drag her hair back, andtear out the leaves, but I caught them in time and held them down. 

"Implicit obedience, remember! I like you better as you are. It's suchpretty hair that it's a sin to hide it away in that tight little knot. Why shouldn't you look nice if you can?"

That began it, and we had quite a solemn discussion, something likethis--

Rachel, solemnly: "It does not matter how we look, so long as ourcharacters are beautiful!"

Una: "Then why was everything on the earth made so beautiful if we werenot intended to be beautiful too? How would you like it if everythingwas just as useful, but looked ugly instead of pretty? When you havethe choice of being one or the other it's very ungrateful to abuse yourtalent!"

"Beauty a talent! I have always looked upon it as a snare! How many awoman's life has been spoiled by a lovely face!"

"That's the abuse of beauty, not the use!" I said, and felt quite proudof myself, for it sounded so grand. "Of course, if you were silly andconceited, it would spoil everything; but if you were nice, you wouldhave far more influence with people. I used to notice that with thepretty girls at school, and, of course, there's mother--everyone adoresher, and feels repaid for any amount of trouble if she will just smileand look pleased. "

"Ah, your mother! But there are not many like her. You spoke of havinga choice, but in my own case, for instance, how could I--what could Ido?"

"You could look fifty thousand times nicer if you took the trouble. Ithought so the first time I saw you, and now I know it. Look in theglass again; would you know yourself for the same girl?"

She peered at herself, and gave a pleased little smirk just like a humanbeing. 

"It's the enjoyment lesson, and the red cheeks--but oh, I couldn't--Ireally couldn't wear my hair like that! It looks so terribly as if I--I_wanted_ to look nice!"

"Well, so you do, don't you? I do, frightfully! I'd like to beperfectly lovely, and so charming that everyone adored me, and longed tobe with me. "

"Ah, that's different, " she said softly, and her eyes went shiny and shestared straight ahead at nothing, in the way people do who are thinkingnice thoughts of their own which they don't mean you to know. "To beloved is beautiful, but that is different from admiration. We lovepeople for their gifts of mind and heart, not for their appearance. "She meandered on for quite a long time, but I really forget all shesaid, for I was getting tired of moralising, and wondering what excuse Icould make to leave her and fly off home across the fields. Thensuddenly came the sound of footsteps at the other side of the stile, andwho should come jumping over just before our very faces but Will Dudleyhimself on his way home to lunch. He stared for a moment, hardlyrecognising the two hat-less, dishevelled mortals squatted on the grass, and then came forward to shake hands. The funny thing was that he cameto me first, and said, "How do you do?" and then just shook hands withRachel without ever saying a word. She didn't say anything either, butI could see she was horribly embarrassed, thinking of her hair and thestrawberry leaves, and he looked at her and looked again as if he couldnot understand what had happened. 

I thought it would be fun to tell him all about it when we reached thecross-roads, and Rachel left us alone. I was glad she was going anotherway, because it's rather a nuisance having a stranger with you when youwant to talk, and I knew Mr Dudley very well by this time. He would beso amused at the idea of the enjoyment lesson. I was looking forward toour talk; but oh, dear, what horrid shocks one does get sometimes! Ishall never, never forget my feelings when we got to the corner, and heheld out his hand to me--me--Una Sackville, and walked calmly off withRachel Greaves. 

It was not as if he had been going in her direction; his way home waswith me, so why on earth should he choose to go off with her? Are theylovers, or friends, or what? Why did he take no notice of her at first, then suddenly become so anxious for her society? It's not that I care ascrap, but it seemed so rude! I've been as cross as two sticks all day. Nothing annoys me more than to be disappointed in my friends!

Eleven o'clock. I was comfortably settled in bed when I suddenlyremembered resolution number two. The real reason that I am annoyed isthat I am conceited enough to think I am nicer than Rachel, and to wantMr Dudley to think so too. How horrid it looks written down! Ibelieve it will do me heaps of good to have to look at plain truthsabout myself in staring black and white. Perhaps Lorna is right afterall, and I have a greed for admiration! I'll turn over a new leaf andbe humble from this day. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

 _July 15th_. I was not in the least interested to know anything about what WillDudley and Rachel Greaves talked about together, but I was anxious tofind out if she had said anything to show him that I was really grown-up, instead of the child he thought me; so the next time we met I askedher plump and plain--

"What did you and Mr Dudley say about me the other morning?"

We were walking along a lane together, and she turned her head andstared at me in blank surprise. 

"About you? The other morning? We--we never spoke of you at all!"

Then I suppose I looked angry, or red, or something, for she seemed in atremendous hurry to appease me. 

"We have a great many interests in common. When we lived in town webelonged to the same societies, and worked for the same charities. Itis interesting to remember old days, and tell each other the latest newswe have heard about the work and its progress. "

"Then you knew him before he came here? He is not a new friend?"

"Oh, no--we have known him for years. It was father who got him hispresent position. "

"And you like him very much?"

"Yes, " she said quietly. "Isn't it lovely to see the hedges coveredwith the wild roses? I think they are almost my favourite flower--sodainty and delicate. "

"Nasty, prickly things--I hate them!" I cried; for I do detest beingsnubbed, and she could not have told me more plainly in so many wordsthat she did not choose to speak of Will Dudley. Why not? I wonder. Was there some mystery about their friendship? I should not mindtalking about anyone I know, and it was really absurd of Rachel to be sosilent and reserved. I determined not to ask her any more questions, but to tackle Mr Dudley himself. 

Two days after there was the garden party, where I knew we should meet. He was bound to go, as it was on the estate where he was living, and Iwas to make my first formal appearance in society, in the prettiestdress and hat you can possibly imagine. Mother was quite pleased withme because I let her and Johnson fuss as much as they liked, and tie onmy white veil three times over to get it in the right folds. Then Ilooked in the glass at my sweeping skirts, and hair all beautifully doneup, and laughed to think how different I looked from Babs of the morninghours. 

We drove off in state, and I was quite excited at the prospect of thefray; but I do think garden parties are dreadfully dull affairs! A bandplays on the lawn, and people stroll about, and criticise one another'sdresses, and look at the flowers. They are very greedy affairs, too, for really and truly we were eating all the time--tea and iced coffeewhen we arrived; ices, and fruits, and nice things to drink until themoment we came away. I don't mean to say that I ate straight on, ofcourse, but waiters kept walking about with trays, and I noticedparticularly what they were like, so as not to take two ices runningfrom the same man. I had a strawberry, and a vanilla, and a lemon--butthat was watery, and I didn't like it. I was talking to the hostess, when I saw Mr Dudley coming towards us, and he looked at me with such ablank, unrecognising stare that I saw at once he had no idea who I was. Mrs Darcy talked to him for a moment while I kept the brim of my hattilted over my face, then she said--

"Don't you know Miss Sackville? Allow me to introduce Mr Dudley, dear. Do take her to have some refreshment, like a good man. I am sure shehas had nothing to eat!"

I thought of the coffee, and the ices, and the lemonade and thesandwiches, but said nothing, and we sauntered across the lawn togethertalking in the usual ridiculous grown-up fashion. 

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Quite charming. So fortunate for Mrs Darcy. "

"Beautiful garden, isn't it?"

"Charming! Such lovely roses!"

"Beautiful band, isn't it?"

"Oh, charming! Quite charming!"

Then he seated me at a little table and provided me with an ice, (numberfour), and stared furtively at me from the opposite side. It _was_ fun. I crinkled my veil up over my nose and tilted my hat over my forehead, and shot a glance at him every now and then, to find his eyes fixed onme--not recognising at all, but evidently so puzzled and mystified tothink who I could be. Father had told him only a week before that Verewould not be home for a month--and now who was this third Miss Sackvillewho had suddenly appeared upon the scene?

"You have returned home rather sooner than you intended, haven't you?"he inquired, and I shook my head and said--

"Oh, no, I kept to the exact date. I always do! What makes you thinkotherwise?"

"I--er--I thought I heard you were not expected for some time to come. You have been staying with friends?"

"Oh, a number of friends! Quite a huge house party. I feel quite lostwithout them all. "

He would have been rather surprised if I had explained that the partyconsisted of forty women and no man, but that was not his business, andit was perfectly true that I missed them badly. All the RachelGreaveses in the world would never make up for Lorna and the rest!

"But you have your sister!" he said. "I have seen a good deal of yoursister in her morning walks with Mr Sackville. She is a charmingchild, and most companionable; I am sure she will be a host in herself!"

"It's very good of you! I can't tell you how pleased I am to hear yousay so!" I said suavely; but do what I would, I could not resist agiggle, and he stared at me harder than ever, and looked so confused. Iwas so afraid that he would find me out and spoil the fun that Idetermined not to try to keep up the delusion any longer. He was goingto cross-question me, I could see it quite plainly, so I lay back in mychair, smoothed out my veil, and smiled at him in my most fascinatingmanner. 

"I'm so pleased that you have formed such a good opinion of me, MrDudley! I was really afraid you had forgotten me altogether, for youseemed hardly to recognise me a few minutes ago. "

He leant both arms on the table so that his face was quite near to mine. "_Who are you_?" he asked, and I laughed, and nodded in reply. 

"I'm Babs--Una Sackville is my name--England is my nation, Branfield ismy dwelling--"

"Don't joke, please. I want to understand. _You--are--Babs_! Have youbeen deliberately deceiving me, then? Pray, what has been your objectin posing as a child all these weeks!"

That made me furious, and I cried hotly--

"I never posed at all--I never deceived you! Father treats me as achild, and you followed his example as a matter of course, and I wasvery pleased to be friends in a sensible manner without any nonsense. If I had said, `Please, I'm nineteen--I've left school, and am comingout--this is a hockey skirt, but I wear tails in the evening, ' you wouldhave been proper, and stiff, and have talked about the weather, and weshould have had no fun. If anyone is to blame, it is you, for notseeing how really old I was!"

He smiled at that, and went on staring, staring at my face, my hair, mylong white gloves, the muslin flounces lying on the ground round myfeet. 

"So very old!" he said. "Nineteen, is it? And I put you down as--fourteen or fifteen, at the most! And so Babs has disappeared. ExitBabs! I'm sorry. She was a nice child; I enjoyed meeting her verymuch. I think we should have been real good friends. "

"She has not disappeared at all. You will meet her to-morrow morning. There is nothing to prevent us being as good friends as ever, " Ideclared, but he shook his head in a mysterious fashion. 

"I think there is! There's a third person on the scene now who willmake it difficult--for me, at least--to go back to the same footing. There's Una!" he said, and looked at me with his bright grey eyes, upand down, down and up again, in a grave, quiet sort of way which I hadnever seen before. It made me feel nice, but rather uncomfortable, andI was glad when he brightened up again, and said gaily--

"I owe a hundred apologies for my lack of ceremony to this fine, thisvery fine, this super-fine young lady! I'll turn over a new leaf forthe future, and treat you with becoming ceremony. I can quite imaginethe disgust of the budding _debutante_ at my cavalier ways. Confess nowthat your dignity was sorely wounded?"

His eyes were twinkling again. They are grey, and his face is so brownthat they look lighter than the skin. I never saw anyone's eyes looklike that before, but it is awfully nice. I thought there was asplendid opening, so I said--

"No; I was never vexed but once. I like being treated sensibly, butthat morning when you left me, and went out of your way with RachelGreaves--I was sorry then that you did not know that I was grown up. "

"You thought if I had I would have walked with you instead? Why?"

I blushed a little, and it seemed to me that he blushed too--his cheekscertainly looked hot. It was a horrid question to answer, and he musthave known for himself what I meant. I really and truly don't thinkmany men would go out of their way for Rachel Greaves. I answered byanother question--it was the easiest way. 

"I didn't know then that you were old friends. I suppose you get tolike her better when you know her well?"

"Naturally. That is always the case with the best people. "

"And she is--"

"The best woman I have ever met, and the most selfless!" he saidsolemnly. "Have you spoken to Rachel about me? What has she told you?I should like you to know the truth, though it is not yet generalproperty. You can keep it to yourself for awhile?"

I nodded. I didn't want to speak, for I felt a big, hard lump swellingin my throat, and my heart thumped. I knew quite well what he was goingto say, and I hated it beforehand. 

"We are engaged to be married. It will probably be an engagement foryears, for Rachel feels her present duty is at home, and I am content towait her pleasure. I don't go up to the house very often, as the oldgentleman is an invalid, and dislikes visitors, but we understand oneanother, and are too sensible to fret because we cannot always betogether. Only when an opportunity occurs, as it did the othermorning-- Why--you understand?"

"Yes, I understand, " I said slowly. I was thinking it over, andwondering, if I were ever engaged, if I should like my _fiance_ to becontent and sensible, and quite resigned to see me seldom, and to waitfor years before we could be married. I think I would rather he were ina hurry!

Oh, I wish I were selfless, too! I wish I could be glad for themwithout thinking of myself; but I do feel so lonely and out in the cold. I'm thankful that Vere is coming home next week, and the house will befilled with visitors. Engaged people are no use--they are alwaysthinking about each other!

CHAPTER SIX. 

 _July 20th_. Rachel was surprised when I told her that I knew her secret, and I don'tthink she was pleased. 

"Will told you! Will told you himself!" she repeated, and stared at mein a puzzled, curious fashion, as if she wondered why on earth he shouldhave chosen to make a confidante of me. "It is hardly a regularengagement, for father will not hear of my leaving home, and the waitingmay be so long that I have told Will it is not fair to bind him. Hesays he is content to wait, but we agreed to speak about it as little aspossible for some time to come. "

"Oh, well, I'll keep the secret. You need not be afraid that I shallgossip about you, " I told her. She wears no ring on her engagementfinger, but always, always--morning, noon and night--there is a littlediamond anchor pinned in the front of her dress. I suppose he has givenher that instead, as a symbol of hope--hope that in ten or a dozenyears, when she is an old thing over thirty, they may possibly bemarried! Well, I can imagine Rachel waiting twenty years, if it comesto that, and keeping quite happy and serene meantime; but Will Dudley isdifferent--so quick and energetic and keen. I could not have imaginedhim so patient. 

Yesterday Vere came home, bringing her friends with her, and alreadyRachel and her love affair seems far away, and we live in such a bustleand confusion that there is no time to think. I'm rather glad, for Iwas getting quite dull and mopey. They arrived about five in theafternoon, and came trooping into the hall, where tea was waiting. Twogirls and three men, and Vere herself, prettier than ever, but with justthe old, aggravating, condescending way. 

"Hallo, Babs! Is that you transformed into a young lady in longdresses, and your hair done up? You dear, fat thing, how ridiculous youlook!" she cried, holding me out at arm's length, and laughing as if itwere the funniest joke in the world, while those three strange men stoodby staring, and I grew magenta with embarrassment. 

One of the men was tall and handsome, with a long, narrow face, andsmall, narrow eyes; he laughed with her, and I hated him for it, and forhaving so little sympathy with a poor girl's feelings. Another wassmall, with a strong, square-set figure, and he looked sorry for me; andthe third looked on the floor, and frowned as if something had hurt hisfeelings. He was the oldest and gravest-looking of the three, and Iknew before he had been ten minutes in the room that he adored Vere withhis heart, and disapproved of her with his conscience, and was miserableevery time she did or said a thoughtless thing. 

"I told you I had a smaller sister at home--here she is! Rather biggerthan I expected, but not much changed in other respects. Don't be shy, Babs! Shake hands nicely, and be friends!" Vere cried laughingly, taking me by the shoulders and pushing me gently towards where the menstood; but, just as I was fuming with rage at being treated as if I weretwo, father came suddenly from behind, and said in his most grandseigneur manner--

"Allow me, Vere! If an introduction is made at all, it is best to makeit properly. Captain Grantly, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs, I have thehonour of introducing you to my second daughter, Miss Una Sackville. "

The change of expression on the men's faces was comical to behold. Captain Grantly, the narrow-faced one, bowed as if I had been the Queen, and the nice little man smiled at me as if he were pleased--he was MrNash, and poor Mr Carstairs flushed as if he had been snubbed himself;I was quite sorry for him. 

The girls were very lively and bright, spoke in loud voices, and behavedas if they had lived in the house all their lives, which is supposed tobe good manners nowadays. Margot Sanders is tall and fair, and wearseye-glasses, and Mary Eversley, who is "Lady Mary, " would have beenconsidered very unladylike indeed at our polite seminary. 

It seems to be fashionable nowadays for a girl to behave as much like aman as possible, and to smoke and shout, and stand with her arms behindher back, and lounge about anyhow on her chair. Well, I won't! I don'tcare if it's fashionable or not! I'd rather have been a boy if I'd hadthe choice, but as I am a girl I'll make the best of it, and be as nicea specimen as I can. Lorna says a girl ought to be like a flower--sweet, modest and fragrant; she's a bit sentimental when you get heralone, but I agree with the idea, though I should not have expressed itin the same way. If I were a man I should hate to marry a girl whosmelt of tobacco and shrieked like a steam whistle. I'd like a dear, dainty thing with a soft voice and pretty, womanly ways. I hereby vowand declare that I will stick to my colours, and set an example to thoseold things who ought to know better. Lady Mary must be twenty-five ifshe is a day. I don't expect she will ever be married now. With theclear-sighted gaze of youth, I can see that she is hiding a broken heartbeneath the mask of mirth. Life is frightfully exciting when you havethe gift of penetrating below the surface. 

Will Dudley came to dinner; he was the only stranger, as he made thenumber even. I wore my new white chiffon, and thought I looked veryfine till I went downstairs and saw the others. They were smart, andVere looked lovely, and did the honours so charmingly that even motherseemed to make way for her. Poor mother! she looked so happy; she doteson Vere, and is so proud of her; it does seem hard she doesn't have moreof her society! I felt sad somehow, and sort of lonely as I watchedthem together--Vere fussing round and saying pretty, flattering littlespeeches, and mother smiling at her so tenderly. I feel nice things, too, but I can't say them to order; my lips seem all tight and horrid, as if they wouldn't move. I felt like the elder brother in the parable, because I really have denied myself, and been bored fearfully sometimesthese last weeks doing fancy-work with mother, and driving about shut upin a horrid, close carriage, while Vere has been gadding about andenjoying herself; and then the moment she comes home I am nowhere besideher! Injustices like this sear the heart, and make one old before one'stime. 

I suppose I looked sad, for Will Dudley crossed over the room to talk tome. 

"Aren't you well?" he asked, and his eyes looked so anxious and worriedthat it quite comforted me. 

"I have rather a headache, " I began, without thinking of what I wassaying, and then, (somehow I never can help telling him exactly how Ifeel), I stopped, and contradicted myself flat. "I'm perfectly well, but I think I'm jealous. I have been the only child for so long, andnow my poor little nose is out of joint, and I don't like it a bit. Itaches. "

I thought he would sympathise and protest that I could never besuperseded, in his opinion at least, but he just sighed, and saidslowly--

"Yes, she is very lovely! It must be a great responsibility to have aface as beautiful as hers, with all the influence over others that isits accompaniment!" and looked straight across the room to where Verestood beneath the shaded lamp. 

She was not looking in our direction; but, as if she felt his gazewithout seeing it, she turned her head slowly round and raised her eyesto his, and so they stood while you could have counted ten, staring, staring, straight into each other's eyes, and I saw the colour fadegradually out of Vere's face, as though she were frightened by what shesaw. That is the way people fall in love! I've read about it in books. They sort of recognise each other when they meet, even if they areperfect strangers, and Lorna says it is the soul recognising its mate. But I know well enough that Vere would never satisfy Will Dudley, and, besides, there is Rachel--poor patient Rachel, who trusts him sofaithfully. I looked up quickly to see if he had turned pale also. Hewas rather white, but there was a curious little smile about the cornersof his lips which quietened my fears. I should not have liked thatsmile if I had been Vere. There was something contemptuous in itdespite its admiration, and a sort of defiance, too, as if he werequite, quite sure of himself and secure from all temptation; but thenthey do begin like that sometimes, and the siren weaves on them herspells, and they succumb. I wonder how it will end with Vere and WillDudley!

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

It is rather jolly having a house full of people; and father and motherand Vere are so clever at entertaining. There is never any fuss noreffort, and people are allowed to go their own way, but there is alwayssomething to do if they choose to do it. I must say that, for grown-uppeople, these visitors are very frivolous, and play about together as ifthey were children. Mr Nash began showing me tricks with pennies afterbreakfast the first morning, and I was so interested learning how to dothem that it was half-past ten before I thought of joining father at thestables. It was too late then, and I wasn't altogether sorry, for itwas livelier going about with these new people, and it wasn't my fault, for I should have gone if I'd remembered. I was extra nice to father atlunch to make up, and he didn't seem a bit vexed, so I needn't troubleanother day. Really, I think it is my duty to help Vere all I can. Shequestioned me about Will Dudley the first time we were alone. I knewshe would, and decided to tell her of his engagement. I had been toldnot to speak of it generally; but to my own sister it was different, andI had a feeling that she ought to know. 

"Who is that Mr Dudley?" she asked, and when I told her all I knew, shesmiled and dropped her eyes in the slow, self-confident fashion whichother people think so fascinating but which always make me long to shakeher. 

"Really, quite an acquisition!" she drawled. "A vast improvement on thenative one generally meets in these wilds. We must cultivate him, Babs!He makes our number even, so we can afford to spoil him a little bit, as it is a convenience to ourselves at the same time. It will be agodsend for him to meet some decent people. "

"As a matter of fact, he came to live in the country because he was sickof society and society people. He is not a country bumpkin, Vere, andwon't be a bit grateful for your patronage. In fact, I don't believe hewill come oftener than once or twice. When a man is engaged it's a boreto him to have to--"

"Engaged!" she cried. "Mr Dudley! Who told you he was engaged? Idon't believe a word of it. Some stupid local gossip! Who told youthat nonsense?"

"He told me himself!"

"He did? My dear Babs, he was having a joke! No man would confide sucha thing to a child like you!"

"You are mistaken there. He has told me heaps of things besides this, and I know the girl, and have spoken to her about it. You know her, too. Rachel Greaves, who lives at `The Clift'. "

"Rach-el Greaves! Oh! oh!" cried Vere, and put her hands to her sidesin peals of derisive laughter. "Oh, this is too killing! And you_believed_ it? You dear, sweet innocent! That man and--Rachel Greaves!My dear, have you seen her hair? Have you seen her hat? Could youreally imagine for one moment that any man could be engaged to acreature like that?"

"I don't imagine--I know! They have been engaged for years. It will beyears more before they are married, for old Mr Greaves won't give hisconsent. And Rachel won't leave home without it; but Mr Dudley isquite willing to wait. He says she is the best woman in the world. "

"Oh, I daresay! She is frumpy enough for anything; and you call that anengagement? My dear, he will no more marry her than he'll marry themoon. It's just a stupid platonic friendship, and as he has not knownanything else he thinks it is love. Imagine being in love with thatsolemn creature! Imagine making pretty speeches and listening to hercorrect copy-book replies! Wait! I should think she may wait! She'llhave a surprise one of these days when he meets the right girl, and bidsRachel Greaves a fond farewell!"

"He'll do nothing of the sort, " I said hotly. "I do hate you, Vere, when you sneer like that, and make out that everyone is worldly andhorrible, like yourself! Will Dudley is a good man, and he wants a goodwoman for his wife--not a doll. He'd rather have Rachel's little fingerthan a dozen empty-headed fashion-plates like the girls you admire. Butyou don't understand. Your friends are all so different that you cannotunderstand an honest man when you meet him. "

"Can't I? What a pity! Don't get into a rage, dear, it's sounnecessary. I'm sorry I'm so obtuse; but at least I can learn. I'llmake it my business to understand Mr Dudley thoroughly during theautumn. It will be quite an occupation, " replied Vere, with her head inthe air and her eyes glittering at me in a nasty, horrid, cold, calculating "You-wait-and-see" kind of way which made me ill! It wasjust like Tennyson's Lady Clara Vere de Vere, who "sought to break acountry heart for pastime ere she went to town, " for Vere would never becontent to marry Will Dudley, even if she succeeded in winning him fromRachel. Poor Rachel! I felt so sorry for her; she has so little, andshe's so sweet and content, and so innocent that a serpent has enteredinto her Eden. It sounds rather horrid to call your own sister aserpent, but circumstances alter cases, and it really is appropriate. Ithink Vere expected me to fly into another rage, but I didn't feel angryat all, only sorry and ashamed, and anxious to know what I could do tobaulk her dark designs. 

"I'm thankful I'm not a beauty!" I said at last, and she stared for amoment, and then laughed and said--

"Because of the terrible temptations which you escape? Dear littleinnocent! Don't be too modest, however; you really have improvedmarvellously these past few months. If you could hear what the men saidabout you last night--"

"I don't want to hear, thank you, " I returned icily; and that was onetemptation overcome, anyhow, for I just died to know every singleremark! It's awful to care so much about what people think about you, as I do. After she went away I sat down and reviewed the situation, asthey say in books, and mapped out a plan of action. I wanted to feelthat I was doing some good to someone, so I decided then and there to bea guardian angel to Will and Rachel. It's wonderful what you can do, even if you are only nineteen and a girl, if you set your mind to it, and determine to succeed. They have both been kind to me, and I amtheir friend, and mean to help them. I'd rather be flayed alive thansay so to a living soul, but I can now confess to these pages that I wasjealous of Rachel myself when I first heard of the engagement, and Iwondered, if Will had never seen her, if perhaps he--oh, a lot of silly, idiotic things; for he is so different from the other men you meet thatyou simply can't help liking him. So now it will be a discipline for meto have to forget myself, and try to keep them together. Perhaps whenthey are married they will know all, and bless my memory, and call oneof their children after me, and I shall be content to witness theirhappiness from afar. I've read of things like that, but I alwaysthought I'd be the married one, not the other. You do when you areyoung, but it's awful what sorrows there are in the world. I am nottwenty yet, and already my life is blighted, and my fondest hopes laidin the dust. .. 

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Such ripping fun! We are all going for a moonlight party up the river, with hampers full of good things to eat at supper on the bank above thelock. We are taking rugs to spread on the grass, and Japanese lanternsto make it look festive, and not a single servant, so that we shall doeverything ourselves. We girls are all delighted, but I think the men--Captain Grantly especially--think it's rather mad to go to so muchtrouble when you might have your dinner comfortably at home. Malecreatures are like that, so practical and commonplace, not a bitenthusiastic and sensible like school-girls. We used to keep awakeuntil one o'clock in the morning, and sit shivering in dressing-gowns, eating custard, tarts and sardines, and thought it was splendid fun. Ithink a picnic where servants make the fire and pack away the dishes istoo contemptible for words. 

Vere wanted Will Dudley to come with us, so I went round to the "TheClift" that very afternoon and invited Rachel to come too. I am as muchat liberty to invite my friends as she is to ask hers, and this wasmeant to be a checkmate to her plans; but Rachel was too stupid forwords, and wouldn't be induced to accept. 

"I always play a game with father in the evening, " she said. "He wouldmiss it if I went out. "

"But he can't expect you never to go out! He would appreciate you allthe more if you did leave him alone sometimes, " I said, talking tomyself as much as to her, for it was four days since I had been a walkwith my father, and my horrid old conscience was beginning to prick. "Do come, Rachel. I want you particularly, " but she went on refusing, so then I thought I would try what jealousy would do. "We shall be sucha merry party; Vere is prettier and livelier than ever, and her friendsare very amusing. Lady Mary is very handsome, and she sings and playson the mandoline. She is going to take it with her to-night. It willbe so pretty, the sound of singing on the water, and she will look sopicturesque under the Japanese lamps. "

She looked wistful and longing, but not a bit perturbed. 

"I wish I could come! It sounds charming. I've hardly ever been on theriver, never in the evening; but I should be worrying about father allthe time. He is old, you see, Una, and he has such bad pain, and hisdays seem so long. It must be so sad to be ill and know that you willnever get any better, and to have nothing to look forward to. " Her facelit up suddenly, and I knew she was thinking of the time, years ahead, when what she was looking forward to would come true. "I really couldnot neglect father for my own amusement. "

"But you have someone else to think of!" I reminded her cunningly. "Itold you who was coming. You ought to think of his pleasure. "

"Oh, he will enjoy it in any case! He loves being on the water; I am soglad you asked him!" she cried, quite flushed with delight, if youplease, at the thought that Will was coming without her. I did feel aworm! Never, no, never could I be like that. If I were engaged to aman and couldn't go anywhere, I should like him to stay at home too, andthink of me, and not dare to enjoy himself with other girls; but Rachelis not like that. Sometimes I wish she were just a wee, tiny bit lesssensible and composed. I could love her better if she were. 

We all went down to the boat-house at eight o'clock, we girls with longcoats over our light dresses, because it's silly to catch cold, and sounbecoming, and on the way I told Will about Rachel. He came at onceand walked beside me, and gave me such a nice look as he thanked me forthinking of it. 

"That was kind of you! She would be pleased to be remembered, but thissort of thing is out of her line. She will be happier at home!"

Poor Rachel! That's the worst of being chronically unselfish; in theend people cease to give you any credit for it, and virtue has to be itsown reward, for you don't get any other. I did think it was hard thateven Will should misjudge her so, and be so complacent about it into thebargain, but it was hardly my place to defend her to him, of all peoplein the world. 

"You will come into my boat, of course, " he said in his masterful waywhen we drew near the ferry; but I had seen Vere divide parties beforenow, and I knew very well I should not be allowed to go where I chose. It was as good as a play to see how she did it, seeming to ponder andconsider, and change her mind half a dozen times, and to be sospontaneous and natural, when all the time her plans had been made fromthe very beginning. Finally, she and Will took possession of the firstboat, with Lady Mary and Captain Grantly, who were always together, andwere too much taken up with their own society to have eyes for anyoneelse. Miss Talbot, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs and I went into the secondboat--Miss Talbot furious because she felt it a slight to be put with achild like me--Mr Carstairs depressed as he generally was, poor man!--Iwith a heavy weight inside me, feeling all of a sudden as if I hatedparties and everything about them, and dear little Mr Nash, happy andcomplacent, cracking jokes to which no one deigned to listen. Isn't itfunny to think how miserable you can be when you are supposed to beenjoying yourself? I dare say if you only knew it, lots of people haveaching hearts when you envy them for being so happy. The people on thebanks looked longingly at us, but three out of the four in our boat wereas cross and dissatisfied as they could be; and it made it worse to hearthem enjoying themselves in the other boat; Vere's trills of laughter, and Lady Mary's gentlemanly "Ha, ha!" ringing out in response to themurmur of the men's voices. When you are on land with the wrong peoplethere is always the chance of a change, but you _do_ feel so "fixed" ina boat! I simply longed to reach the lock, and felt as cross as twosticks, until suddenly I met Mr Carstairs' eyes, looking, oh, so sadand hopeless, and I felt so sorry that I simply had to rouse up to cheerhim. He must know perfectly well that Vere doesn't care for him, but heseems as if he could not help caring for her, and staying on and on, though he is miserable all the time, I like him! He has a good look inhis face, and talks sensibly about interesting things, instead ofeverlastingly chaffing or paying compliments, which seems to be thefashion nowadays. I think I shall favour his suit, and try to help him. 

I talked, and he looked first bored, and then amused, and in the endquite interested and happy, so that we drew up by the bank to join theothers in quite a cheerful mood, much to my relief. It is humiliatingto look left out in the cold, however much you may feel it. 

Vere was flushed, and unlike herself somehow. She fussed over thelaying out of the supper, and it wasn't like Vere to fuss, and whenevershe wanted anything done she always turned first of all to Will Dudley, and half the time he was looking the other way and never noticed whatshe ask, when poor Mr Carstairs did it at once and got snubbed for hispains. 

I was the youngest, and had to do all the uninteresting things, such asunpacking the spoons and forks, and taking the paper wrappings off thetumblers, while the others laid out the provisions and quarrelled overthe best arrangement. But it was fun when we all sat down and began toeat. The Japanese lanterns were tied to the trees overhead, and madeeverything look bright and cheery, for the moon had hidden itself behindthe clouds, and it had been just a wee bit cheerless the last half-hour. We heated the soup over a little spirit-lamp, and had lobster salad ondainty little paper plates, and cold chicken and cutlets, and all sortsof delicious sweets and fruit, and we all ate a lot, and groaned andsaid how ill we should be in the morning, and then ate some more anddidn't care a bit. It was almost as good as a feast in the dormitory. Then we told funny stories, and asked riddles, and Lady Mary sang coonsongs to her mandoline, and I was enjoying myself simply awfully whensomeone said--it was Mr Nash, and I shall never forgive him for it--

"Now it's your turn, Miss Una! Your father is always talking of yoursinging, yet we never seem to hear you. Too bad, you know! You can'trefuse to-night, when we are all doing our best to amuse each other. Now, then, what is it to be?"

I was horrified! I love singing, but it seemed so formidable with noaccompaniment, and no piano behind which to hide my blushes, but themore I protested, the more they implored, until Vere said quitesharply--

"For goodness' sake, child, do your best, and don't make a fuss! Nobodyexpects you to be a professional!"

"Start ahead, and I'll vamp an accompaniment. It will be better thannothing, " said Lady Mary kindly, and Will whispered low in my ear:"Don't be nervous. Do your best. Astonish them, Babs!" And I did. That whisper inspired me somehow, and I sang "The Vale of Avoca, "father's favourite ballad, pronouncing the words distinctly, as thesinging mistress always made us do at school. I love the words, and theair is so sweet, and just suits my voice. I always feel quite worked upand choky when I come to the last verse, but I try not to show it, forit looks so silly to cry at yourself. 

There was quite a burst of applause when I finished. The men clappedand called out "Bravo! Bravo!" Lady Mary said, "You little wretch!You do take the wind out of my sails. Fancy having to be bothered tosing with a voice like that! Gracious! I should never leave off!" andVere laughed, and said in her sweetest tones, "But, for pity's sake, don't turn sentimental, Babs! It's so absurdly out of keeping! Stickto something lively and stirring--something from the comic operas! Thatwould be far more in your line, don't you think so, Mr Dudley?"

Will was leaning back on his elbow, resting his head on his hand. 

"It's a question of taste, " he said lazily. "Some people are fond ofcomic operas. Personally, I detest them; but I don't profess to be ajudge. I only know what I like. "

"A sentimental ballad, for example?"

"Occasionally. Not always, by any means. " He seemed determined not togive a straight-forward answer, and Vere turned aside with a shrug andbegan to talk to Mr Carstairs. She always takes refuge with him whenother people fail her. I felt all hot and churned up with theexcitement of singing, and then with rage at being snubbed in thatpublic fashion. It spoiled all the pleasure and made me wonder if I hadreally made an exhibition of myself, and they were only pretending to bepleased. 

The others were chattering like magpies; only Will Dudley and I weresilent. I felt his eyes watching me, but I wouldn't look at him forquite a long time, till at last I simply had to turn round, when hesmiled, such a kind nice smile, and said--

"Well, better now? Got the better of the little temper?"

"I don't know; partly, I suppose, but I do hate to be snubbed. I didn'twant to sing. I did it to be polite; and it's horrid to think I made anidiot of myself. "

Silence. It was no use. I _had_ to ask him--

"Did I make an idiot of myself?"

"You know you didn't. "

"Did you--did you think it was nice?"

"Yes. "

That was all. Not another word could I get out of him, but I feltbetter, for it sounded as if he really meant it, and I cared for hisopinion most of all. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

 _August 15th_. It is three weeks since the moonlight picnic, and so many things havehappened since then, such awful, terrible things, that I don't know howto begin to tell them. I didn't think when I began this diary howthrilling it was going to be before I'd got half way through; but younever know what is going to happen in this world. It's awful howsuddenly things come. I don't think I can ever again feel confident andeasy-going, as I used to do. You read in books sometimes, "She was nolonger a girl, she was a woman, " and it is like that with me. Everything seems different and more solemn, and I don't think I can everfrivol again in quite the same whole-hearted way. 

To begin at the beginning: we had a very lively time for the next week, and I grew quite fond of Vere's friends, even Lady Mary, whom I hated atfirst, and they all made a fuss of me, and made me sing every night tillI felt quite proud. I invited Rachel over and over again, but she wouldnever accept our invitations; but Will came often, either to dinner orlunch, or for an odd call, and Vere neglected everyone for him, and wasso fascinating that I was in terror all the time. He admired her, ofcourse; he would have been blind if he hadn't, but I could not decide ifhe liked her or not. Sometimes I saw him smiling to himself in thequeer, half-scornful way he had done when they first met, and then I wassure he did not; but at other times he would watch her about the room, following every movement as if he couldn't help himself, and that's abad sign. Lorna has a sister who is married, and she knew the man wasgoing to propose, because he looked like that. Somehow I never had achance of a quiet talk, when I could have given him a hint, and it wasthinking about that and wondering how I could see him alone which mademe suddenly remember that it was a whole week and more since I had beena walk with father. I went hot all over at the thought. It was ghastlyto remember how I had planned and promised to be his companion, and tocare for him first of all, and then to realise how I had forsaken him atthe very first temptation! He was so sweet about it, too, nevercomplaining or seeming a bit vexed. Parents are really angels. It mustbe awful to have a child, and take such trouble with it all its life, and then to be neglected for strangers. I hadn't the heart to write inmy diary that night. I was too ashamed. I was worse than Vere, for Ihad posed as being so good and dutiful. I won't make any more vows, butI confess here with that I am a selfish pig, and I am ashamed of myself. 

The next morning I could hardly wait until breakfast was over, I was soanxious to be off. I got my cap and ran down to the stable and slippedmy arm in father's as he stood talking to Vixen. He gave a little startof surprise--it hurt me, that start!--looked down at me and said, smiling--

"Well, dear, what is it?"

"Nothing. I'm coming with you!" I said, and he squeezed my handagainst his side. 

"Thank you, dear, but I'm going a long round. I won't be back untillunch. Better not leave your friends for so long. "

"Vere is with them, father. I want to come. "

"What's the matter? Not had a quarrel, have you? Has Vere been--"

"No, no, she hasn't! _Nothing_ is the matter, except that I want you, and nobody else. Oh, father, don't be so horribly kind! Scold me--callme a selfish wretch! I know I have neglected you, dear. There wasalways something to do, and I--forgot, but really and truly I rememberedall the time. It isn't nonsense, father, it's true. Can youunderstand?"

"I've been nineteen myself, Babs; I understand. Don't worry, darling. I missed you, but I was glad that you were happy, and I knew your heartwas in the right place. We won't say anything more about it, but have ajolly walk and enjoy ourselves. "

Oh, it is good to have someone who understands! If he had scolded orbeen reproachful I should have felt inclined to make excuses, but whenhe was so sweet and good I just loved him with all my heart, and prayedto be a better daughter to him all my life. 

We had lovely walks after that, and on the third morning we met WillDudley, and once again he and I sat on a log waiting for father while heinterviewed a tenant. My heart quite thumped with agitation as Ithought that now was the time to lead the conversation skilfully roundto Vere, and insinuate delicately that she had a mania for making peoplefall in love with her, and that it didn't always mean as much as itseemed when she was sweet and gushing. It wasn't exactly an easy thingto do, but you can't be a guardian angel without a little trouble. 

"So you have torn yourself away from your friends this morning, " he saidat last. "How is it that you were allowed to escape? What is thespecial campaign for killing time to-day, if one may ask?"

"You may ask, but it's rude to be sarcastic. You are often lazyyourself, though in a different fashion. You love to lie on your backon the grass and do nothing but browse and stare up at the sky. Youhave told me so many times. "

"Ah, but what of my thoughts? Under a semblance of ease I am in realityworking out the most abstruse problems. I did not mean to be sarcastic;I inquired in all seriousness how your valuable company could bespared. "

"For the best of all reasons--because nobody wanted it! Captain Grantlywants Lady Mary, Lady Mary wants Captain Grantly. Miss Talbot wantssomeone she can't get, but it doesn't happen to be me; the rest all wantVere, and have no thought for anyone else. Men always do want to bewith Vere. Wherever she goes they fall in love with her and follow herabout. She is so lovely, and she--she likes to be liked. Everyone saysshe is so charming and irresistible--they have told her so since she wasa child--and she likes to prove that it was true. If--if anyone seemsto like anyone else better it--sort of--worries her, and makes her feelneglected. "

"I see. "

"Then, of course, she is extra specially nice, and seems to be moreinterested in him than anyone else. "

"Pleasant for him!"

"It is, for a time. But if he trusted to it and believed that she wasreally in earnest, he might get to care himself, and then, when he foundout, he would be disappointed. "

"Naturally so. "

"It has happened like that before, several times, and sometimes thereare other people to be considered--I mean there might be another girlwhom the man had liked before, and when he had given her up, and foundthat-that--"

"That he had given up the substance and grasped the shadow--"

"Yes; then, of course, they would both be miserable, and it would beworse than ever. "

"Naturally it would be. "

He spoke in the same cool, half-jeering tone, then suddenly turned roundand bent his head down to mine, staring at me with bright grey eyes. 

"Why not be honest, Babs, and not beat about the bush? You think thatmy peace is threatened and want to warn me of it, isn't that it, now?You are my very good friend, and I am grateful for your interest. Didyou think I was in danger?"

"Sometimes--once or twice! Don't be angry. I know you would be trueand loyal, but sometimes--I saw you watching her--"

"She is very lovely, Babs; the loveliest woman I have ever seen. Therewas some excuse for that. "

"I know, I feel it myself, and it was just because I could understand alittle that I spoke. I thought quite likely that you might be angry atfirst, but it was better that you should be that than wretched in theend. "

"Quite so; but I am not angry at all, only very grateful for yourbravery in tackling a difficult subject. I have a pretty good opinionof myself, but I am only a man, and other men have imagined themselvessecure and found out their mistake before now. Forewarned is forearmed. Thank you for the warning, " and he smiled at me with a sudden flash ofthe eyes which left me hot and breathless. 

Was I in time? Had he really begun to care for Vere so soon as this? Ilonged to say more, but dared not. All my courage had gone, and I wasthankful when father came out of the cottage and put an end to our_tete-a-tete_. 

I thought there would be a difference after this, but there wasn't--nota bit. When Will came to the house he was as nice as ever to Vere, andseemed quite willing to be monopolised as much as she liked. If heavoided anyone it was me, and I was not a bit surprised. People may saywhat they like, but they do bear you a grudge for giving them goodadvice. I sat in a corner and made cynical reflections to myself, andnobody took any notice of me, and I felt more cynical than ever, andwent to my bedroom and banged about the furniture to relieve myfeelings. 

Vere came into my room soon after, and stood by the window talking whileI brushed my hair. The blind was up, for it was moonlight and I hate toshut it out. Her dress was of some soft silvery stuff, and, standingthere in the pale blue light, she looked oh, so lovely, more like afairy than a human creature! I am so glad I admired her then; I'm gladI told her that I did; I'm glad, glad, glad that I was nice and lovingas a sister ought to be, and that we kissed and put our arms round eachother when we said good night. 

"Sleep well, little girl, you look tired. We can't let you lose yourbonny colour, " she said, in her, pretty caressing way; nobody can be assweet as Vere when she likes. 

I was tired, but I sat by the window for quite a long time after sheleft, thinking, thinking, thinking. I can't tell what I thoughtexactly, so many things passed through my head, and when I said myprayers I hardly said any words at all; I just put down my head andtrusted God to understand me better than I did myself. I had so much tomake me happy, but I was not happy somehow. I had so much to make mecontent, yet there was something missing that made everything else seemblank. I wanted to be good, and such horrid, envious feelings rose upin my heart. In my dear little room, at my own dear little table, Iasked God to help me, and to take care of me whatever happened. 

And He did, but it was not in the way I expected. 

At last the moon disappeared behind the clouds which had been gatheringfor some time, and I went to bed and fell fast asleep as soon as my headtouched the pillow, as I always do, no matter how agitated I am. Isuppose it's being nineteen and in such good health. "How long I sleptI cannot tell, " as they say in ghost stories, but suddenly I woke upwith a start and a sort of horrid feeling that something was wrong. Theroom felt close and heavy, and there was a curious noise coming fromoutside the door, a sort of buzzing, crackling noise. I didn't get upat once, for I felt stupid and heavy; it was a minute or two before Iseemed really able to think, and then--oh, I shall never forget thatmoment!--I knew what it was. I felt it! I went cold all over, and mylegs shook under me as I stepped on to the floor. 

The air was thick, and it smelt. My door was the nearest to thestaircase, and when I opened it a great cloud of smoke rolled in myface. For a moment it was all cloud and darkness, then a light shot upfrom below, and the crackling noise was repeated. It was true, quitetrue. The house was on fire, and already the staircase was ablaze!

CHAPTER NINE. 

 _August 16th_. We used to wonder at school sometimes how we should behave if wesuddenly found ourselves in a position of great danger. I always said Ishould scream and hide my face, and faint if I possibly could, but I amthankful to remember that, when it came to the point, I did nothing ofthe sort. My heart gave one big, sickening throb, and then I feltsuddenly quite calm and cold and self-possessed, almost as if I didn'tcare. I went back into my room, put on my dressing-gown and slippers, took up a big brass bell which one of the girls had given me, and, shutting the door carefully behind me, ran along the corridor, ringingit as loudly as I could, and knocking at each door as I passed. Ididn't call out "Fire!"--it was too terrifying; besides, I knew theothers would guess what was wrong as soon as they heard the bell andsmelt the smoke, and, in less than two minutes, every door was open, andthe occupants of the different rooms first peeped and then rushed out onto the landing in dressing-gowns and shawls, and all sorts of quaint-looking wraps. One light was always left burning all night long, so wecould see each other, even when the smoke hid that other horrible luridlight, and it is wonderful how brave we all were on the whole. Mothercame forward wrapped in her long blue gown, and found a chair for MadgeTalbot, who was the only one who showed signs of breaking down, just asquietly and graciously as if she had been entertaining her in thedrawing-room. Father and the men consulted rapidly together, and Vereput her arm round me, and leant on my shoulder. I could feel hertrembling, but she shut her lips tight, and tried hard to smileencouragingly at poor Madge, and all the time the smoke grew thicker, and the horrid crackling louder and nearer. 

"The drawing-room!" we heard father say. "The servants have beencareless in putting out the lights, and something has smouldered andfinally caught the curtains--that's the most probable explanation. Ifthat is the case, I fear the back stairs will be impassable; they areeven nearer than these. "

He turned and ran quickly down the passage, followed by Captain Grantlyand Mr Nash. Mr Carstairs came and stood by Vere's side, as if hecould not bear to leave her unprotected, and she looked up at him andsmiled a white little smile, as if she were glad to have him there. Amoment later the men came back, and, as father turned and closed theheavy oak door which divided one wing from another, we knew withoutasking that the other staircase was also cut off. 

Madge began to sob hysterically, but father stopped her with a wave ofhis hand, and said sharply, addressing us all--

"The back staircase is impracticable, but if we keep our senses, thereis no real danger to fear. I have rung the alarm bell, and the men willsoon be round with ropes and ladders. The best thing you can do is togo back to your rooms, dress rapidly, and collect a few valuables whichcan be lowered from the window. You can have five minutes--no longer. I will ring a bell at the end of that time, and we will all meet in myroom, which is the centre position, and therefore the farthest from thefire. Now, girls, quick! There is no time to lose!"

We ran. Some time--in a long, long time to come--we shall laugh tothink what curious costumes we made! It was just the first thing thatcame to hand. I was decently clothed in two minutes, seized a dressing-bag, put in my pearl necklace, a few odd trinkets, this diary, and theold Bible I have had since I was ten years old, and rushed along tomother's room to see if I could help. 

She was putting on a long dark coat, and had a lace scarf tied over herhair. Even then, in the middle of the night, she looked dignified andbeautiful, and her eyes melted in the tender way they have at greatmoments as she saw me. 

"Ready, daughter?" she said smiling, and then came up and took me intoher arms. "Good girl! Brave girl! We must help the others, Una. Youand I have no time to be afraid. "

"Thank you, mother darling!" I said, gratefully, for I had been, oh, terribly afraid, and it was just the best thing she could have said tocalm me and give me courage; and, while we clung together, father camehurrying in. He hardly seemed to notice me, Babs, his pet daughter!--Helooked only at mother, and spoke to her. 

"Are you warm, Carina? Are you suitably dressed? You must have notrain--nothing to make movement difficult. That's all right. Don'ttrust yourself to anyone but me, sweet-heart! I'll come to you in goodtime!"

"Yes, Boy, yes! I'll come with you, " said mother softly. 

They went out of the room arm-in-arm, never once looking at me. Itseemed as if at the first touch of danger they had gone back to the olddays when they were lovers, and no difference of interest had arisen todraw them apart. It made the tears come to my eyes to see them, and Iwas glad to be forgotten. 

The women servants were all awake by now, and, finding their ownstaircase in flames, came swarming down the corridor to escape by themain way; when they found this also was impracticable, they began toshriek and moan, and to implore us to save them, and it was hard work toget them into one room and keep them quiet. The men crowded at thewindow, looking for help, and shouting directions to the coachmen andgardeners when at last they came running towards the house. They flewoff, some to get ropes and ladders, some to alarm the neighbourhood, andbring help from the nearest fire office. It was three miles off, and inthe country firemen are scattered about in outlying cottages, and therewould be all the way to come back. It made one sick to think how longit might be before the engine arrived; and meantime the fire wassteadily spreading on the ground floor. When father bent forward toshout to the men, the light on his face was dreadful to see. I had ahorrible longing to scream, and I think I should have done it if Ihadn't been so occupied with Annie, the kitchen-maid, who was literallyalmost mad with fright. It seemed to soothe her to hold my arm, poorlittle soul. Respect for "the gentry" had been so instilled into herfrom her earliest years that I honestly believe she imagined the veryflames would hesitate to touch the Squire's "darter!"

It seemed ages before William and James came back--without the ladders!They were kept locked up by father's special orders, as so many jewelburglaries had taken place in the neighbourhood, the thieves usingladders to get into a bedroom while dinner was going on downstairs. Now, in the usual contrary way of things, the man who had the key hadridden away, forgetting all about it in his haste to bring help. Fatherstamped with impatience while the men were reporting their failure andasking further instructions. It was getting more and more difficult tohear, with that horrid roar coming up from below, and Mr Carstairs saidsuddenly--

"We can't waste time like this! These men have lost their heads. Grantly, you and I are strongest. We must get down and break in thedoor. Come to the back of the house; there must surely be some way ofdropping down on an out-house. "

"The blue room--over the larder. It's a deep drop, but safe enough forfellows like you. I'll show you!" cried father promptly, and led theway forward. It was no time to protest or to make polite speeches. Something had to be done, and done at once. I watched them go andenvied them. It's hardest of all to be a woman and have to wait. Iwould rather a hundred times have faced that drop than have sat in thatroom listening to the noise, seeing Vere growing whiter and whiter, andmother's face grow old and lined. If the worst came to the worst, Iwould go and sit beside them, but for the present I held Annie's handand stroked it, and wondered if it could be true that life was reallygoing to end like this. Only nineteen, and just home from school--itseemed so young to die! I remembered Will, and wondered if he would besorry, and if he and Rachel would talk of me when they were married. Then I forgot everything, and lust shut my eyes and prayed, prayed, prayed. 

A great shout of relief and joy! Father and Mr Nash were leaning outof the window waving their hands to the other men, who were carrying theladders across the lawn. We all sobbed with relief, for it seemed as ifescape must be easy now, but the ladders were not long enough, they hadto be tied together, and by this time the flames were leaping out of thewindow below; we could see the light dancing up and down, and it seemeda dreadful prospect to have to pass them on an open ladder. I looked atmother--mother who never walked a step outside the grounds, who waswaited upon hand and foot, and spent half her time lying on the sofa. It seemed impossible that she could attempt such a feat!

The moment the ladder was fixed father turned round and called to us tocome forward, but we all hung back silent and trembling. Then hestamped his foot, and his eyes flashed. 

"Are you going to turn cowards and risk other lives besides your own?There is not a moment to lose. Every moment will make it moreformidable. Mary, you are a brave girl! Will you lead the way?"

She walked forward without a word. I did admire her! Father lifted herup; a pair of arms were thrust out to receive her from the midst of theclouds of smoke. We all held our breath for what seemed an age, but wasonly a few minutes, I suppose, and then came another cheer, and we knewshe was safe. The servants rushed forward at that, but when they lookeddown and saw the flames licking the very side of the ladder, theyshrieked again and fell back; so Madge went next, and then father walkedup to mother and took her by the hand. She looked up at him and shookher head. 

"Not yet, dear, not yet. The girls first!" she said, but he wouldn'tlisten to that. 

"The girls wouldn't go before you. You can't stand this any longer. Iam going to carry you down and come back for them. Come, sweetheart!"

She rose then without a word, and we saw him lift her in one arm like ababy and let himself down slowly, slowly with the other hand. 

Oh, the awfulness of that moment when they both disappeared and we wereleft alone! With father gone it seemed as if there were no one left tokeep order or inspire us with any show of courage. I think we all wentmad or something like it, and, before we knew what was happening, one ofthe servants had opened the door and flown shrieking along the passage. Another great gust of smoke rushed into the room; we could hardly seeeach other; we were all rushing about, jostling together, fighting likewild things for air and freedom. 

"Vere, Vere!" I shouted, and she clutched at my arm, and we rantogether down the corridor, to the head of the servants' stairs, backagain faster than ever into the blue room where the men had letthemselves down to the roof of the larder. There seemed just a chancethat we might be able to do the same. It was the only chance I couldthink of, and Vere was clinging to me, begging me to save her, and notlet her be burnt. 

"I can't die, Babs--I can't! I've never thought of it. I'm frightened!Oh, Babs, Babs, think of something--think of a way--Save me! Save me!"

"I'll try, Vere, but you must help, you must be quiet! The heat is notso bad here, and if we get on the roof and call, someone may hear us. They will come to look if they find we have gone. Oh, we should neverhave left that room! Father trusted us to wait for him, but it is toolate now. .. Look, here's a sheet: we must tear it into strips and makea rope. It will be easier that way. "

But when they tell you in books to make ropes of sheets, they forgetthat it's almost impossible to tear strong new sheets, and that onecannot always find scissors in a strange room in the middle of thenight. In the end, we could only knot the two together, and tie one endto the rail of the washstand. It was not long enough then, but Iscrambled out and let myself down to the end, and then dropped, and bygood providence managed to steady myself on the roof beneath. It wasnot so very sloping as roofs go, and the gutter was deep, and made akind of little wall round the edge. I called to Vere to follow, andpromised to catch her, but it took, oh, ages of coaxing and scoldingbefore she would venture, and it was only by a miracle that we didn'tboth fall to the ground, for she let go so suddenly and clutched at mein such frantic terror when I stretched up to catch her. We didn'tfall, however, but cowered down together on the roof with our feet fixedfirmly against the projecting gutter, and I, for one, felt in a worseposition than ever. We were still too far from the ground to jump downwithout hurting ourselves on the hard paving stones, and no one was insight, no one heard our calls for help. To make things worse, ingetting nearer the ground we had come nearer to the fire itself, forsome of the windows on the ground floor had fallen in, and it was justlike looking into the heart of a furnace. There is nothing more awfulthan the speed with which fire travels. One feels so utterly helplessbefore it. The tiles on which we sat were hot. I don't know if it wasfancy, but every now and then I seemed to feel a movement beneath us asif something might give way. I think now that it really wasnervousness, for the roof was left practically unhurt, but at the timeanything seemed possible, and I was terrified. We called and calledagain, but no one came, and it seemed as if hours passed by, and thefire came creeping nearer and nearer. Sometimes Vere would be franticwith excitement; sometimes she would cover her face with her hands andmoan; sometimes she would be on the brink of fainting. I began to seethat if something was not done at once she would faint, and then wewould probably both fall to the ground together and be killed outright. Something had to be done, and I had to do it. I went creepy cold alldown my spine, for I knew what it was I had to do, and was in mortalterror of facing it. 

Somehow or other, if Vere were to be saved in time, I must get up frommy cramped seat, lower myself over the edge of the roof, hang at fulllength from the coping and drop on to the flags beneath. The men haddone it, but they were men, and it was a big drop even for them, andthey haven't got nerves like girls, or skirts, or slippers with heels. I was frightened out of my wits, but I knew that every moment I thoughtabout it I should be more frightened still, so I just told Vere what Iwas going to do--and did it!

I can't write about it; it makes me feel queer even now! The awfulmoment when you get over and swing into space; and the feeling that youmust look down, the ache in your hands as you cling on, and the terrorof leaving go! Mental pain is worse than physical, so it was really arelief to reach the ground, even though one foot did go over, and a painlike a red-hot poker shot up the leg. I thought I had broken the footto pieces, but it was only the ankle that was sprained, and I could limpalong, in a fashion, though so slowly that it took ages to get round tothe front of the house. At another time I suppose I should have satstill and howled; but you don't think of pain when it is a case of lifeand death, and I knew there was no time to spare. 

It could not really have been very long since we left father's room, butalready the scene was quite changed. The alarm bell had roused theneighbourhood, and there was quite a little crowd on the lawn. I saw ata glance how it was that we had not been missed. The servants hadrushed upstairs to the third storey, and were grouped together at awindow there screaming and calling for help, while the poor men workedhard at lengthening the ladders. At a distance, and through the cloudsof smoke, it was impossible to distinguish one figure from another, andeveryone had taken for granted that we were there with the rest. Nobodynoticed me hobbling forward till I got close up to the workers, and sawa well-known grey figure busy with the ropes. I pulled at his arm, andhe lifted a white face, then leapt to his feet and seized me by bothhands. 

"You, Una! Here! Thank God! How is it possible? Which way did youcome?"

"Out of a window--but, oh, don't talk--you must save Vere first! Roundat the back--now--at once! I'll show you the way, but I can't walk, myfoot is hurt--"

I felt as if I could not keep up a moment longer, but Will picked me upin his arms as if I had been a baby, and said soothingly--

"There! Now think quietly for one moment, and tell me what we shallwant! Where is she--high up? Shall I get some of these men to help. "

"She's on an outhouse roof. I dropped down, but it hurt me, you see, and Vere daren't attempt it. A ladder would do, just one ladder. There's Mr Carstairs--he'll come! I'll tell him where to go. "

I did tell him, and the poor fellow's face of mingled rapture and fearwas touching to see; then Will went on in front, still carrying me inhis arms, while the others followed with ladders and sheets and allkinds of things that might be needed. I was moaning to myself all thetime, and Will put down his head and said tenderly--

"Does it hurt so much, poor little girl?"

But it was my heart which hurt; I was so terrified of what we were goingto find. 

She was still there. I lifted my head as we came round the corner ofthe house, and I could see her. She was not sitting as when I had left, but half standing, half crouching forward, her hands stretched out, herhair loose over her shoulders. She looked like a mad woman; she _was_mad, poor Vere, and the sight of us in the distance seemed to excite hermore than ever. We called to her; we begged her to be calm, to sitstill for one moment--just one moment longer. The men ran forward toreassure her, but she didn't understand--she seemed past understanding. Just as help was within reach she threw out her arms with a dreadful cryand jumped, and her foot caught in the coping as she fell. Oh, I can'twrite about it! I must forget, or I shall go mad myself!. .. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

 _August 16th_. They picked her up, poor Vere! the man who loved her, and the servantswho had known her since she was a child; picked her up and laid her on aboard which did duty for a stretcher, rolled up a pillow for her head, and drew her golden hair back from her face. Mr Carstairs took off hiscoat and laid it over her as she lay. His face was as white as hers, and all drawn with pain, while hers was quite still and quiet. Sostill! I was afraid to look at her, or to ask any questions. 

Will put me down in a corner, and I sat there trembling and sick atheart, watching the little procession go round the corner of the house. I thought they had forgotten me, and I didn't care. I was past caring!The pain and the shock and excitement were making me quite faint andrambly in the head, when someone spoke to me suddenly, and put an armround my neck. 

"It's all over, darling! We have come to take you home. All yourtroubles are over now, " said a soft voice, and I looked up and saw aface looking down at me inside a close-fitting hood. For a moment I didnot recognise her; I thought it was a nun or someone like that sprungout of a hazy dream, but when she smiled I knew it was Rachel, andsomehow I began to cry at once, not because I was sorry, but because nowthat she was there I could afford to give way. She would look afterVere. 

"Yes, cry, dear, it will do you good; but you mustn't stay here anylonger. We have brought a chair, and are going to put you in it, andcarry you home to the Grange. We are your nearest neighbours, so youmust give us the pleasure of looking after you for a time. They aretaking your sister on ahead, and a man has ridden off for a doctor. Hewill look after that poor foot of yours presently. I am afraid it willbe painful for you to be moved, but we will be very careful. Theservants are preparing rooms in case they are needed. You shall getstraight to bed. "

"And mother and father?"

"Your mother was taken to the Lodge. She is well, but very exhausted. They want to keep her quiet to-night. Your father knows you are safe. He is very thankful, but he will not leave his post until the servantsare safe. Now here is the chair, and here are Will and the coach-manwaiting to carry you. Are you ready to be moved?"

I set my teeth and said "Yes, " and they hoisted me up and carried medown the path after that other dreadful procession. Oh, my foot! Inever knew what pain was like before that. How do people go on bearingit day after day, week after week, year after year? I couldn't! Ishould go mad. I would have shrieked then, but my pride wouldn't let mebefore Will and Rachel, when they kept praising me, and saying how braveI was. 

I was carried straight to a room and put to bed. Rachel bathed andbandaged my ankle, and then hurried away, and no one came near me for anage. I knew why. They were all with Vere; my ankle was a triflecompared with her injuries. When at last the doctor did appear, hecould tell me very little about her. The great thing was to keep herquiet until the next day, when he would be able to make an examination. I summoned courage to ask if she were in danger, and he answered merather strangely--

"In danger--of death, do you mean? Certainly not, so far as I cantell. "

What other danger could there be? I lay and pondered over it allthrough that hot, aching night; but I have learnt since then that thereare many things which may seem, oh, far, far harder than death to ayoung, beautiful girl. I have never had a great dread of death, I amthankful to say. Why should one fear it? If you really and truly are aChristian, and believe what you pretend, it's unreasonable to dreadgoing to a life which is a thousand times better and happier; and as fordying itself, I've talked to hospital nurses when I was ill at school, and they say that most people know nothing about it, but are only very, very tired, and fall asleep. Of course, there are exceptions. It wouldhave been dreadful to have been burnt alive!

I did sleep towards morning, and it was so odd waking up in that strangeroom, which I had hardly noticed in the pain and confusion of the nightbefore. I smiled a little even then as I looked round. It was soRacheley! Lots of nice things badly arranged, so different from my dearlittle room! Oh, my dear little room; should I ever, ever see it again?Someone was sitting behind the curtains, and as I moved he bent forwardand took hold of my hand. It was father, looking so white and old thatthe tears came to my eyes to see him; but he was alive and safe, thatwas the great thing, and able to tell me that all the servants had beensaved, and to give a good report of mother. 

"Very weak and shaken, but nothing more than that, thank God! Good oldMrs Rogers is very happy helping Terese to nurse her. She sent you herlove. "

"And, oh, father, the house, the dear old home? Is it quite ruined, ordid you manage to put out the fire before it went too far? Whathappened after we left?"

His face set, but he said calmly--

"The lower rooms are more or less destroyed, but the second storey islittle injured, except by smoke and, of course, water. The enginesworked well, and we had more help than we could use. The people turnedout nobly. The home itself can be saved, Babs; it will take months torepair, but it can be done, and we shall be thankful to keep the oldroof above our heads. "

"But it will never look the same. The ivy that has been growing forhundreds of years will be dead, and all the beautiful creepers! I can'timagine `The Moat' with bare walls. And inside--oh, poor father, allyour treasures gone! The silver and the china, and the cases of curios, and the old family portraits! You were so proud of them. Doesn't itbreak your heart to lose them all?"

"No, " he said quietly, "I cannot think of such things to-day. I am toofilled with thankfulness that out of all that big household not a lifehas been lost, and that my three darlings are with me still. Thosethings you speak of are precious in their way, but I have no room forregret for them in my heart when a still greater treasure is in danger, Vere--"

"Oh, father, tell me about Vere! Tell me the truth. I am not a child, and I ought to know. How has she hurt herself?"

"Truthfully, dear, no one knows. She cannot move, and there isevidently some serious injury, but what it is cannot be decided untilafter an examination. They fear some spinal trouble. "

Spinal! I had a horrid vision of plaster jackets and invalid couches, and those long flat, dreadful-looking chairs which you meet beingwheeled about at Bournemouth. It seemed impossible to connect suchthings with Vere!

"It can't be so bad! It can't be really serious, " I cried vehemently. "It was all over in such a second, and we were there at once; everythingwas done for her! Vere is easily upset, and she feels stiff andstrained. I do myself, but she will be better soon, father--they mustmake her better! She could not bear to be ill. "

He sighed so heavily, poor father, and leant his head against the wallas if he were worn out, body and mind. 

"Poor Vere, poor darling! I often wondered how her discipline wouldcome. Pray God it may not be this way; but if it does come thus we musthelp her through it as bravely as may be. It will be hard for us aswell as for her; terribly hard for your mother especially. We shalllook to you, Babs, to cheer us up; you are young and lighthearted, andif our fears come true you will have a great work before you. "

But I didn't feel that I could promise at all. After he had gone I laythinking it all over and feeling perfectly wretched at the idea of beingcheerful under such circumstances. I can be as lively as a grig, (whatis a grig, by the way?) when things go smoothly, and other people arecheerful, too, but to keep lively when they are in the depths of woe, and you have to keep things going all by yourself and there is noexcitement or variety, is a very different thing. I am quelled at onceby sighs, and tears, and solemn faces. It's my nature, I can't help it. I'm so sensitive. Miss Bruce once said that that word "sensitive" wasoften used when "selfish" would be much more applicable. I thought ithorrid of her at the time, but I expect, like most hard things, it istrue. Now if you didn't think of yourself at all but only and wholly ofothers, it would be your one aim through life to make them happy, and noeffort would be too difficult if it succeeded in doing that. Thenpeople would talk about you and say you were "the sunshine of the home, "and your parents would bless you with their latest breath, and peoplewho had misjudged you would flock round and sit at your knee, and profitby your example. I should like to be like that. It would be so lovelyand so soothing to the feelings. 

The doctor came at noon and allowed me to be lifted on to the sofa andwheeled into the next room. It made a change, but it was a very longday, all the same, and I thought the afternoon would never come to anend. Rachel came in and out the room, but could never settle down, foras soon as she sat down, rat-tat came to the door, someone said, "MissRachel, please, " and off she flew to do something else. 

Mrs Greaves brought some sewing and sat beside me, but she can't talk, poor dear; she can only make remarks at intervals and sigh between them, and it isn't cheerful. At tea-time Mr Greaves appeared, and--well, he_is_ a curious creature! I have always been taught that it is mean toaccept hospitality, "eat salt, " as the proverb has it, and then speakunkindly of your host, and, of course, I wouldn't to anyone else, but toyou, O diary, I must confess that I'm truly and devoutly thankful he isnot my father. 

He has a great big face, and a great big voice, and very little manners, and I believe he enjoys, really thoroughly enjoys, bullying otherpeople, and seeing them miserable. He was quite nice to me in the wayof sympathising with my foot, and saying that he was pleased to see me;but I felt inclined to shake him when he went on to speak of "The Moat, "and of all we had done that we should not have done, and left undonethat we should have done, and of what _he_ would have done in our place;making out, if you please, that the fire was all our fault, and that wedeserved it if we _were_ burnt out of house and home!

Rachel poured tea on the troubled waters, and he snubbed her for herpains and called his wife "madam, " and wished to know if she had nothingfit to eat to offer to her guest. There were about ten different thingson the table already; it was only rage which kept me from eating, but hechose to pretend that everything was bad, and we had a lively time ofit, while he ate some of the cakes on every plate in turns and took asecond helping and finished it to the last crumb, and then declared thatit wasn't fit for human consumption. All the while poor Mrs Greavessat like a mute at a funeral, hanging her head and never saying so muchas "Bo!" in self-defence; and Rachel smiled as if she were listening toa string of compliments, and said--

"Try the toast, then, father dear. It is nice and crisp, just as youlike it. If you don't like those cakes, we won't have them again. Ready for some more tea, dear? It is stronger now that it has stood alittle while. "

"It might easily be that. Hot water bewitched--that's what I call yourtea, young lady. Waste of good cream and sugar--"

So it went on--grumble, grumble, grumble, grum-- And that Rachelactually put her arm round his neck and kissed his cross red face. 

"It is not the tea that is bad, dear, it is your poor old foot. Cheerup! It will be better to-morrow. This new medicine is said to workwonders. "

Then he exploded for another half hour about doctors and medicines, abusing them both as hard as he could, and at the end pointed to myface, which, to judge from my feelings, must have been chalky green, andwanted to know if they called themselves nurses, and if they wished tokill me outright, for if they did they had better say so at once, andlet him know what was in store. He had borne enough in the last twenty-five years, goodness knew!

I was carried back to bed and cried surreptitiously beneath the clotheswhile Rachel tidied up. 

"Dear father, " she said fondly; "he is a martyr to gout. It is so sadfor him to have an illness which depresses his spirits and spoils hisenjoyment. There are so few pleasures left to him in life now, but hebears it wonderfully well. "

I peeped at her over the sheet, but her face was quite grave andserious. She meant it, every word!

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

 _August 17th_. I was wheeled into the library every day, and lay in state upon thesofa, receiving callers. Mother drove over each afternoon for a shortvisit. Will came in often, and brought Mr Carstairs with him. Theother members of Vere's house-party had returned home, but this poor, good fellow could not tear himself away from the neighbourhood until thedoctor had come to some more definite conclusion about Vere. 

A specialist had been down from town, and he pronounced the spineinjured by the fall, but hoped that, with complete rest, recovery waspossible in the future. How long would she have to rest? It wasimpossible to say. If he said a year, it would probably be excitingfalse hopes; it might be two years, or even three. And at the end ofthat time, even of the longest time, was there any certainty? It wasimpossible to be certain in such cases, but the probabilities made forimprovement. Miss Sackville had youth on her side, and a goodconstitution. It was a mistake to look on the dark side. "Hope, mydear sir, hope is a more powerful medicine than people realise! Fiftyguineas, please--thank you! Train leaves at two o'clock, I think yousaid?"

I was thankful I had not to tell Vere the verdict. Father broke it toher, and said she "took it calmly, " but he looked miserable, and everytime he went to see her he looked still more wretched and _baffled_. There is no other word to express it. He seems impatient for me to seeher, and when at last I could hobble to the door of her room, went withme and whispered urgently, "Try what you can make of her! Don't avoidthe subject. It is better sometimes to speak out, " and I went in, feeling almost as anxious as he was himself. 

Vere was lying in bed, with her hair twisted loosely on the top of herhead, and wearing one of her pretty blue jackets, all ribbons andfrilly-willies. In a way she looked just the same; in a way sodifferent that I might never have seen her before. The features werethe same, but the expression was new; it was not that she lookedtroubled, or miserable, or cross, or anything like that; you could nottell what she felt; it was just as if a mask covered everything that youwanted to see, and left only the mere bare outline. 

She spoke first. 

"Well, Una! So your foot is better, and you can get about? I was sosorry to hear it was bad. I suppose you are not able to get out yet?"

"Oh, no! This is my longest walk. I am afraid of attempting thestairs. The Greaves are very kind. I believe they like having ushere. "

"Having you, you mean. I am sure you must make a delightful break inthe monotony. As for me, "--she thrust out her hands with an expressivelittle grimace--"I have been rather a nuisance to everybody while thesestupid doctors have been debating over the case. It's a comfort thatthey have made up their minds at last, and that I can be moved as soonas there is a place ready for me. Father is ordering a spinal carriagefrom London with the latest conveniences, like the suburban villas. Ibelieve you lie on a mattress or something of the sort, which can belifted and put down in the carriage. Such a saving of trouble! It iswonderful how cleverly they manage things nowadays. "

Just the old, light, airy voice; just the same society drawl. She mighthave been talking of a new ball dress for any sign of emotion to beseen, and yet I know well that Vere--the old Vere--could have faced nofate more bitter than this! I stared at her, and she stared back with afixed, unchanging smile. I knew by that smile that it was notresignation she felt; not anything like that lovely willing way in whichreally good people accept trouble--crippled old women in cottages, whowill tell you how good God has been to them, when they are as poor asmice, and have never been out of one room for years; and other peoplewho lose everybody they love best, and spend their lives trying to makeother people happy, instead of glumping alone. I have really and trulyknown people like that, but their faces looked sweet and radiant. Vere's was very different. I knew now what father had been worryingabout the last few days, and what he meant by advising me to speakopenly, but it was not easy to do so. I was afraid of her with that newlook!

"We are both cripples for the time being, but if I get strong before youdo, I'll do everything I can to help you, dear, and make the time passquickly, " I was beginning feebly, when she caught me up at once, as ifshe did not want to hear any more. 

"Oh, thanks; but I love lazing. I am quite an adept in the art of doingnothing, and you will have quite enough on your hands. It's a capitalthing for you, my being out of the running. You would never have takenyour proper place unless you were really forced into it. Now you willhave to be Miss Sackville, and you must keep up my reputation and docredit to your training. "

"I shall never take your place, Vere, " I said sadly, and thensomething--I don't know what--reminded me suddenly of Mr Carstairs, andI asked if she knew he was staying with Will. 

"Oh, yes. He writes to me frequently--sheets upon sheets. He has madeup his mind to stay until he can see me again, and realise that I amstill in the flesh, so he will have the pleasure of seeing me in my newchair. I must send him an invitation to join me on my first expedition. He really deserves some reward for his devotion. "

I had a vision of them as they would look. Vere stretched at fulllength, flat on her back, on that horrid-looking chair, and MrCarstairs towering above her, with his face a-quiver with grief andpity, as I had seen it several times during the last week. If it hadbeen me, I should have hated appearing before a lover in such a guise, and I am only an ordinary-looking girl, whereas Vere is a beauty, andhas been accustomed to think of her own appearance before anything inthe world. I could not understand her. 

"I like Jim Carstairs, " I said sturdily. "I hope some day I may havesomeone to care for me as he does for you, Vere. It must be a lovelyfeeling. He has been in such distress about you, and on that night--that awful night--I shall never forget his face--"

"Ah, you have an inconvenient memory, Babs! It was always your failing. For my part I mean to forget all about it as soon as possible. Youwere very good and brave, by the way, and, I am afraid, hurt your footin trying to save me. I would rather not return to the subject, so Iwill just thank you once and for all, and express my gratitude. Youpractically saved my life. Think of it! If it had not been for you Ishould not have had a chance of lying here now, or riding about in myfine new chair!"

"Vere, _don't_! don't sneer!" I cried hotly, for the mask had slippedfor a moment, and I had caught a glimpse of the bitter rebellion hiddenbeneath the smile. "It is awful for you--we are all wretched about it;but there is hope still, and the doctor says you will get better if onlyyou will give yourself a chance. Why do you pretend? why smile and makefun when all the time--oh, I know it, I know it quite well--your heartis breaking!"

Her lip trembled. I thought she was going to break down, but in amoment she was composed again, saying in the same light, jeering tones--

"Would you prefer me to weep and wail? You have known me all your life;can you imagine me--Vere Sackville--lying about with red eyes and aswollen face, posing as an object of pity? Can you imagine me allowingmyself to be pitied?"

"Not pitied, perhaps--no one likes that; but if people love you, andsympathise--"

"Bah!" She flicked her eyelids impatiently. I realised at that momentthat she could not move her head, and it gave me a keener realisation ofher state than I had had before. "Bah! It is all the same. I wantnothing from my friends now that they did not give me a month ago. If Ihave to be on my back instead of walking about, it is no affair oftheirs. I neither ask nor desire their commiseration. The kindestthing they can do is to leave me alone. "

I thought of the old days when she was well and strong, and could runabout as she liked, and how bored she was after a few days of quiet homelife. How could she bear the long weeks and months stretched outmotionless on a couch, with none of her merry friends to cheer her anddistract her thoughts. The old Vere could not have borne it, but thiswas a new Vere whom I had never seen before. I felt in the darkconcerning her and her actions. 

We talked it over at tea that afternoon, Rachel and Will and I. He cameto call, so Mr Greaves sent up a polite message that he preferred toremain in his own room, and, of course, his poor wife had to stay, too, so for once we young people were alone. I was a little embarrassed atbeing number three with a pair of lovers, as any nice-minded personwould be. I did all I could for them--I pretended to be tired, and saidI thought I'd better be wheeled back to my room, and I made faces atRachel behind Will's back to show what I meant, but she only smiled, andhe said--

"I can see you, Babs, and it's not becoming! We have no secrets to talkabout, and would much rather have you with us, wouldn't we, Rachel?"

"Of course you are to stay, Una dear; don't say another word about it, "Rachel answered kindly, but that wasn't exactly answering his question. She was too honest to say that she would rather have me there, and Idon't think she quite liked his saying so, either, for she was evenquieter than usual for the next five minutes. Then Will began to talkabout Vere, and of Mr Carstairs' anxiety, and father's distress abouther state of mind. He seemed to think that she did not realise what wasbefore her, but Rachel and I knew better than that, and assured him thathe need fear no rude awakening. 

"Vere is not one of the people who deceive themselves for good or bad. She is very shrewd and far-seeing, and, though she may not say anythingabout it, I know she has thought of every single little difficulty andtrouble that will have to be faced. When it comes to the point, youwill see that she has her own ideas and suggestions, which will bebetter than any others. She will order us about, and tell us whatclothes to choose, how to lift her, and where to take her. And she willdo it just as she is doing things now, as calmly and coolly as if shehad been accustomed to it all her life. "

"Extraordinary!" cried Will. He put down his cup and paced up and downthe floor, frowning till his eyebrows met. "Marvellous composure! Ishould not have believed it possible. A lovely girl like that to haveher life wrecked in a moment; to look forward to being a hopelessinvalid for years--perhaps for ever. It is enough to unhinge thestrongest brain, and she bears it without a murmur, you say; realises itall and still keeps calm? You women are wonderful creatures. You teachus many lessons in submission. "

Rachel and I looked at each other and were silent, but I knew that sheknew, and I had a longing to hear what Will would say. Somehow, eversince knowing him I have always felt more satisfied when I knew hisopinion on any subject. So I told him all about it. I said--

"I'll tell you something, but you mustn't speak of it to Mr Carstairs, or father, or anybody; just think over it yourself, and try if you canhelp her. Rachel knows--she found out for herself, as I did. Vere isnot brave nor submissive, nor anything that you think; it is only apretence, for in reality she is broken-hearted. She won't allow herselfto give in like other people, so she has determined to brave it out, andpretend that she doesn't care. She has always been admired and envied, and would hate it if people pitied her now, and I think there is anotherreason. She is angry! Angry that this should have happened to her, andthat it should have happened just now when she was enjoying herself somuch, and was so young and pretty. She feels that she has been ill-used, and it makes her cold and bitter. I've felt the same myself whenthings went wrong. It isn't right, of course: one ought to be sweet andsubmissive, but--can't you understand?"

"Yes, " said Will, quickly. He stopped in his pacings to and fro, andstood thinking it over with his head leant forward on his chest. Hisface looked so kind, and troubled, and sorry. "Oh, yes, " he said, "Iunderstand only too well. Poor girl, poor child! It's awfully sad, forit is going to make it all so much more difficult for her. She doesn'tsee it, of course, but what she is trying to do is to accept the burdenand refuse the consolation which comes with it. "

"I must say I fail to see much consolation in an injured spine, " I saidhastily, and he looked across the room, opening his eyes with thatquick, twinkling light which I loved to see. 

"Ask Rachel, " he said, "ask Rachel! If she broke her back to-morrow shewould have at least twenty good reasons for congratulation with which toedify me for the first time we met. Wouldn't you, dear? I am quitesure you would accept it as a blessing in disguise. "

"If I broke my back I should die, Will. It is always fatal, I believe!"quoth Rachel the literal, blushing with pleasure at his praise, buttalking as primly and properly as if she were addressing a class in aschool. She is a queer girl to be engaged to!

I saw Will's eyebrows give just one little twitch on their own account, as if he thought so himself, but the next moment he sat down beside herand said gently--

"But if you were in Miss Sackville's place, how would you feel? Howwould you face the truth?"

She leant back in her chair and stared before her with big, rapt eyes, her fingers clasping and unclasping themselves on her knee. 

"There is only one way--to look to God for help and courage. Pride andanger can never carry her through the long days and nights that will beso hard to bear. They must fail her in the end, and leave her morehelpless than before. The consolations are there, if she will open hereyes to see them, and afterwards--afterwards she will have learnt herlesson!"

We sat quiet for quite a long time, and then came the inevitablesummons, and Rachel went away and left us alone. 

"I told you she was the best woman in the world!" Will said, smiling atme proudly. I didn't feel inclined to smile at all, but the tears camesuddenly to my eyes, and I began to sob like a baby. 

"Oh, yes, yes, but I am not, and Vere is my sister, and she was sopretty and gay. I can't be resigned for her! I can't bear to see herlying flat on her back; I can't bear to think of that awful chair. Howcan I talk to her of submission when I'm rebellious myself? I'm allhot, and sore, and miserable, and I want to know why, why, why? Why wasour dear old home burnt when other houses are safe and sound? Whyshould we be crippled and made sad and gloomy just when we thought itwas going to be so nice? All my school life I have looked forward tocoming home, and now it's all spoiled! I'm not made like Rachel. Ican't sit down and be quiet. It doesn't come natural to me to beresigned; I want to argue and understand the meaning of things. I haveto fight it through every inch of the way. "

"I, too, Babs, " he said sadly. "I'm afraid I have kicked very hardagainst the pricks several times in my life. Every now and then--veryrarely--one meets a sweet soul like Rachel who knows nothing of thesestruggles; they are born saints, and appear to rise superior totemptations, but most of us are continually fighting. There's thisconsolation, that the hour of victory can never be so sweet as when itcomes after a struggle. "

"And Vere--will she win too? I can think of no one but her just now. We used often to quarrel, and I've been jealous of her hundreds oftimes. I never knew I loved her so much till we were in danger, but nowI'd give my life to save her, and help her through this terrible time!"

"And you will do it, too. Vere will win her battle, but not with herown weapons, as Rachel says. Pride and anger won't carry her very fardown the road she has to travel, poor child. It will be a gentlerweapon. "

"You mean--?"

Will turned his back to me, and stood staring out of the window. Helooked so big and strong himself, as if no weakness could touch him. 

"I mean--love, " he said softly. 

I wondered what he meant. I wondered why he turned his face from me ashe spoke. I wondered if the thought of Vere lying there all broken andlovely was too much for his composure, and if he was longing to save herhimself. But then there was Rachel. He could never be false to poortrusting Rachel!

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

 _August 20th_. It is lovely to be able to go out again into the sweet summer land, anddrive about with father and mother, and have our nice, homely talksagain. The Greaves' are perfect angels of kindness, and what we shouldhave done without their hospitality I'm sure I can't tell, but everyfamily has its own little ways, and, of course, you like your own thebest. The Greaves' way is always to say exactly precisely whatever theymean and nothing beyond, and to think you rather mad if you do anythingelse. Our way is to have little jokes and allusions, and a great dealof chatter about nothing in particular, and to think other people boresif they don't do the same. We call our belongings by proper names. Myumbrella is "Jane, " because she is a plain, domestic-looking creature, and mother's, with the tortoiseshell and gold, is "Mirabella, " and ourcat is "Miss Davis, " after a singing-mistress who squalled, and the newlaundry-maid is "Monkey-brand, " because she can't wash clothes. It'ssilly, perhaps, but it _does_ help your spirits! When I go out on a wetday and say to my maid "Bring `Jane, ' please, " the sight of her facealways sends me off in good spirits. She tries so hard not to laugh. 

Father and I just make plain, straightforward jokes, like everyone else, but mother jokes daintily, as she does everything else. It's lovely tolisten to her when she is in a frisky mood!

We are all depressed enough just now, goodness knows, but it cheers usup a little to be together, and, in comparison with the Greaves'conversation, ours sounds frisky. Yesterday we drove up to see the dearhome, at which dozens of men are already at work. It was at once betterand worse than I expected. The ivy is still green in places, and theydon't think it is all destroyed, so that the first view from the bottomof the drive was a relief. Near at hand we saw the terrible damagedone, and, when I went inside for a few minutes, the smell was still sostrong that I had to hurry back into the air. It will take months toput things right, and meantime father has taken a furnished house fourmiles off, where we go as soon as Vere can be moved, and stay until sheis strong enough to travel to the sea, or to some warm, sunny place forthe winter. We shall probably be away for ages. No balls, Una! Nodissipations, and partners, and admiration, and pretty new frocks, asyou expected. Furnished houses and hospital nurses, and a long, anxiousillness to watch. Those are your portion, my dear!

I am a wretch to think of myself at all. Rachel wouldn't; but I do, andit's no use pretending I don't. I'm horribly, horribly disappointed!One part of me feels cross and injured; the other part of me longs to begood and unselfish, and to cheer and help the others. I haven't had farto look for my sister. While I was searching the neighbourhood forsomeone to befriend, the opportunity was preparing inside our very ownwalls! Now then, Una Sackville, brace up! Show what you are made of!You are fond enough of talking--now let us see what you can do!

 _August 28th_. The spinal chair arrived yesterday when I was at the Lodge. Fathercried when he saw it. I hate to see a man cry, and got out of the wayas soon as possible, and, when I came back, mother and he were sittinghand in hand in the little parlour, looking quite calm, and kind ofsadly happy. I think bearing things together has brought them nearerthan they have been for years, so they certainly have found theircompensation. 

The doctor says Vere is to live out of doors, so this morning she wascarried out on her mattress, laid flat on the chair, and wheeled to acorner of the lawn. As I had prophesied, she arranged all detailsherself. She wore a soft, white serge dressing-gown sort ofarrangement, which was loose and comfortable, and a long lace scarf putloosely over her head, and tied under the chin, instead of a hat. Everything was as simple as it could be. Vere had too much good tasteto choose unsuitable fineries, but, as she lay with the sunlightflickering down at her beneath the screen of leaves, she looked sotouchingly frail and lovely that it broke your heart to see her. Herhair lay in little gold rings on her forehead, the face inside the lacehood had shrunk to such a tiny oval. One had not realised, seeing herin bed, how thin she had grown during these last few weeks!

We all waited on her hand and foot, and walked in procession beside her, gulping hard, and blinking our eyes to keep back the tears whenever wehad a quiet chance, and she laughed and admired the trees, and saidreally it was the quaintest sensation staring straight up at the sky;she felt just like "Johnny Head in Air" in the dear old picture-book!It was a delightful couch--most comfortable! What a lazy summer sheshould have! If there was one thing she loved more than another, it washaving meals in the open air--all in the same high, artificial notewhich she had used ever since her accident. 

We all agreed and gushed, and said, "Yes, darling, " "Isn't it, darling?""So you shall, darling, " and we had tea under a big beech-tree, andanyone might have thought we were quite jolly; but I could see father'slip quiver under his moustache, and mother looked old. I hate to seemother look old!

Just as we had finished tea a servant came up to tell father that Willand Mr Carstairs had called to see him. They had too much good feelingto join us where we were, but Vere lifted her languid eyes and said"Stupid men! What are they afraid of? Tell them to come here at once. "And no one dared to oppose her. 

I shall never forget that scene. It was like treading on sacred groundto be there when Mr Carstairs went forward to take Vere's hand, yet, ofcourse, it would not have done to leave them alone. His face was set, poor fellow, and he couldn't speak. I could see the pulse above his earbeating like a hammer, and was terrified lest he should break downaltogether. Vere would never have forgiven that! She thanked him inher pretty society way for all his "favaws, " the flowers, and the books, and the letters, all "so amusing, don't you know!" (as if his poorletters could have been amusing!) and behaved really and truly as ifthey had just met in a ball-room, after an ordinary separation. 

"It's quite an age since I saw you; and now, I suppose, it is a case of`How do you do, and good-bye, '" she said lightly. "You must be longingto get away from this dull place, to pay some of your postponed visits. "

"They will have to be postponed a little longer. Dudley is good enoughto say he can put me up another week or two, and I should like to seeyou settled at Bylands. There--there might be something I could do foryou, " returned the poor man wistfully, but she would not acknowledge anyneed of help. 

"Dearie me! Have you turned furniture remover? Are you proposing topack me with the rest of our belongings?" she cried, lifting her chinabout a quarter of an inch in feeble imitation of her old scornful tilt. It was very pitiful to see her do it, and Mr Carstairs' lip twitchedagain, and he turned and began talking to mother, leaving the coastclear for Will Dudley. He looked flushed, but his eyes were curiouslybright and determined. 

"I am so thankful to see you out again, Miss Sackville, " he said. "That's the first step forward in your convalescence, and I hope theothers may follow quickly!"

That was his cue! He was not going to allow Vere to ignore her illnesstalking to him; he had determined to make her face it naturally andsimply, but the flash in her eyes showed that it would not be too easy. She stared up into his face with a look of cold displeasure, and hestared straight back and said--

"Are you as comfortable as possible? I think that light is ratherdazzling to your eyes. Let me move you just a few inches. "

"I am perfectly happy, thank you. Pray don't trouble. I prefer to staywhere I am. "

"I'll move you back again if you don't like it, " he said coolly. "There! Now that branch screens you nicely. The sun has moved sinceyou first came out, I expect. Confess, now, that is more comfortable!"

She would not confess, and she could not deny, so she simply dropped hereyelids and refused to answer; but a little thing like that would notdaunt Will Dudley, and he went on talking as if she had thanked him asgraciously as possible. Presently, however, the hospital nurse gave usa private signal that Vere was getting tired and ought to rest, so weall strolled away and left them alone together beneath the tree. 

We had only three days more at the Grange, and during them Racheldevoted herself as much as possible to Vere, trotting between the houseand the beech-trees on everlasting missions, and reading aloud for hourstogether from stupid novels, which I am sure bored her to extinction. Vere herself did not seem to listen very attentively, but I think thesweet, rather monotonous voice had a soothing effect on her nerves; shewas relieved to be spared talking, and also intent on studying thisstrange specimen of human nature. 

"Oh, admirable but dullest of Rachels, she absolutely delights in doingwhat she dislikes! It was as good as a play to watch her face yesterdaywhile she read aloud the reflections of the worldly Lady Peggy! Theyevidently gave her nerves a severe shock, but as for omitting a passage, as for even skipping an objectionable word, no! not if her life dependedupon it. `It is my duty, and I will. ' That is her motto in life. Howboring people are who do their duty!" drawled Vere languidly on the lastafternoon, as poor Rachel left her to go back to the other invalid, whowas no doubt growling like a bear in his den as he waited for herreturn. Everyone seemed to take Rachel's help for granted, and to thinkit superfluous to thank her. Even Will himself is far less attentive toher wants than my _fiance_ shall be when I have one. I simply couldn'tstand being treated like a favourite aunt, and really and truly hebehaves far more as if she were that, than his future wife. He is neverin the least tiny bit excited or agitated about seeing her. 

I wouldn't admit this to Vere for a thousand pounds, but I felt crossall the same, and said snappishly--

"It's a pity she wasted her time, since you were only jeering at her forher pains. I don't know about enjoying what she hates, but shecertainly loves trying to help other people, and I admire her for it. Iwish to goodness I were like her!"

At this she smiled more provokingly than ever. 

"Yes. I've noticed the imitation. It's amusing. All the more so thatit is so poor a success. Your temper is not of the quality to be keptpersistently in the background, my dear. "

It isn't. But I _had_ tried hard to keep patient and gentle the lastfew weeks, even when Vere aggravated me most. I had been so achinglysorry for her that I would have cut off my right hand to help her, so ithurt when she gibed at me like that. 

"I'm sorry I was impatient! I wanted so badly to help you, dear. Youmust forgive me if I was cross. "

"Babs, _don't_!" she gasped, and her face was convulsed with emotion. For one breathless moment, as we clutched hands and drew close together, I thought the breakdown had come at last, but she fought down her sobs, crying in tones of piteous entreaty--

"Don't let me cry! Stop me! Oh, Babs, don't let me do it. If I oncebegin I can never stop!"

"But wouldn't it be a relief to you, darling? Everyone has beenterrified lest you were putting too great a strain on yourself. If yougave way once to me--it doesn't matter for me--it might do you good. Cry, darling, if you want, and I'll cry with you!"

But she protested more vigorously than ever. "No, no, I daren't! Ican't face it! Be cross with me--be neglectful--leave me to myself, butfor pity's sake don't be so patient, Babs! It makes me silly, and Imust keep up, whatever happens. Say something now to make me stop--quickly!"

"I expect the men will be here any moment. You'll look hideous with redeyes, " I said gruffly. It was the only thing I could think of, andperhaps it did as well as anything else, for she calmed down by degrees, and there was no more sign of a breakdown that night. 

After that day we seemed to understand each other better, and when I sawdanger signals I was snappy on purpose, and felt like a martyr when Willand Mr Carstairs glared at me, and thought what a wretch I was. Wewanted Vere to be resigned and natural about her illness, but we dreadedand feared a hysterical breakdown, which must leave her weaker thanever, and she had said herself that if she once began to cry she couldnever leave off. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

 _September 5th_. Four days later we left the Grange and came to our new home, a furnishedhouse four miles away. It is a big, square, prosaic-looking building, but comfortable, with a nice big garden, so we are fortunate to havefound such a place in the neighbourhood. We told each other gushinglyhow fortunate we had been, every time that we discovered anything thatwe hated more than usual, and were obtrusively gay all that first horridevening. 

Vere's two rooms had been made home-like and pretty with treasures savedfrom the Moat, and new curtains and cushions and odds and ends likethat; but we left the other rooms as they were, and pretended that weliked sitting on crimson satin chairs with gold legs. Father is lostwithout his nice gunny, sporty sanctum. Mother looks pathetically outof place in the bald, ugly rooms, and I feel a pelican in the wildernesswithout my belongings but when you have come through great big troublesyou are ashamed to fuss over little things like these. 

Also, to tell the truth, we are thankful to be together in a place ofour own again. Mrs Greaves and Rachel had been sweet to us, but theyhad one invalid on their hands already, and we could not help feelingthat we gave a great deal of trouble. They said they were sorry to loseus, and that we had been an interest in their quiet lives, and I dothink that was true. Vere, with her beauty and her tragedy, her lovelyclothes and dainty ways, was as good as a three-volume novel to peoplewho wear blue serge the whole year round, do their hair neatly in knobslike walnuts, and never indulge in anything more exciting than a gardenparty. Then there was the romantic figure of poor Jim Carstairshovering in the background, ready at any moment to do desperate deeds, if thereby he could win a smile of approval, so different from thatother complacent lover, who was "content to wait" and never knew thesemblance of a qualm! I used to watch Rachel watch Jim, and thoughtsomehow that she felt the difference, and was not so serene as she hadbeen when I first knew her. Her face looked sad sometimes, but not forlong, for she had so little time to think of herself. I agree with Willthat she is the best woman in the world, and the sweetest and mostunselfish. 

The house where Will lives is nearer "The Clift" than the old home, andthe two men come over often to see us. They had reconnoitred thegrounds before we arrived, and knew just the nicest portions for Vere'schair for each part of the day, and Jim had noticed how she started atthe sudden appearance of a newcomer, and had hit on a clever way ofgiving her warning of an approach. Lying quite flat as she does, withher face turned stiffly upwards, it had been impossible to see anyonetill he was close at hand, but now he has suspended a slip of mirrorfrom the branches of the favourite trees in such a position that theyreflect the whole stretch of lawn. It is quite pretty to look up andsee the figures moving about; the maids bringing out tea, or fatherplaying with the dogs. Vere can even watch a game of tennis or croquetwithout turning her head. We were all delighted, and gushed withadmiration at his ingenuity, and Vere said, "Thank you, Jim, " and smiledat him, and that was worth all the praise in the world. 

He told us that he was going home at the end of the week, and one day Ilistened to a conversation which I never should have heard, but itwasn't my fault. Vere and I were alone, and when we saw Jim coming shegot into a state of excitement, and made me vow and declare that I wouldnot leave her. I couldn't possibly refuse, for she isn't allowed to beexcited, but I twisted my chair as far away as I dared, humped up myshoulders and buried myself in my book. Jim knew I would do my best forhim, but it's disgusting how difficult it is to fix your attention onone thing, and close your ears to something still more interesting. Ihonestly did try, and the jargon that the book and the conversation madetogether was something too ridiculous. It was like this--

"Maud was sitting gazing out of the window at the unending stream oftraffic. " "This is our last talk! I told Dudley not to come, forthere's so much to say. " "It was her first visit to London, and to theinnocent country mind--" "Don't put me off, dear! I must speak to-day, or wait here till I do. " "Innocent country mind--innocent countrymind. " "No matter if it does pain me. I will take the risk. I justwish you to know. " "Innocent country mind it seemed as if--" But it wasno use; my eyes travelled steadily down the page, but to this moment Ican't tell you what Maud's innocent country mind made of it. I couldhear nothing but Jim's deep, earnest voice. 

"I don't ask anything from you. You never encouraged me when you werewell, and I won't take advantage of your weakness. I just want you torealise that I am yours, as absolutely and truly as though we wereformally engaged. You are free as air to do in every respect as youwill, but you cannot alter my position. I cannot alter it myself. Thething has grown beyond my control. You are my life; for weal or woe Imust be faithful to you. I make only one claim--that when you need afriend you will send for me. When there is any service, however small, which I can render, you will let me do it. It isn't much to ask, is it, sweetheart?"

There was a moment's pause--I tried desperately and unsuccessfully toget interested in Maud, and then Vere's voice said gently--more gentlythan I had ever heard her speak--

"Dear old Jim, you are so good always! It's a very unfair arrangement, and it would be horribly selfish to agree. I'd like well enough to haveyou coming down; it would be a distraction, and help to pass the time. I expect we shall be terribly quiet here, and I have always beenaccustomed to having some man to fly round and wait upon me. There isno one I would like better than you--wait a moment--no one I would likebetter while I am ill! I can trust you, and you are so thoughtful andkind. But if I get well again? What then? It is best to be honest, isn't it, Jim? You used to bore me sometimes when I was well, and youmight bore me again. It isn't fair!"

"It is perfectly fair, for I am asking no promises. If I can be of theleast use or comfort to you now, that is all I ask. I know I am a dull, heavy fellow. It isn't likely you could be bothered with me when youwere well. "

Silence. I would not look, but I could imagine how they looked. Jimbending over her with his strong brown features a-quiver with emotion. Vere with the lace scarf tied under her chin, her lovely white littleface gazing up at him in unwonted gentleness. 

"I wonder, " she said slowly, "I wonder what there is in me to attractyou, Jim! You are not like other men. You would not care forappearances only, yet, apart from my face and figure--my poor figure ofwhich I was so proud--there is nothing left which could really pleaseyou. I have been a vain, empty-headed girl all my life. I cared formyself more than anything on earth. I do now! You think I am brave anduncomplaining, but it is all a sham. I am too proud to whine, but inreality I am seething with bitterness and rebellion. I am longing toget well, not to lead a self-sacrificing life like Rachel Greaves, butto feel fit again, and wear pretty clothes, and dance, and flirt, and beadmired--that's what I want most, Jim; that's _all_ I want!"

He put out his hands and took hers. I don't know how I knew it, but Idid, though Maud was still staring out of the window, and I was stillstaring at Maud. 

"Poor darling!" he said huskily. "Poor darling!"

He didn't preach a bit, though it was a splendid opening if he hadwanted one, but I think the sorrow and regret in his voice was betterthan words. Vere knew what he meant, and why he was sorry. I heard alittle gasping sound, and then a rapid, broken whispering. 

"I know--I know! I ought to feel differently! Sometimes in the night--oh, the long, long nights, Jim!--the pain is so bad, and it seems as iflight would never come, and I lie awake staring into the darkness, and afear comes over me. .. I feel all alone in a new world that is strangeand terrible, where the things I cared for most don't matter at all, andthe things I neglected take up all the room. And I'm frightened, Jim!I'm frightened! I've lost my footing, and it's all blackness andconfusion. Is it because I am so wicked that I am afraid to be alonewith my thoughts? I was so well and strong before this. I slept sosoundly that I never seemed to have time to think. "

"Perhaps that's the reason of it, sweetheart. You needed the time, andit has been given to you this way, and when you have found yourself theneed will be over, and you will be well again. "

"Found myself!" she repeated musingly. "Is there a real self that Iknow nothing of hidden away somewhere? That must be the self you carefor, Jim. Tell me! I want to know--what is there in me which made youcare so much? You acknowledge that I am vain?"

"Y-es!"

"And selfish?"

He wouldn't say "Yes, " and couldn't deny it, so just sat silently andrefused to answer. 

"And a flirt?"

"Yes. "

"And very cruel to you sometimes, Jim?" said Vere in that new, sweet, gentle voice. 

"You didn't mean it, darling. It was only thoughtlessness. "

"No, no! I did mean it! It was dreadful of me, but I liked toexperiment and feel my power. You had better know the truth once forall; it will help you to forget all about such a wretched girl. "

"Nothing can make me forget. You could tell me what you like aboutyourself, it would make no difference; I am past all that. You are theone woman in the world for me. At first it was your beauty whichattracted me, but that stage was over long ago. It makes no differenceto me now how you look. Nothing makes any difference. If you werenever to leave that couch--"

But she called out at that, interrupting him sharply--

"Don't say it! Don't suggest for a moment that it is possible! Oh, Jim, you don't believe it! You don't really think I could be like thisall my life? I will be very good, and do all they say, and keep quietand not excite myself. I will do anything--anything--but I must getbetter in the end! I could not bear a life like this!"

"The doctors all tell us you will recover in time, darling, but it's aterribly hard waiting. I wish I could bear the pain for you; but youwill let me do what I can, won't you, Vere? I am a dull stick. No oneknows it better than I do myself, but make use of me just now; let mefetch and carry for you; let me run down every few weeks to see you, andgive you the news. It will bind you to nothing in the future. Whateverhappens, I should be grateful to you all my life for giving me so muchhappiness. "

"Dear old Jim! You are too good for me. How could I possibly say `No'to such a request?" sighed Vere softly. I think she was very nearlycrying just then, but I made another desperate effort to interest myselfin Maud, and soon afterwards he went away. 

Vere looked at me curiously when I returned to the seat by her side, andI told her the truth. 

"I tried to read, I did, honestly, but I heard a good deal! It was yourown fault. You wouldn't let me go away. "

"Then you know something you may not have known before--how a good mancan love! I have treated Jim Carstairs like a dog, and this is how hebehaves in return. I don't deserve such devotion. "

"Nobody does. But I envy you, Vere. I envy you even now, with all yourpain. It must be the best thing in the world to be loved like that. "

"Sentimental child!" she said, smiling; but it was a real smile, not asneer; and when mother came up a few minutes later, Vere looked at heranxiously, noticing for the very first time how ill and worn she looked. 

"You looked fagged, mother dear. Do sit still and rest, " she said, inher old, caressing manner. Mother flushed, and looked ten years youngeron the spot. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

 _September 20th_. I expected Vere to be quite different after this--to give up being coldand defiant, and be her own old self. I thought it was a kind ofcrisis, and that she would go on getting better and better--morally, Imean. But she doesn't! At least, if she does, it is only by fits andstarts. Sometimes she is quite angelic for a whole day, and the nextmorning is so crotchety and aggravating that it nearly drives one wild. I suppose no one gets patient and long-suffering all at once; it is likeconvalescence after an illness--up and down, up and down, all the time;but it's disappointing to the nurses. She does try, poor dear, but itmust be difficult to go on trying when one day is exactly like the last, and you do nothing but lie still, and your back aches, aches, aches. Jim is not always present to lavish his devotion upon her, and now thatthe first agitation is over we onlookers are getting used to seeing herill, and are less frantically attentive than at first, which, of course, must be trying, too; but one cannot always live at high pressure. Ibelieve one would get callous about earthquakes if they only happenedoften enough. 

Summer is passing away and autumn coming on, and it grows damp andmouldy, and we have to sit indoors for most of the day. When I have anytime to think of myself I feel so tired; and one day Vere saidabruptly--

"Babs, you are thin! Upon my word, child, I can see your cheek-bones. What have you been doing to yourself?"

Thin! Blessed word! I leapt from my seat and rushed to the nearestglass, and it was true! I stared, and stared, and wondered where myeyes had been these last weeks. My cheeks had sunk till they were ovalinstead of round. I looked altogether about half the old size. Whatwould the girls say if they could behold their old "Circle" now? Itused to be my ambition to be described as a "tall, slim girl, " and now Iturned, and twisted, and attitudinised before that glass, and, honestly, that was just exactly what I looked! I took hold of my dress, and itbagged! I put my fingers inside my belt, and the whole hand slippedthrough! My face of rapture made Vere laugh with almost the old trill. 

"You goose! You look as if you had come into a fortune! I don't denythat it is an improvement, but you mustn't overdo it. It would be toohard luck for mother if we were both ill at the same time. All thisanxiety has been too much for you. I had better turn nurse, and let yoube patient for a little time, and I'll prescribe a little change andexcitement. Firstly, a becoming new toilette for dinner to-night, inwhich you can do justice to your charms. "

Vere never dines with us now, as the evenings are her worst time, andshe spends them entirely in her own little sitting-room. I am alwayswith her to read aloud, or play games, or talk, just as she prefers; butthis night there were actually some people coming to dinner for thefirst time since the pre-historic ages before the fire. The peoplearound had been very kind and attentive, and mother thought it our dutyto ask a few of them; so four couples were coming, and Will Dudley topair with me. It was quite an excitement after our quiet days; and Verecalled her maid, and sent her to bring down one or two evening dresseswhich had been rescued uninjured from a hanging cupboard and leftuntouched until now, in the box in which they had been packed. 

"Miss Una is so much thinner, I believe she could get into them now, Terese; and I have a fancy to dress her up to-night and see what we canmake of her, " she said, smiling; and Terese beamed with delight, not somuch at the thought of dressing me, as in joy at hearing her belovedmistress take an interest in anything again. She adores Vere, as allservants do. It's because she makes pretty speeches to them and praisesthem when they do things well, instead of treating them like machines, as most people do. In my superior moments I used to think that she washypocritical, while I myself was honest and outspoken; but I ambeginning to see that praise is sometimes more powerful than blame. Iam really becoming awfully grown-up and judicious. I hardly know myselfsometimes. 

Well, Terese brought in three dresses, and I tried them on insuccession, and Vere decided which was most becoming, and directedlittle alterations, and said what flowers I was to wear, and how my hairwas to be done, just exactly as if I were a new doll which made anamusing plaything. I had to be dressed in her room, too, and she laywatching me with her big wan eyes, issuing directions to Terese, andsaying pretty things to me. It was one of her very, very nicest days, and I did love her. 

When the last touch was given I surveyed myself in the long mirror and"blushed at my own reflection, " like the girl in books who is going toher first ball. I really did look my very, very nicest, and so grownup, and sort of fragile and interesting, instead of the big, hulkingschoolgirl of a year ago. The lovely moonshiny dress would have suitedanyone, and Terese had made my hair look just about twice as thick aswhen I do it myself. I can't think how she manages! I did feelpleased, and thought it sweet of Vere to be pleased too, for it was notin girl nature to avoid feeling lone and lorn at being left alone, stretched on that horrid couch. She tried to smile bravely as I lefther to go downstairs, but her lips trembled a little, and she said in awistful way--

"Perhaps, if I feel well enough, you might bring Mr Dudley up to see mefor a few minutes after dinner. Terese will let you know how I am. "

I had to promise, of course, but I didn't like doing it. It didn't seemfair either to Rachel or to Jim Carstairs to let these two see too muchof each other, or to Vere herself, for that matter; for I always have akind of dread that this time it may not be all pretence on her side. She seems a little different when Will is there, less absolutelyconfident and sure of herself. 

The four couples arrived in good time. How uninteresting middle-agedcouples are! One always wondered why they married each other, for theyseem so prosy and matter-of-fact. When I am a middle-aged couple, orhalf of one, I shall be like father and mother, and carry about with methe breath of eternal romance, as Lorna would say, and I shall "Bant, "and never allow myself to grow stout, and simply annihilate my husbandif he dares to call me "my dear. " Fancy coming down to being a "mydear" in a cap!

I had gone into the conservatory to show some plants to funny old baldMr Farrer, and when he toddled out to show a bloom to his wife I cameface to face with Will, standing in the entrance by himself, looking sohandsome and bored. He gave a quick step forward as he saw me andexclaimed first "Babs!" and then, with a sudden change of voice andmanner, almost as if he were startled--

"Una!"

He didn't shake hands with me, and I felt a little bit scared and shy, for it is only very, very rarely that he calls me by my name, and I havea kind of feeling that when he does he likes me more than usual. It wasVere's dress, of course; perhaps it made me look like her. We went backinto the drawing-room, and stood in a corner like dummies until dinnerwas announced. 

I thought it would have been such fun, but it wasn't. Will was dull anddistrait, and he hardly looked at me once, and talked about sensibleimpersonal things the whole time. Of course, I like sensibleconversation; one feels humiliated if a man does nothing but frivol, butthere is a happy medium. When you are nineteen and looking your best, you don't care to be treated as if you were a hundred and fifty, and afright at that. Will and I have always been good friends, and beingengaged as he is, I expect him to be perfectly frank and out-spoken. 

I tried to be lively and keep the conversation going, but it was such aneffort that I grew tired, and I really think I am rather delicate foronce in my life, for what with the exertion and the depression, I feltquite ill by the time dessert was on the table. All the ladies said howpale I was in the drawing-room, and mother puckered her eyebrows whenshe looked at me. Dear, sweet mother! It was horrid of me to bepleased at anything which worried her, but when you have been of noaccount, and all the attention has been lavished on someone else, it isreally rather soothing to have people think of you for a change. 

Terese met me coming out of the dining-room, and said that Vere was wellenough to see Mr Dudley, so I took him upstairs as soon as he appeared. Passing through the hall, I saw a letter addressed to me in Lorna'shandwriting, on the table, and carried it up with me to read while theywere talking. They wouldn't want me, and it would be a comfort toremember that Lorna did. I was just in the mood to be a martyr, so whenI had seen Will seated beside the couch, and noticed that Vere had beenarrayed for the occasion in her prettiest wrap, with frilled cushioncovers to match, I went right off to the end of the room and sat down onthe most uncomfortable chair I could find. When one feels low it iscomical what a relief it is to punish oneself still further. When Ithought myself ill-used as a child, I used always to refuse tart andcream, which I loved, and eat rice pudding, which I hated. Theuncomfortable chair was the rice pudding in this instance, but I soonforgot all about it, and even about Vere and Will, in the excitement ofreading that letter. 

 "My own Maggie, --(on the second day after we met at school Lorna and I decided to call each other `Maggie'--short for `magnetic attraction'-- but we only do it when we write, otherwise it excites curiosity, and that is horrid in matters of the heart!)--My own Maggie, --It is ages since I heard from you, darling. Why didn't you answer my letter last week? But I know how occupied you are, poor angel, and won't scold you as you deserve. I think of you every moment of the day, and do so long to be able to help you to bear your heavy burden. How little we thought when you went home how soon the smiling future would turn into a frown! We both seem to have left our careless youth far behind, for I have my own trials too, though nothing to yours, my precious darling. 

 "I have heaps to tell you. I decided to have the blue dress, after all, and the dressmaker has made it sweetly, with dozens of little tucks. I wore it at an afternoon `At Home' yesterday, and it looked lovely. Lots of people were there. Wallace took me. He is at home helping with the practice. Maggie, my darling, I am really writing to ask you the most awful favour. Would you, could you, come down to stay with us for a few weeks? I do long for you so. There is no one on earth but you to whom I can speak my utmost thoughts, and I feel all bottled up, for there are some things one can't write. I know you feel this, too, dearest, for there is a change in the tone of your letters, and I read between the lines that you have lots to tell me. We could have great sport with Wallace to take us about, and the people around are very hospitable, and always ask us out when we have a visitor. Wallace saw your photograph one day, and said you were `ripping, ' and he is quite keen on your coming, though, as a rule, he doesn't care for girls. Mother will write to Mrs Sackville if you think there is the slightest chance that you can be spared. Of course, darling, if you feel it your duty to stay at home I won't persuade you to come. You remember how we vowed to urge each other to do our best and noblest, but perhaps if you had a little change you would go back refreshed and able to help your people better than you can at present. Anyway, write soon, darling, and put me out of my suspense. I sha'n't sleep a wink till I hear. Oh, the bliss of having you all to myself! How we would talk!

 "Your own Maggie. "

Yes, it would indeed be bliss! I longed for Lorna, but it did not seempossible to go away and enjoy myself, and leave Vere so helpless andsad. I decided not to say a word about the invitation, but I couldn'thelp thinking about it. Lorna lived in a big town house in the middleof a street; her father is a busy doctor, and is not at all rich, butvery jolly. She is the only unmarried girl, and has half-a-dozenbrothers in all stages, from twelve up to Wallace, who is a doctor, andthinks my photograph is "ripping!" It all seemed so tempting, and sorefreshingly different from anything I have known. I began imagining itall--the journey, meeting Lorna at the station, and tearing about withall those funny, merry boys, instead of tiptoeing about a sick-room;Wallace being nice and attentive to me, instead of in love with someoneelse, as all the men at home seem to be, and Lorna creeping into my bedat night, with her hair in a funny, tight little pigtail, and talking, talking, talking for hour after hour. Oh, I did want to go so badly!The tears came to my eyes for very longing. My resolution did not waverone bit, but I was dreadfully sorry for myself, all the same. 

Suddenly I became aware that there was a dead silence in the room. Howlong it had lasted I can't tell, but when I looked up there were Vereand Will staring at me, and looking as if they had been staring for anage, and couldn't understand what on earth was the matter. I jumped andgot red, and blinked away the tears, and Vere said--

"What is the matter, child? Have you had bad news? You look as if yourheart was broken!"

"Oh, no--there's no news at all. I am tired, I think, and stupid, andwasn't thinking of what I was doing. "

"You seemed to be thinking of something pretty deeply; and what businesshave you to be tired--a baby like you? I have been prescribing for herto-day, Mr Dudley. Have you noticed how thin she has grown? Shehadn't discovered it herself until I told her, wonderful to relate. "

"I don't think she has thought of herself at all these last few months, "said Will, quietly. 

He only just gave one glance at me, and then looked away, and I wasthankful, for every drop of blood in my body seemed to fly to my face inthe joy of hearing him praise me like that. Vere did not speak for amoment or two, and then she just asked who the letter was from. 

"Lorna Forbes. She writes every week. I haven't written to her for anage--nearly a month. "

They both knew about Lorna, and teased me about her when I quoted heropinion, and now, to my surprise, Will lifted his eyes from the carpet, and said, looking me full in the face--

"And she wants you to pay her a visit, and you think you ought not togo?"

How could he guess? I was so taken aback that at first I could onlygasp and stare. 

"How in the world did you know?" I asked at last, and he smiled andsaid--

"Your face was very eloquent. It was very easy to read, wasn't it, MissSackville?"

"I did not find it so transparent as you seem to have done; I suppose Iam dense, " Vere replied, with a laugh that sounded a little bitstrained. "Is it true, Babs? Has Mr Dudley read the signs correctly?"

I had to confess, making as light of it as possible, but they weren'tdeceived a bit. 

"You hardly looked as if you didn't `care, '" Will remarked drily, andVere said quite quickly and eagerly--

"You must go, Babs--of course you must go! It is the very thing youneed. You have been a ministering angel to me, and I'm very grateful, but I don't want the responsibility of making you ill. Change and thebeloved Lorna will soon bring back your roses, and it will be amusing tohear of your escapades when you return. Don't think of me! It is goodfor me to be quiet, and there are plenty of friends who will come in foran hour or two if I feel the need of society. You will take pity on me, won't you, Mr Dudley? You will come sometimes and have tea with motherand me?"

"I shall be delighted, " said Will, gravely. As for me, I didn't knowwhether to be most pleased or depressed. I should pay my visit toLorna, that was practically settled from the moment Vere approved of theproposal, which was one nice thing; and another was her remark that Ihad been an angel; but it seemed as if I could be very easily spared, and I had grown to think myself indispensable these last few weeks. Wetalked a little more about it, and then Will and I went downstairs. Hedidn't speak until we were nearly at the drawing-room door, when he saidabruptly--

"You are very eager to get away! Are you so tired of this neighbourhoodand all the people it contains?"

"Oh, so tired! so utterly, utterly tired!" I cried earnestly. 

It sounded rude, perhaps, but at the moment I really felt it. I hadreached the stage of tiredness when I had a perfect craving for achange. He didn't say a word, but stalked straight forward, and neverspoke to me again except to say good-night. It doesn't concern me, ofcourse, but I do hope for Rachel's sake that he hasn't a sulky nature. 

Heigh-ho for Lorna! I am going at the end of next week. I ampositively bursting with delight!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

 _October 4th_. Here I am! It is not a bit as I imagined, but ever so much nicer. Lorna looks sweet in grown-up things, and she thinks I look sweet inmine. She comes into my bed at nights, and we talk for hours. Thehouse is right in the middle of the town, in a dingy old square, wherethe trees look more black than green. It is ugly and shabby, but thereis plenty of room, which is a good thing, for I am sure it is needed. The doctor sits in his consulting-room all the morning seeing patients, who wait their turn in the dining-room, and if there are a great manyyou have to be late for lunch, but, as Lorna says, "That means anotherguinea, so we mustn't grumble!" They are not at all rich, because thesix boys cost so much to educate. They are all away at school andcollege, except the oldest and the youngest, of whom more anon. 

Dr Forbes is an old love. He has shaggy grey hair, and merry eyes, andthe funniest way of talking aloud to himself without knowing what he issaying. At lunch he will keep up a running conversation like this:"Nasty case--yes, nasty case! Poor woman, poor woman! Very littlechance--little chance--Very good steak, my dear--an admirable dinner youhave given me! Am-pu-ta-tion at eleven--mustn't forget the medicine. Three times a day. A little custard, if you please, " and so on, and soon, and the others never take any notice, but eat away as if no one werespeaking. 

Mrs Forbes is large and kind, and shakes when she laughs. I don'tthink she is clever, exactly, but she's an admirable mother, and letsthem do exactly as they like. 

Wallace isn't bad. He is twenty-four, and fairly good-looking, and notas conceited as men generally are at that age. Personally, I preferthem older, but he evidently approves of me, and that is soothing to thefeelings. Julias, surnamed "Midas, " is only twelve, and a most amusingcharacter. I asked Lorna and Wallace how he got his nickname, as we sattogether over a fire in the old schoolroom the first night. Theylaughed, and Wallace said--(of course, I call him Dr Wallace, really, but I can't be bothered to write it here)--

"Because everything he touches turns to gold, or, to speak morecorrectly, copper! He has a genius for accumulating money, and has whatwe consider quite a vast sum deposited in the savings bank. My fatherexpects him to develop into a great financier, and we hope he maypension off all his brothers and sister, to keep them from theworkhouse. To do Midas justice, he is not mean in a good cause, and Ibelieve he will do the straight thing. "

"But how can he make money? He is only twelve. I don't see how it isto be done, " I cried. And they laughed and said--

"It began years ago--when he shed his front teeth. Mother used to offerus sixpence a tooth when they grew waggly, and we pulled them outwithout any fuss. We each earned sixpences in our turn, and all wentwell; but when Midas once began he was not content to stop, and workedaway at sound, new double teeth, until he actually got out two in oneafternoon. Then mother took alarm, and the pay was stopped. There wasan interregnum after that, and what came next? Let me see--it must havebeen the sleeping sickness. Midas grew very rapidly, Miss Sackville, and it was very difficult to get him to bed at nights, so as the materthought he was suffering from the want of sleep, she promised himthreepence an hour for every hour he spent in bed before nine o'clock. After that he retired regularly every night at seven, and on half-holidays it's a solemn fact that he was in bed at four o'clock, issuinginstructions as to the viands which were to be brought up for hisrefreshment! The mater stood it for a time, but the family financeswouldn't bear the strain, so she limited the hours and reduced the fee, and Midas returned to his old ways. What came after that, Lorna?"

"I don't know--I forget! Of course there was Biggs--"

"Ah, yes, Miss Biggs! Miss Biggs, you must know, Miss Sackville, is anancient friend of the family, whom we consider it a duty to invite for ayearly visit. She is an admirable old soul, but very deaf, very slow, and incredibly boring. Her favourite occupation is to bring downsheaves of letters from other maiden ladies, and insist upon readingthem aloud to the assembled family. `I have just had a letter fromLouisa Gibbings; I am sure you will like to hear it, ' she will saycalmly, when the poor old parents are enjoying a quiet read afterdinner, and we youngsters are in the middle of a game. None of us havethe remotest idea who Louisa Gibbings may be, and don't want to know, but we are bound to listen to three sheets of uninteresting informationas to how `My brother in China contemplates a visit home next year. '`My garden is looking charming, but the peas are very poor this season. '`You will be grieved to hear that our good Mary still suffers acutelyfrom the old complaint, ' etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Last time shepaid her visit when Midas had his Easter holidays, and one day, seeingmother quite exhausted by her efforts at entertainment, he made thebrilliant proposal that he should take Miss Biggs off her hands for thesum of fourpence an hour. Mother agreed with enthusiasm, and Midas madequite a fortune in the next fortnight, with equal satisfaction to allconcerned. In the morning he took Miss Biggs out walking to see thesights, and gave her his advice in the purchase of new caps. In theafternoon the wily young wretch cajoled her into giving him an hour'scoaching in French, and in the evening he challenged her to draughts anddominoes, and made a point of allowing her to win. Mother had a chanceof attending to her work; father could read in peace; Midas was in acondition of such complacent good nature that he declared Miss Biggs wasa `ripping old girl, ' and she on her part gave him the credit for being`the most gentlemanly youth she had ever encountered. ' I believe she isreally attached to him, and should not wonder if she remembers himsubstantially in her will. Then Midas will have scored a doubletriumph!"

Wallace and Lorna laughed as heartily as I did over these histories. They really are a most good-natured family, and Wallace treats Lorna aspolitely as if she were someone else, and not his own sister, which isvery different from some young men I could mention. I had put on myblue dress, and I knew quite well that he admired it and me, and thatput me in such good spirits that I was quite sparkling and witty. Hestayed talking to us until after nine, when he had to go downstairs towrite some letters. 

"Thank goodness! I thought he would never go. What a bore he is!"Lorna said, when the door closed behind him. 

I didn't feel like that at all, but I disguised my feelings, and toldher the details and the adventures of the last three months, and aboutVere, and the house, and my own private tribulations, and shesympathised and looked at everything from my point of view, in the nice, unprejudiced way friends have. It was very soothing, and I could havegone on for a long time, but it was only polite to return thecompliment, so I said--

"Now we must talk about you! You said in your last letter that you hadmany troubles of which you could not write. Poor, sweet thing, tell meabout them! Begin at the beginning. What do you consider your verygreatest trial?"

Lorna pondered. She is dark and slight, and wears her hair parted inthe middle, and puffed out at the sides in a quaint fashion that justsuits her style. She wrinkled her brows, and stared into space in arapt, melancholy fashion. 

"I think, " she said, slowly, at last, "I think it is the drawing-room!"

I was surprised, but still not surprised, for the drawing-room is awful!Big and square, and filled with heavy furniture, and a perfect shopfulof ugly ornaments and bead mats, and little tables, and milking-stools, and tambourines, and bannerettes, and all the kind of things that wereconsidered lovely ages ago, but which no self-respecting girl of our agecould possibly endure. Lorna told me thrilling tales of her experiencewith that room. 

"When I first came home, mother saw that I didn't like it, so she saidshe knew quite well that she was old-fashioned and behind the times, andnow that she had a grown-up daughter she would leave the arrangement ofsuch things to her, and I could alter the room as much as ever I liked. So, my dear, I made Mary bring the biggest tray in the house, and Ifilled it three times over with gimcracks of all descriptions, and sentthem up to the box-room cupboard. I kept about three tables instead ofseven, with really nice things on them, and left a good sweep of flooron which you could walk about without knocking things down. I pulledout the piano from the wall, and lowered the pictures, and gathered allthe old china together, and put it on the chimney-piece, and--and--oh, Ican't tell you all the alterations, but you would hardly have known itfor the same room! It looked quite decent. When all was finished, Isent for mother, and she came in and sat down, and, my dear, she turnedquite white! She kept looking round and round, searching for thingswhere she had been accustomed to find them, and she looked as ifsomething hurt her. I asked her if she didn't like it, and she said--

"`Oh, yes, it looks much more--more modern. Yes, dear, you have beenvery clever. It is quite--smart! A little bare, isn't it--just alittle bare, don't you think?'

"`No, mother, ' I said sternly, `not the least little bit in the world!It seems so to you because you have had it so crowded that there was noroom to move, but you will soon get accustomed to the room as it is, andlike it far better. '

"`Yes, dear, ' she said meekly, `of--of course. I'm sure you are quiteright, ' and will you believe it, Una, she went straight into her ownroom, and cried! I know she did, for I saw the marks on her face lateron, and taxed her with it. She was very apologetic, but she said thelittle table with the gold legs had been father's first gift to herafter they were married, and she couldn't bear to have it put aside; andthe ivory basket under the glass shade had come from the first FrenchExhibition, and she had worked those bead bannerettes herself when I wasteething, and threatened with convulsions, and she did not dare to leavethe house. Of course, I felt a wretch, and hugged her, and said--

"`Why didn't you say so before? We will bring them back at once, andput them where they were; but you have not tender associations with allthe things. You did not work that hideous patchwork cushion, forinstance, and--'

"`No, but Aunt Mary Ryley did, ' she cried eagerly, `and it is made outof pieces of all the dresses we wore when we were girls together. Ioften look at it and remember the happy times I had in the grey poplinand the puce silk. '

"So, of course, the cushion had to come back too, and by the end of aweek every single thing was taken out of the cupboard, and put in itsformer place! They _all_ had memories, and mother loved the memories, and cared nothing for the appearance. I was sweet about it. I wouldn'tsay so to anyone but you, Una, but I really was quite angelic, until oneday when Amy Reeve came to call. She was staying with some friends afew miles off, and drove in to see me. You know how inquisitive Amy is, and how she stares, and takes in everything, and quizzes it afterwards?Well, my dear, she sat there, and her eyes simply roved round and roundthe whole time, until she must have known the furniture by heart. Isuffered, " sighed Lorna plaintively, "I suffered _anguish_! I wouldn'thave minded anyone else so much--but Amy!"

I said, (properly), that Amy was a snob and an idiot, and that itmattered less than nothing what she thought, but all the time I knewthat I should have felt humiliated myself, and Lorna knew it, too, butwas not vexed with me for pretending the contrary, for it is only rightto set a good example. 

"Of course, " she said, "one ought to be above such petty trials. If afriendship hangs upon chiffoniers and bead mats, it can't be worthkeeping. I have told myself so ever since, but human nature is hard tokill, and I _should_ have liked the house to look nice when Amy called!I despise myself for it, but I foresee that that room is going to be acontinual trial. Its ugliness weighs upon me, and I feel self-consciousand uncomfortable every time my friends come to call, but I am not goingto attempt any more changes. I wouldn't make the dear old mother cryagain for fifty drawing-rooms!"

I thought it was sweet of her to talk like that, and wanted so badly tofind a way out of the difficulty. I always feel there must be a way, and if one only thinks long enough it can generally be found. I satplunged in thought, and at last the inspiration came. 

"Didn't you say this room was your own to do with as you liked?"

"Yes; mother said I could have it for my den. Nobody uses it now; but, Una, it is hideous, too!"

"But it might be made pretty! It is small, and wouldn't take muchfurnishing. You could pick up a few odds and ends from other rooms thatwould not be missed. "

"Oh, yes, mother wouldn't mind that, and the green felting on the flooris quite nice and new; but the paint, and the paper-saffron roses--andgold skriggles--and a light oak door! How could you possibly makeanything look artistic against such a background?"

"You couldn't, and it wouldn't be much fun if you could. I've thoughtof something far more exciting. Lorna, let us paper and paint itourselves! Let us go to town to-morrow, and choose the very, very mostartistic and up-to-date paper that can be bought, and buy some tins ofenamel, and turn workmen every morning. Oh, do! I should love it; andyou were saying only an hour ago that you did not know how to amuse mein the mornings. If we did the room together you would always associateme with it, and I should feel as if it were partly mine, and be able toimagine just where you were sitting. Oh, do, Lorna! It would be suchripping sport!"

She didn't speak for a good half-minute, but just sat staring up inecstasy of joy. 

"You angel!" she cried at last. "You simple duck! How can you think ofsuch lovely plans? Oh, Una, how have I lived without you all thesemonths? Of course, I'll do it. I'd love to! I am never happier thanwhen I am wrapped up in an apron with a brush in my hand. I'veenamelled things before now, but never hung a paper. Do you reallythink we could?"

"Of course! If the British workman can do it, there can't be much skillrequired, and we with our trained intelligence will soon overcome anydifficulty, " I said grandiloquently. "All we want is a pot of paste, and a pair of big scissors, and a table to lay the strips of paper on. I've seen it done scores of times. "

"So have I, " said Lorna. "And doesn't the paste smell! I expect, whatwith that and the enamel, we shall have no appetites left. It willspoil our complexions, too, very likely, and make us pale and sallow, but that doesn't matter. "

I thought it mattered a good deal. It was all very well for her, butshe wasn't staying with a friend who had an interesting grown-upbrother. Even the finest natures can be inconsiderate sometimes. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

 _September 23rd_. The next morning we went to a paperhanger's shop and asked to see thevery newest and most artistic designs in stock. There were lots oflovely things, but after great discussion we decided on a thick whitepaper, perfectly plain, except in each corner of the room, where therewas a sort of conventional rose tree, growing up about seven feet high, with outstanding branches laden with the most exquisite pink roses. Thewhite of the background was partly tinged with blue, with here and therea soft, irregular blue like a cloud. Looking up suddenly, you mightimagine you were in the open air in the midst of a rose garden, and thatwould be a very pleasant delusion in Onslow Square. 

The salesman asked how many pieces he should send, and whether we wishedit hung at once. When I said we intended to hang it ourselves, hesaid--

"Oh, indeed, madam!" and looked unutterable things. 

We were so quelled that we did not dare to ask him about the enamel andpaste as we intended, but bought those at a modest little shop furtheron, and went home rejoicing. 

Mrs Forbes had laughed and shaken all over in the most jovial mannerwhen we told her of our plans, but she didn't approve of the white paperand paint, because, forsooth, it would get soiled. Of course it wouldget soiled! Things always do sooner or later. Old people are sodreadfully prudent that they get no pleasure out of life. When thispaper is shabby Lorna can get a new one, or she may be married, or dead, or half a dozen different things. It's absurd to plan years ahead. Icheered up poor Lorna, who is of a sensitive nature and easilydepressed, and when she recovered asked what she thought we ought to donext. 

"The first thing to settle, " she said decidedly, "is Midas! He can helpus in a dozen ways if he will, for he is really wonderfully handy for aboy of his age. He will do nothing unless we consult him formally, andmake a definite business arrangement, but it pleases him and won't hurtus, as it will be only a few coppers. He is saving up for a motor-carat the present moment, and Wallace says that by steady attention tobusiness he really believes he will get one by the time he is sixty. "

We called Midas in and consulted him professionally. He is tall andlanky, and has pale blue eyes with long light eyelashes. You wouldthink to look at him that he was a gentle, unworldly creature, addictedto poetry, but he isn't! He sat astride the table and viewed thelandscape o'er. 

"The first thing will be to take every stick of furniture out of theroom, and have the carpet up. I know what girls are when they do jobsof this kind. You will be up to your eyes in paste, and it won't besafe to leave anything within touching distance. The furniture must beremoved and stored. I'll store it for you in my room. Then you'll needa ladder, and some planks for the lengths of paper to lie on, while youpaste 'em. I'll hire you the old shutter from the drawing-room. "

"The shutters are as much mine as yours, " said Lorna. "I don't need tohire them; I can have them if I want!"

"That's where you show your ignorance, my dear. They are in mypossession, and I won't give them up without compensation. Then you'llneed a man to assist in the hanging!"

"Say a boy at once, and name your price, and be done with it. You are aregular Shylock!"

Midas grinned as if pleased with the compliment, drew a pocket-book anda stubby end of a pencil from his pocket, and began alternately strokinghis chin and jotting down words and figures. Lorna grimaced at mebehind his back, but kept a stern expression for his benefit. I supposeshe knew that if he saw her smile prices would go up. Presently he drewa line, tore the leaf out of the book and handed it across with a bow. 

"My estimate, ladies! It is always more satisfactory to have anagreement beforehand. "

I peeped over Lorna's shoulder and read--

Estimate For Proposed Renovations. 

+==========================================+=+=+|To Removal of furniture |1|9|+------------------------------------------+-+-+|Storage of same at rate of 6 pence per day|1|6|+------------------------------------------+-+-+|Restoration of same |1|9|+------------------------------------------+-+-+|Impliments |1|0|+------------------------------------------+-+-+|Man's time |1|3|+------------------------------------------+-+-+|Sundrys | |6|+------------------------------------------+-+-+| |7|9|+==========================================+=+=+

It was quite a formidable total, but Lorna was evidently accustomed toextortionate demands, and began beating him down without delay. 

"Well, of all the outrageous pieces of impudence! Seven and ninepence, indeed! You must have taken leave of your senses. If you think I amgoing to pay you four or five shillings for carrying a few odds and endsof furniture along the passage, you are mightily mistaken! And weshould have to help you, too, for you couldn't manage alone. If weasked Wallace he'd do it at once, without any pay at all. "

"Drink to me only with thine eyes!" chanted the little wretch, foldinghis arms and gazing fixedly at me with a life-like assumption ofWallace's attitude and expression, which sent Lorna into fits oflaughter, and made me magenta with embarrassment. "If you like to waituntil Wallace has time to run your errands and see you through yourdifficulties, you will get your room finished by Christmas--with luck!I am sorry you think my charges high, but I'm afraid I don't see my wayto reduce 'em. "

"Midas, don't be a goose! We will pay you twopence an hour for yourtime, and twopence a day for storage--that's the limit. That disposesof the first four items. As for the rest, we had better understand eachother before we go any further. Kindly distinguish between implementsand sundries. "

"Is this an Oxford local, or is it a conversation between a brother andsister?" Midas demanded, throwing back his head, and mutely appealingto an unseen arbiter in the corner of the ceiling. "If you can'tunderstand a simple thing like that, it doesn't say much for youreducation. It is easily seen _you_ were never a plumber! I thought wewere going to come to a friendly agreement, but you are so close andgrasping, there is no dealing with you. Look here, will you give mehalf-a-crown for the job?"

I gasped with surprise at this sudden and sweeping reduction of terms, but Lorna said calmly--

"Done! A halfpenny discount if paid within the hour!" and they shookhands with mutual satisfaction. 

"Cheap at the price!" was Lorna's comment, as the contractor left theroom, and before the next few days were over I heartily agreed with thisopinion. Midas was an ideal workman, grudging neither time nor pains toaccomplish his task in a satisfactory manner. His long arms and strongwrists made light of what would have been heavy tasks for us, and thedirtier he grew the more he enjoyed it. It must be dreadful to live ina town! Lorna assured me plaintively that the room had been thoroughlyspring-cleaned at Easter, but I should have thought it had happenednearer the Flood. I swallowed pecks of dust, and my hands grew raw withwashing before we began to paint. I thought we should never havefinished enamelling that room. The first coat made hardly anyimpression on the background, and we had to go over it again and againbefore we got anything like a good effect. To a casual observer itlooked really very nice, but we knew where to look for shortcomings, andI grew hot whenever anyone looked at a certain panel in the door. 

Then we set to work on the paper. First you cut it into lengths. Itseems quite easy, but it isn't, because you waste yards making thepatterns meet, and then you haven't enough, and you go into town to buymore, and they haven't it in stock, and it has to be ordered, and yousit and champ, and can't get any further. 

Then you make the paste. It smells horrid, and do what you will, coveryourself as best you can, it gets up to the eyes! We wore two oldholland skirts of Lorna's, quite short and trig, and washing shirts, andhuge print wrappers; but before we had been working for an hour ourfingers were glued together; then we yawned or sneezed and put our handsto our faces, and _they_ were stickied. Then bits of hair--"tendrils"as they call them in books--fell down, and we fastened them up, and ourhair got as bad. We were spectacles!

A kettle was kept on the hob, and we were continually bathing our handsin hot water, for, of course, we dared not touch the outside of thepaper unless they were quite clean, and the table wanted washing beforeeach fresh strip was laid down, as the paste had always oozed off theedges of the last piece. There is one thing sure and certain: I shallnever take up paper-hanging as a profession. 

The hanging itself is really rather exciting. Midas climbed to the topof the ladder and held the top of the strip in position; Lorna crouchedbeneath, and guided it in the way it should go, so as to meet the edgeof the one before, and I stood on a chair and smoothed it down and downwith a clean white cloth. Doing it with great care like this, we got nowrinkles at all, and when the first side of the room was finished, itlooked so professional that we danced--literally danced--for joy. 

By the end of the afternoon it was done, and so were we! Simply sotired we could hardly stand, but mentally we were full of triumph, forthat room was a picture to behold. We ran out into the passage andbrought in everyone we could find, servants and charwoman included. Then they made remarks, and we stood and listened. 

The cook said, "My, Miss Lorna, wouldn't the pattern go round?" Thecharwoman said, "I like a bit of gilding meself. It looks 'andsome. "The parlourmaid said, "How will the furniture look against it, miss?"which was really the nastiest hit of all; only the little Tweeny staredand flushed, and rolled her hands in her apron, and said, "All themroses on the wall! It would be like a Bank-'oliday to sit aside 'em!"

Tweeny has the soul of a poet. I bought her some flowers the very nexttime I went out. Wallace came in and twiddled his moustache, and said--

"By Jove, is it really done! Aren't you dead beat? I say, MissSackville, don't do any more to-day. It's too bad of Lorna to work youlike this. I shall interfere in my professional capacity. "

He was far too much engrossed in Una Sackville to have any eyes for thepaper. 

Mrs Forbes thought, like the cook, that it was a pity that the patterndidn't go round; and the dear old doctor tip-toed up and down, jingledthe money in his pockets, and said--

"Eh, what? Eh, what? Something quite novel, eh! Didn't go in forthings of this sort in my young days. Very smart indeed, my dear, verysmart! Now I suppose you will be wanting some new fixings, " (his handcame slowly out of his waistcoat pocket, and my hopes ran mountainshigh). "Mustn't spoil the ship for a penn'orth of tar, you know. There, that will help to buy a few odds and ends. "

He put something into Lorna's hand; she looked at it, flushed red withdelight, and hugged him rapturously round the neck. After he had goneshe showed it to me with an air of triumph, and it was--half-a-sovereign! I expected several pounds, and had hard work not to show mydisappointment, but I suppose ten shillings means as much to Lorna asten pounds to me. Well, I am not at all sure that you don't get morefun out of planning and contriving to make a little money go a long way, than in simply going to a shop and ordering what you want. Lorna'sworldly wealth amounted, with the half-sovereign, to seventeen and six-pence, and with this lordly sum for capital we set to work to transformthe room. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

I have told all our experiences in papering the room together, becausethey seemed to come better that way; but, of course, lots of otherthings have been happening at the same time. One evening we went to aconcert, and another time some friends came in after dinner, and weplayed games and had music. I sang a great deal, and everyone seemed tolike listening, and my dress was the prettiest in the room, and all themen wanted to talk to me, and it was most agreeable. 

On Sunday we went to an ugly town church, but the vicar had a fine, goodface, and I liked his sermon. He seemed to believe in you, and expectyou to do great things, and that is always inspiring. Some clergymenkeep telling you how bad you are, and personally that puts my back up, and I begin to think I am not half so black as I am painted; but whenthis dear man took for granted that you were unselfish and diligent, anddeeply in earnest about good things, I felt first ashamed, and theneager to try again, and fight the sins that do so terribly easily besetme. I sang the last hymn in a sort of fervour, and came out into thecool night air, positively longing for a battle in which I could win myspurs, and oh dear, dear, in ten minutes' time, before we were half-wayhome, I was flirting with Wallace, and talking of frivolous worldlysubjects, as if I had never had a serious thought in my life!

It's so terribly hard to remember, and keep on remembering when one isyoung, but God must surely understand. I don't think He will be angry. He knows that deep, deep down I want most of all to be good!

Wallace is nice and kind and clever, and I like him to like me, but Icould never by any possibility like him--seriously, I mean! I can'ttell why; it's just one of the mysterious things that comes by instinctwhen you grow up to be a woman. There is a great gulf thousands ofmiles wide between the man you just like and the man you could love; butsometimes the man you could love doesn't want you, and it is wrong evento think of him, and then it's a temptation to be extra nice to theother one, because his devotion soothes your wounded feelings. 

I suppose Miss Bruce would call it love of admiration, and wish me tosnub the poor fellow, and keep him at arm's length, but I don't see whyI should. It would be conceited to take for granted that he wasseriously in love, and I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy myself when Iget a chance. It's only fun, of course, but I do enjoy playing offlittle experiments upon Wallace, to test my power over him, and then towatch the result! For example, at lunch-time I express a casual wishfor a certain thing, and before four o'clock it is in my possession; orI show an interest in an entertainment, and tickets appear as if bymagic. It is quite exciting. I feel as if I were playing a thrillingnew game. 

The room is almost furnished, and it looks sweet. One can hardlybelieve it is the same dreary little den that I saw on that firstevening. We stole, (by kind permission), one or two chairs, a writing-table, and a dear little Indian cabinet from the overcrowded drawing-room, and with some help from Midas manufactured the most scrumptiouscosy-corner out of old packing-cases and cushions covered with rose-coloured brocade. We put a deep frill of the same material, mounted ona thin brass rail, on the wall above the mantelpiece, and arrangedLorna's best ornaments and nick-nacks against this becoming background. It did not seem quite appropriate to the garden idea to hang pictures onthe walls, which is just as well, as she hasn't got any, but I boughther a tall green pedestal and flower-pot and a big branching palm as mycontribution to the room, and as she says, "It gives the final touch ofluxury to the whole. " I could wish for a new fender and fire-irons, anda few decent rugs, but you can't have everything in this wicked world, and really, at night when the lamp-light sends a rosy glow through thenewly-covered shade, (only muslin, but it looks like silk!) you couldnot wish to see a prettier room. 

Lorna is awfully sweet about it. She said to me, "It was your idea, Una. I shall always feel that it was your gift, and every pleasant hourI spend here will be another link in the chain which binds us together. This visit of yours will be memorable, in more ways than one!" and shelooked at me in a meaning fashion which I hated. How more ways thanone, pray? I hope to goodness she is not getting any foolish notions inher head. She might know me better by this time. 

I don't know why it is, but I am always depressed after a letter fromhome. Mother reports that there is no improvement in Vere's health, andthat her spirits are variable--sometimes low, sometimes quite bright andhopeful. Mr Dudley is very good in coming to see her, and his visitsalways cheer her up. He asked after me last time, hoped that I wasenjoying myself and would not hurry back. I am not wanted thereapparently, and here they all love having me, and implore me to stay on. I wasn't sure if I wanted to, but I've decided that I will since thatlast letter arrived. I told Mrs Forbes this morning that I would staya fortnight longer, and she kissed me and looked quite unreasonablyrelieved. I can't see how it matters much to her!

Such a curious thing happened that night, when Wallace and I weretalking about books, and discussing the heroine in a novel which he hadgiven me to read. 

"Did she remind you of anyone?" he asked, and when I said "No, " "Why, she is you to the life! Appearance, manner, character--everything. Itmight have been meant for a portrait, " he declared. "I was reading itover last night, and the likeness is extraordinary. "

I privately determined to read the book over again on the firstopportunity to discover what I seemed like to other people. The heroineis supposed to be very pretty and charming, but personally I had thoughther rather silly, so I did not know whether to feel complimented or not. I determined to introduce the subject to Lorna, and see if she couldthrow any light upon it, and she did! More light than I appreciated!

"Oh, I liked Nan very well, " she said, "but not nearly so much asWallace did. He simply raved about her and declared that if he ever meta girl like that in real life he should fall desperately in love withher on the spot. She is his ideal of everything that a girl should be. "

"Oh!" I said blankly. For a moment I felt inclined to tell Lornaeverything, but something stopped me, and I am thankful that it did. Itwould be so horrid to feel she was watching all the time. For once inmy life I was glad when she went away, and I was left alone to think. 

"Desperately in love!" Can Wallace really be that, and with me? Itmakes me go hot and cold just to think of it, and my heart thumps withagitation. I don't feel happy exactly, but very excited and important. I have such a lonely feeling sometimes, and I do so long for someone tolove me best of all. At home, though they are all kind enough, I amalways second fiddle, if not third, and it is nice to be appreciated! Icould never care for Wallace in that way, but I like him to like me. Itmakes things interesting, and I was feeling very flat and dejected, andin need of something to cheer me up. Of course, I don't want to doanything wrong, but Wallace is so young, only twenty-four, and has nomoney, so he couldn't think of being married or anything silly likethat; besides, I've heard it is good for boys to have a fancy for a nicegirl--it keeps them steady. 

In any case, I have promised to stay on for another fortnight, and Icouldn't alter my mind and go away now without making a fuss, and if Istay I can't be disagreeable, so I must just behave as if Lorna hadnever repeated that stupid remark. I dare say, if the truth were known, Wallace has fancied himself in love with half-a-dozen girls before now, and it would be ridiculous of me to imagine anything serious. Anyway, Idon't care. I have thought of nothing but other people for months back, and they don't seem to miss me a bit, but only hope I won't hurry back. I'm tired of it. Now I am going to enjoy myself, and I don't care whathappens!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

It is ten days since I wrote anything in this diary, and to-night, whenI opened it in my misery, hoping to find some comfort in writing down mythoughts, the first thing that met my eyes were those dreadful words, "Iam going to enjoy myself, and I don't care what happens. " Enjoy myself, indeed! I have never been so miserable in my life. I never knew beforewhat misery meant, even on that awful night of the fire, when we didn'tknow whether Vere would live or die. Troubles with which one hasnothing to do, which come, as it were, straight from God, can never makeone feel like this. There is no remorse in them, and no guilt, and noburning, intolerable shame. 

What would Miss Bruce think of her pupil now? What would father think?What would Rachel--"the best woman in the world"--think of me to-night?

I am going to make myself write it all down, and then, if I ever try togloss it over to myself or others in the future, this written accountwill be here to give me the lie. Here it is, then, bold and plain--

"I have broken a man's heart for the sake of a little fun and excitementfor myself, and as a sop to my wounded vanity!"

It makes me shiver to read the words, for I did not realise the fullmeanness of what I was doing until the end came, and I woke with a shockto see myself as I really am. All these last ten days I have beenacting a part to myself as well as to others, pretending to beunconscious of danger, but I knew--oh, I knew perfectly well! I think agirl must always know when a man loves her. I knew it by the tone ofWallace's voice, by the light in his eyes, by the change which came overhis looks and manner the moment I appeared. It was like a game, ahorrible new game which fascinated me against my will, and I could notbear to end it. Every night when I said my prayers I determined to turnover a new leaf next day, but when the next day came I put on myprettiest clothes and did my hair the way he liked it best, and sang hisfavourite songs, and was all smiles and sweetness. Oh, what a PhariseeI am! In this very book I have denounced Vere for her flirtations andgreed of admiration, and then I have succumbed to the very firsttemptation, without so much as a struggle. I shall never, never be ableto hold up my head again. I feel too contemptible to live. 

Last night things came to a crisis. Wallace and Lorna and I went to aparty given by some intimate family friends. Wallace had asked me inthe morning what colour I was going to wear, and just before dinner hecame into the drawing-room and presented me with a spray of the mostlovely pink roses. I think he expected to find me alone, but the wholefamily was assembled, and it was most embarrassing to see how seriouslythey took it. At home we have loads of flowers in the conservatories, but sometimes one of Vere's admirers sends her a lot of early violets, or lilies of the valley, great huge boxes which must cost a smallfortune, but no one thinks anything of it, or pays any attention beyonda casual remark. Here, however, it was different. 

"Roses!" ejaculated Lorna, in a tone of awe-stricken astonishment. 

Midas whistled softly, and Mrs Forbes looked first at Wallace and thenat me--in a wistful, anxious kind of way, which made me feel inclined torun home on the spot. I determined to make some excuse and departsuddenly some day soon, while Wallace was out on his rounds, but it wastoo late. I was not allowed to escape so easily as that. 

During the evening Wallace took me into the conservatory to see theflowers, and it was not my fault that everyone went out and left usalone. I tried to be cold and chilling, but that only made him anxiousto discover what was wrong. 

"It is my fault! I know quite well it is my fault, " he cried, bendingover me, his face so drawn and puckered with anxiety that he lookedquite old. "I am a stupid, blundering fellow, and you have been anangel to be so sweet and forbearing. I am not fit to come near you, butI would rather cut off my right hand than hurt you in any way. You knowthat, don't you, Una?"

He had never called me Una before, and he looked so different from thecalm, complacent youth I had known a few weeks before--so much older andmore formidable, that it was difficult to believe it could be the sameperson. I was frightened, but tried hard to appear cool and self-possessed. 

"I am not vexed at all. On the contrary, I am enjoying myself verymuch. The flowers are lovely. I always--"

It was no use. He seized my hand, and cried pleadingly--

"Don't put me off, Una; don't trifle with me. It's too serious forthat. You are cold to me to-night, and it has come to this, that Icannot live when you are not kind. What has changed you since thisafternoon? Were you vexed with me for bringing you those roses?"

"Not in the least, so far as I am concerned; but your people seemedastonished. It made me feel a little awkward. "

He looked at once relieved and puzzled. "But they know!" he cried. "They know quite well. They would not be astonished at my giving youanything. Has Lorna never told you that she knows?"

"I really fail to understand what there is to know, " I said, sitting upvery straight and stiff, looking as haughty and unapproachable as Ipossibly could. It was coming very close. I knew it, though I neverhad the experience before, and I would have given anything in the worldto escape. Oh, how can girls like to have proposals from men whom theydon't mean to accept? How can they bring themselves to boast of them asif they were a triumph and a pride? I never felt so humiliated in mylife as I did when I sat there and listened to Wallace's wild words. 

"What is there to know? Only that I love you with all my heart andstrength--that I have loved you ever since the moment I first saw yoursweet face. You did not seem like a stranger, for I had been waitingfor you all my life. Oh, Una, these few weeks have been like a dream ofhappiness. I never knew what it was to live before. You are so--"

I haven't the heart to repeat all the praises the poor fellow lavishedupon me while I sat listening in an agony of shame, feeling more andmore miserable every moment, as I realised that, in spite of hisagitation, he was by no means despondent as to the result of his wooing. He seemed more anxious to assure me of his devotion than to question meabout mine, as if he imagined that my coldness was caused by pique orjealousy. I drew away my hands, and tried to stop him by vague murmursof dissent, but it was no use, he only became more eager and determined. 

"We all love you, Una. My mother thinks you the most charming girl shehas ever met. She was speaking of you to me only last night; she feelsnaturally a little sad, poor mother! to know that she is no longer thefirst consideration to her boy, but she quite understands. And thepater, too--he is in love with you himself. Who could help it, darling?"

"Oh, stop, stop! I can't bear it. You must not talk like that, " Icried desperately. "You are taking everything for granted, and it isimpossible, quite impossible. I don't want to marry anyone. I'm tooyoung. I must wait for years before I can even think of such a thing. "

He looked actually relieved, instead of disappointed, as my wordsevidently removed one big difficulty from his path. 

"I couldn't ask you to marry me yet, dearest. I have my way to make, and could not provide a home that would be worthy of you for some yearsto come; but as you say, we are both young, and can afford to wait; andoh, Una, I could work like ten men with such a prospect to inspire me. I will get on for your sake; it is in me, I know it is--I shallsucceed!"

"I hope you may, I'm sure, " I said, nearly crying with agitation andmisery. "But you must not think of me. I have nothing to do with it. I like you very much, but I couldn't marry you now or ever--I neverthought of such a thing--it's quite impossible. You must, please, please, never speak of it again!"

Even then he wouldn't understand, but preferred to think that I was shy, nervous, coy--anything rather than simply and absolutely truthful. Hebegan again in a humble, pleading voice, which tore my heart. 

"I know it seems presumption to ask so much. I am an insignificantnobody, and you might marry anyone you liked. In every sense of theword but one I am a wretched match for you, but love counts forsomething, and you will never find anyone to love you more. I'd give myvery life to serve you, and I will give it, if you will trust yourselfto me! My father was no older than I am when he became engaged, and hetold me only the other day that he looked back on that hour as thebeginning of his success. He would be glad to see me engaged also. "

"Have you spoken about me to him, then, as well as to your mother?" Idemanded testily. I felt so guilty about my own conduct that it was arelief to be able to find fault with someone else, and I worked myselfup into quite a show of indignation. "You must have made very sure ofmy answer to be ready to discuss me in such a general fashion. It wouldhave been more courteous to wait until you had my permission. You haveplaced us both in a most awkward position, for, as I said before, Icould never marry you. It is quite impossible. I like you very much, but not in that way. Let us be friends, and forget everything else. Wewere so happy as we were--it is such a pity to spoil it all like this. "

"Spoil it!" he repeated blankly. He had grown quite white while I wasspeaking, and his eyes had a dazed, startled expression. "Does it spoilthings for you, Una, to know that I love you? But you have known thatfor a long time--everyone in the house found it out, and you could nothave helped seeing it, too. You say I have made too sure of you. Forgive me, darling, but if I have done so it is only because I know youare too sweet and good to encourage a man when there was no hope. I ammore sorry than I can say if I have annoyed you by speaking to myparents, but the mater naturally spoke to me when she saw how thingswere going, and I had to consult my father about ways and means. Una, darling, you don't mean it. You can't mean to break my heart afterleading me on all these weeks?"

"I never led you on!" I cried vainly. "I was only nice to you as Iwould have been to anyone else. I knew you liked me; but everyone whois kind and attentive does not want to marry one as a matter of course. It would be horrid to expect it. Lorna is my friend, and you are herbrother, so of course--"

He looked me full in the face and said slowly--

"It will be difficult to believe--but if you will tell me just oncequite simply and plainly, I will take your word, Una. Don't protest, please--tell me truthfully, once for all: did you, or did you not, knowI loved you with all my heart?"

I wanted to say "No. " In a sense I could have said it truthfullyenough, for I had no definite knowledge, but I remembered what Lorna hadtold me about the heroine in the novel; I remembered Mrs Forbes'swistful manner, and oh, a dozen little incidents too small to be writtendown, when Wallace's own manner had told the truth only too plainly. Hewas staring at me, poor boy, with his wan, miserable eyes, and I couldnot tell a lie. I began to cry in a feeble, helpless kind of way, andfaltered out, "I--I thought you did, but I couldn't be sure. You know Icouldn't be sure, and it was only for a little while! I am going homeso soon that I didn't think it could matter. "

He leant forward, leaning his head on his hands. 

"Shall I tell you how much it matters?" he asked huskily. "It mattersjust this, that you have spoilt my life! There was not a happier, morecontented fellow living than I was--before you came. I loved my work, and loved my home. I intended to succeed in my profession, and thefuture was full of interest. I would not have changed places with anyman on earth. Now!" he held out his right hand and snapped his fingersexpressively, "it is over; the zest is out of it all if you are notthere. If I had met you anywhere else it might have been easier, butyou have come right into the middle of my life, and if I would I shallnot be able to forget you. Every morning when I come down to breakfastI shall look across the table and imagine you sitting facing me; I shallsee you wherever I go--like a ghost--in every room in the house, ineverything I do. That is the price I have to pay for your amusement. You have made a fool of me, you whom I thought the type of everythingthat was true and womanly. You knew that I loved you, but it didn'tmatter to you what I suffered. You were going home soon--you would notsee it. It didn't matter!"

"No, no, no!" I cried in agony. "It isn't true. I am bad enough, butnot a heartless monster. I will tell you the whole truth. I wasmiserable myself when I came here; ill and tired out, and sore because--because they didn't care for me at home as much as I wanted. I alwayswant people to like me. I did at school--Lorna will tell you that Idid; and when you were nice to me it cheered me up, and made me happyagain. I never dreamt that it was serious until a little time ago--lastweek--and even then I did not think you could possibly want to marryme--you were too young--you had no home--"

"No, that is true. I am no match for Miss Sackville. I was a fool toforget it. Thank you for reminding me, " he interrupted bitterly. 

Poor boy--oh, poor boy, he looked so miserable--it made me ache to seehis white, changed face. He looked so handsome, too; so much more of aman than he had ever done before. I looked at him and wondered why itwas that I could not care for him as he wished. Had I been too hasty indeciding that it was impossible? He wanted me, and no one else did; andit would be nice to be engaged and have someone to love me best of all. Perhaps I should grow to love him too; I always do like people who likeme; and Lorna would be so pleased. She would be my real sister, andcould come and stay with me in my own home. I was so upset andmiserable, so stung by Wallace's taunt about his poverty, that I wasjust in the mind to be reckless. His hand lay limply by his side, andin a sudden gush of tenderness and pity I slid my arm beneath it andsaid softly, "Don't be cross with me! I never thought for one moment ifyou were poor or rich. That doesn't matter a bit. If I have made youmiserable, I am miserable too. If you want me to be engaged to you--Iwill, and I'll try to like you. Please, please do not look like that!If I promise it will be all right, and you will forgive me for being sothoughtless, won't you, Wallace?"

He turned his head and stared at me steadily. The anger died out of hisface, but he looked dreadfully sad. 

"Poor Una, " he said, "how little you understand! Do you think I am sucha cad as to accept such an offer as that? I love you and want you to behappy, not miserable as you would certainly be if you were engaged to aman you had to `try to like. ' Thank you for the offer all the same. Itwill comfort me a little to remember that at any rate you felt kindlytowards me. It is no use saying any more. My dream is over, and Ishall have to bear the awakening as well as I can. A fellow cannotexpect to have everything his own way. I don't want to whine. Shall wego back to the house?"

"In a minute--one minute--only tell me first that you forgive me, and ifthere is nothing at all that I can do to help you, and show howwretchedly, wretchedly sorry I am!"

"Forgive you?" he repeated sadly. "I love you, Una. I can forgive you, I expect, a good deal more easily than you will forgive yourself. Yes, there is something you can do--if you ever discover that another poorfellow is in love with you--and you are the sort of girl whom men willlove--remember me and spare him this experience. Don't go on being`nice' to him. That kind of niceness is the worst form of cruelty. "

I hung my head and could not answer. To think that "that boy, " as I hadcontemptuously called him, should have behaved in such a manly, generousfashion! I felt utterly ashamed and despicable. It was he who is athousand times too good for me!

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

We were very silent driving home in the brougham, and I refused to gointo Lorna's room, as I always did before going to bed, saying that Iwas too tired to talk. She looked anxious, but did not try to persuademe. I afterwards learnt that she went to Wallace instead, and sat upwith him for the greater part of the night. 

I lay wide awake tossing and crying until five o'clock, when I fellasleep, and did not wake until nine. Lorna did not come to see me, and, though I dreaded her coming, I felt miserable because she stayed away. Every single morning she had come into my room and hugged and kissed me, and we had walked down to breakfast arm-in-arm. She must have beenvery, very angry to omit that ceremony!

I took a long time to dress, for I wanted Wallace to be safely startedon his rounds before appearing downstairs, and at last, just as I wasfeeling that I could not respectably linger another moment, the dooropened, and there, at last, stood Lorna. 

She had been crying dreadfully. I could see that at a glance, for theeyelids were swollen and puffy, just as they used to be the firstmorning after our return to school. Mine were swollen, too, and westood staring miserably at each other, but not approaching a stepnearer, until at last she said coldly--

"Mother sent me upstairs to ask if you would prefer to have yourbreakfast in bed. She thought you were not up. "

"Oh, yes, I have been waiting. Lorna, don't look at me like that!" Icried desperately. "I'm miserable too, and you ought not to turnagainst me--you are my friend. "

"Wallace is my brother, " said Lorna simply. Her lip quivered. "I satup with him until four o'clock this morning. He has always been such ahappy, cheerful boy. I did not know he could be so miserable. If youcould have seen and heard him talk, you would have felt broken-heartedfor him--even you!"

"Even you!" I repeated reproachfully. "Am I a monster, Lorna, that youtalk to me like that? Can't you understand that I feel a hundred timesworse than you can possibly do? I never, never thought that when I wasin trouble you would be the first person to turn against me. "

"Neither did I. I have been too fond of you, Una. I admired you somuch, and was so proud of having you for my friend that I have beenunjust to other people for your sake. I often took your part at schoolwhen I knew you were in the wrong, simply because I was afraid of makingyou angry. It was cowardly of me, and this is my reward! Oh, Una, yousay you are sorry, but you knew it was coming! You are too clever notto have seen it long ago. If it had been another man I should havespoken out, but a brother is almost like oneself, so one can'tinterfere. But I hinted--you know I hinted, Una--and I saw by your facethat you understood. If you didn't care for him, why didn't you go homewhen it was first arranged? We all took it as a good sign when youagreed to stay on, and Wallace was so happy about it. Poor boy! Hewill never be happy again. He says he will go abroad, and father hasbeen looking forward all these years to his help. It will break hisheart if he loses Wallace!"

Everyone was broken-hearted, it seemed, and they all blamed me, and saidit was my fault. I felt inclined to jump out of the window, and put anend to it at once. I did turn towards it, and I must have looked prettydesperate, for Lorna came forward quickly, and took hold of me by thearm. 

"Come down and talk to mother. She is all alone, and she is old andwill understand better than I do. Oh, Una, I shall always love you! Ishan't be able to help it, whatever you have done. I didn't mean to beunkind, but I am--so--miserable!"

I gripped her hand, but couldn't speak; we were both struggling not tocry all the way downstairs, and I couldn't eat any breakfast; I felt asif I could never eat again. Mrs Forbes came into the room just as Ileft the table, and Lorna went out at once, as if by a previousarrangement. It was awful! Mrs Forbes looked so old and ill andworried, and she was so kind. I could have borne it better if she hadbeen cross to me. 

"Sit down, dear. Come close to the fire, your hands feel cold, " shesaid, pushing me gently into an easy chair, and poking the coals into ablaze. "You and I want a little talk to each other, I think, and weshall be quite uninterrupted here. My poor boy has told me of hisdisappointment, but, indeed, he did not need to tell me. I could seewhat had happened by his face. I am very disappointed, too. I thoughthe would have very different news to tell me, and I should have beenvery happy to welcome you as a daughter. We have known you by name forso many years that you did not seem like a stranger even when you firstarrived, and we have been very happy together these five weeks--"

"Oh, very happy! I have had a lovely time. I shall never forget howhappy I have been. "

She looked at me anxiously, her eyebrows knitted together. 

"Then if you have been so happy, I do not see why-- Let us speak out, dear, and understand each other thoroughly. My boy and I have alwaysbeen close friends, and if I am to be of help or comfort to him now Imust understand how this trouble has come about. Wallace is notconceited--he has a very modest estimation of his own merits, but heseems to have expected a different answer. Sometimes in these affairsyoung people misunderstand each other, and little sorenesses arise, which a few outspoken words can smooth away. If I could act aspeacemaker between you two, I should be very thankful. My children'shappiness is my first consideration nowadays. If there is anything Ican do, just tell me honestly. Speak out as you would to your ownmother. "

But I had nothing to tell. I shook my head, and faltered nervously--

"No, there is nothing--we have had no quarrels. I like Wallace verymuch, oh, very much indeed, but not--I could never--I couldn't beanything more than his friend. "

"Is there then someone else whom you care for?"

There were several people, but I couldn't exactly say so to her--itseemed so rude. Wallace was a nice, kind boy, but he couldn't comparefor interest with--Jim Carstairs, for instance, dear, silent, loyal, patient Jim, who gives all, and asks nothing in return, or even jollylittle Mr Nash, who is always happy and smiling, and trying to makeother people happy. I like them both better than Wallace, to saynothing of-- And then a picture rose before me of a tall, lean figuredressed in a tweed shooting-suit, of a sunburnt face, out of whichlooked blue eyes, which at one moment would twinkle with laughter, andat the next grow stern and grave and cold. They could soften, too, andlook wonderfully tender. I had seen them like that just once or twicewhen he looked at me, and said, "Una!" and at the remembrance, for somestupid reason the blood rushed to my face, and there I sat blushing, blushing, blushing, until my very ears tingled with heat. 

I said nothing, and Mrs Forbes said nothing, but looking up at the endof a horrid silence, I saw that her face had entirely changed inexpression since I had seen it last. All the softness had left it; shelooked the image of wounded dignity. 

"I understand! There is nothing more to say, then, except that if youwere so very sure of your own feelings, I cannot understand how it isthat you have allowed the matter to get this length. I am thankful toknow that my boy's principles are strong enough to prevent hisdisappointment doing him any real harm. It might have been verydifferent with many young men. At the best it is a hard thing for us tosee his young life clouded, and you will understand that it is our dutyto protect him from further suffering. You will not think meinhospitable if I suggest that your visit had better come to an end atonce. "

My cheeks burnt. It was humiliation indeed to be told to go in thatsummary fashion, but I knew I deserved it, and I should have beenthankful to leave that very moment. 

"I will go to-day. There is a train at one o'clock. I can send atelegram from the station, and tell mother I am coming. I will go up-stairs now and pack, " I cried, and she never protested a bit, but saidquite quietly that she would order a cab to take me to the station. Talk about feeling small! I simply cringed as I went out of that room. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The carriage was waiting for me at the station at the end of a miserablejourney, but no one was in it. I had hoped that father would come tomeet me. I could have spoken to him, and he would have understood. John said he was out for the day with a shooting-party, and when Ireached the house another disappointment awaited me, for I was met by anannouncement that mother also had been obliged to go out to keep anengagement. 

"She hopes to be home by five o'clock, " said the servant. "Miss Vereand Lady Mary are in the blue sitting-room. Mr Dudley has just come tocall. "

I had forgotten that Lady Mary was staying at the house, and it made mefeel as if I were more superfluous than ever, for Vere would not need mewhen she had her best friend at hand, and, somehow or other, Will Dudleywas just the last person in the world I wanted to see just then. Therewas nothing for it, however; I had to go upstairs and stand the horribleordeal of being cross-questioned about my unexpected return. 

"Don't tell me it is an outbreak of small-pox!" cried Lady Mary, huddling back in her chair, and pretending to shudder at my approach. "That's the worst of staying in a doctor's house--you simply courtinfection! If it's anything interesting and becoming, you may kiss meas usual, but if it's small-pox or mumps, I implore you to keep at theother end of the room! I'm not sure that mumps wouldn't be the worse ofthe two. I can't endure to look fat!"

"Has Lorna turned out a villain in disguise? Have you quarrelled andbidden each other a tragic farewell?" asked Vere laughingly. 

She looked thinner than ever, but her cheeks were flushed, and her eyesas bright as stars. As for Will Dudley, he stared at the pattern of thecarpet, and his eyebrows twitched in the impatient way I know so well. I think he saw that I was really in trouble, and was vexed with thegirls for teasing me. 

"Thank you, everyone was quite well when I left. You need not be afraidof infection, and Lorna is nicer than ever. We have certainly notquarrelled. "

"Then why this thusness?" asked Lady Mary, and Vere burst into a laugh. 

"Scalps, Babs, scalps! I see it all! My mind misgave me as soon as Iheard of the fascinating Wallace. And was it really so serious that youhad to fly at a moment's notice?"

I simply got up and marched out of the room. It was too much to bear. I sat in my own room all alone for over an hour, and hated everybody. Oh, I _was_ miserable!

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 _11 PM. _I have been thinking seriously over things, and have decided to put awaythis diary, and not write in it any more for six months or a year. Itwill be better so, for at present I am in such a wretched, unsettledstate of mind that what I write would not be edifying, but only painfulto read in time to come. 

I've been reading over the first few pages to-night, and they seemwritten by quite a different person--a happy, self-confident, complacentUna, who felt perfectly satisfied of coming triumphantly through any andevery situation. This Una is a very crestfallen, humble-mindedcreature, who knows she has failed, and dreads failing again; but I wantto be good, through it all I long to be good! O dear God, who loves me, and understands, take pity on me, and show me the way!

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

 _June 15th. _To-day the first roses have opened in the garden, the rose-garden at theMoat; for we came home two months ago, and are still luxuriating in theold haunts and the new rooms, which are as beautiful as money andmother's beautiful taste can make them. I felt a sort of rush ofhappiness as I buried my face in the cool, fragrant leaves, and, somehowor other, a longing came over me to unearth this old diary, and writethe history of the year. 

It has been a long, long winter. We spent three months in Bournemouthfor Vere's sake, taking her to London to see the specialist on our wayhome. He examined her carefully, and said that spinal troubles wereslow affairs, that it was a great thing to keep up the general health, that he was glad we had been to Bournemouth, and that no doubt thechange home would also be beneficial. Fresh air, fresh air--live asmuch in the fresh open air as possible during the summer-- Then hestopped, and Vere looked at him steadily, and said--

"You mean that I am worse?"

"My dear young lady, you must not be despondent. Hope on, hope ever!You can do more for yourself than any doctor. These things take time. One never knows when the turn may come, " he said, reeling off the oldphrases which we all knew so well--oh, so drearily well--by this time. 

Vere closed her eyes and turned her head aside with the saddest, mostpitiful little smile. She has been very good on the whole, poor dear, during the winter--less cynical and hard in manner, though she stillrefuses to speak of her illness, and shrinks with horror from anythinglike pity. 

The night after that doctor's visit I heard a muffled sound from herroom next door to mine, and crept in to see what was wrong. She wassobbing to herself, great, gasping, heart-broken sobs, the sound ofwhich haunt me to this day, and when I put my arms round her, instead ofshaking me off, she clung to me with the energy of despair. 

"What is it, darling?" I asked, and she panted out broken sentences. 

"The doctor! I have been longing to see him; I thought I was better, that he would be pleased with my progress, but it's no use--I can see itis no use! He has no hope. I shall be like this all my life. Babs, _think_ of it! I am twenty-three, and I may live until I am seventy--upon this couch! Oh, I shall go mad--I am going mad--I can't bear it amoment longer. The last ten months have seemed like a life-time, but ifit goes on year after year; oh, Babs, year after year until I am old--anold, old woman with grey hair and a wizened face, left alone, with noone to care for me! Oh, yes, yes, I know what you would say, but fatherand mother will be dead, and you will be married in a home of your own, and Spencer very likely at the other end of the world, and--"

"And Jim?" I asked quietly. 

"Ah, poor Jim! He must marry, too; it isn't fair to let him wreck hislife. He does love me, poor fellow, but no one else does nowadays. Mendon't like invalids. They are sorry for them, and pity them. WillDudley, for instance--he only comes to see me as a charity--because I amill, and need amusing--"

"He is engaged to another girl, Vere. Surely you don't want him to comefor love?"

She flushed a little, but her face set in the old defiant fashion, andshe said obstinately--

"He would have loved me if I had been well! Rachel Greaves will neversatisfy him. He cares for her as a sister rather than as a wife. If Iwere well again, and gay and bright as I used to be--"

"He would care for you less than he does now. You don't understand, Vere; but I am certain that Mr Dudley will never desert Rachel foranother girl. He may not be passionately in love with her, perhaps itis not his nature to be demonstrative, but he has an intense admirationfor her character, and would rather die than disappoint her in any way. "

"You seem to know a great deal about it. How can you be sure that youunderstand him better than I do?" she asked sharply, and I could onlysay in reply--

"I don't know; but I _am_ sure! I think one understands some people byinstinct, and he and I were friends from the moment we met. Besides, Iknow Rachel better than you do, and had more opportunity of watching herlife at home. I say her life, but she has practically no life of herown--it is entirely given up for others. Think what she gives up, Vere!She could have been married years ago, and had a happy home of her own, but she won't leave her father, though he is so cross and disagreeablethat most people would be thankful to get away. She has the dullest, most monotonous time one can imagine, and hardly ever sees Will alone;but she is quite happy--not resigned, not forbearing nor any pretencelike that, but really and truly and honestly happy. I call it splendid!There are lots of people in the world who have hard things to bear, andwho bear them bravely enough, but they are not _happy_ in doing it. Rachel is--that's the wonderful thing about her!"

"I wonder if she could make me happy. I wonder if she could tell me howto like lying here!" said poor Vere with a sob, and the idea must havegrown in her mind, for a week after our return home she said suddenly, "I want to see Rachel Greaves!" and nothing would satisfy her but thatshe must be invited forthwith. 

Rachel came. I had not seen her for some months, and I thought shelooked thin and pale. 

As we went upstairs together our two figures were reflected in the bigmirror on the first landing--one all grey and brown, the other allwhite, and pink, and gold. I felt ashamed and uncomfortable at thecontrast in our appearance, but Rachel didn't; not a bit! She justlooked round at me, and beamed in the sweetest way, and said--

"You are more like a flower than ever, Una! It _is_ nice to see youagain!" and she meant it, every word. She really is too good to live!

I took her to Vere's room, and was going to leave them alone, but Verecalled me back, and made me stay. She said afterwards that she wantedme to hear what was said, so that I could remind her of anything whichshe forgot. There was only half an hour before tea, so Vere lost notime in stupid trivialities. 

"I sent for you to come to see me, Rachel, because I wanted particularlyto ask you a question. I have been ill nearly a year now, and I get nobetter. I am beginning to fear I shall never get better, but have to belike this all my life. I have lain here with that thought to keep mecompany until I can bear it no longer. I feel sometimes as if I amgoing out of my senses. I must find something to help me, or it mayreally come to that in the end. I keep up pretty well during the day, for I hate being pitied, and that keeps me from breaking down in public;but the nights--the long, long endless nights! Nobody knows what Iendure in the nights! You are so good--everyone says you are so good--tell me how to bear it and not mind! Tell me what I am to do to growpatient and resigned!"

"Dear Vere, I have never been tried as you are. I have had only one ortwo short illnesses in my life--I have never known the weariness anddisappointment--"

"No, but you have other trials. You have so much to bear, and it is sodull and wretched for you all the time, " interrupted Vere quickly, toomuch engrossed in her own affairs to realise that it was not the mostpolite thing in the world to denounce another girl's surroundings. Asfor Rachel, she opened her eyes in purest amazement that anyone shouldimagine she needed pity. 

"I? Oh, you are mistaken--quite, quite mistaken. I have the most happyhome. Everyone is good and kind to me; I have no troubles, exceptseeing dear father's sufferings; and so many blessings--so much to bethankful for!"

"You mean your engagement? Mr Dudley is charming, and I am sure youare fond of him, but you can't be married while your father lives, and--and--one never knows what may happen. Suppose--changes came--"

Vere stopped short in the middle of her sentence, and, by a curiousimpulse, Rachel turned suddenly and looked at me. Our eyes met, and theexpression in hers--the piteous, shrinking look--made me rush hotly intothe breach. 

"You are talking nonsense, Vere! You don't know Mr Dudley as Racheldoes. You don't understand his character. "

"No, " said Rachel proudly, "you don't understand. It is quite possiblethat we may never marry--many things might happen to prevent that, butWill would never do anything that was mean and unworthy. The changes, whatever they were, could not affect my love for him, and it is thatthat makes my happiness--"

"Loving him! Not his loving you! Rachel, are you sure?"

"Oh, quite sure. Think just for a moment, and you will see that it mustbe so. It is pleasant to be loved, but if you do not love in return youmust still feel lonely and dissatisfied at heart. If you love, you careso much, so very, very much for the other's welfare, that there issimply no time left to remember yourself; or, if you did, what does itmatter? What would anything matter so long as he were well and happy?"

Her face glowed with earnestness and enthusiasm--what a contrast fromVere's fretful, restless expression, which always seems asking forsomething more, something she has not got, something she cannot evenunderstand. Even Vere realised the difference, and her fingers closedover Rachel's hand with an eloquent pressure. Vere never does things byhalves, and even her apologies are graceful and pretty. 

"Ah, Rachel, " she said, "I see how foolish I was to expect you to answermy question in a few short words. We speak different languages, you andI, and I can't even understand your meaning. I wish I could, Rachel--Iwish I could! The old life is out of reach, and there is nothing leftto take its place. Can't you teach me your secret to help me along?"

Rachel flushed all over her face and neck. Now that she was asked adirect question she was obliged to answer, but her voice was very shyand quiet, as if the subject were almost too sacred to be discussed. 

"I think the secret lies in the way we look at life--whether we want ourown way, or are content to accept what God sends. If we love and trustHim, we know that what He chooses must be best, and with that knowledgecomes rest, and the end of the struggle--"

"Ah, " sighed Vere, "but it's not the end with me! I believe it, too, with my head, but when the pain comes on, and the sleepless nights, andthe unbearable restlessness that is worst of all--I forget! I can'trest, I _can't_ trust, it is all blackness and darkness. I must be verywicked, for even when I try hardest I fail. "

"Dear Vere, " said Rachel softly, "don't be too hard on yourself! Whenpeople are tired and worn with suffering they are not responsible forall they say and do. I know that with my own dear father. When he iscross and unreasonable we are not angry, we understand and pity, and tryto comfort him, and if we feel like that, poor imperfect creatures as weare, what must God be, Who is the very heart of love! He is yourkindest judge, dear, for He knows how hard it is to bear. "

"Thank you!" whispered Vere brokenly. She put her hand up to her face, and I could see her tremble. She could not bear any more agitation justthen, so I signalled to Rachel, and we gradually turned the conversationto ordinary topics. 

Eventually Will arrived, and we had tea and some rather strained smalltalk, for Vere was quiet and absent-minded, and somehow or other Willrarely speaks to me directly nowadays. He is always perfectly nice andpolite, but he does avoid me. I don't think he likes me half as much ashe did at first. 

How suddenly things happen in life! At the moment when you expect itleast, the scene changes, and the whole future is changed. As we weresipping our tea and eating cakes, Burrows, the parlourmaid, opened thedoor, and announced in her usual expressionless voice--

"If you please, marm, a messenger has come to request Miss Greaves toreturn home at once. Mr Greaves has had a sudden stroke--"

We all stood up quickly, all save poor Vere, who has to be stillwhatever happens. Rachel turned very white, and Will went up to her, and took her hand in his. He looked at me, and I guessed what he meant, and said quickly--

"The motor-car! It shall come round at once, and you will be home infive minutes. I'll go round to the stables!"

I rushed off, thankful to be able to help, and to put off thinking aslong as possible, but even as I ran the thought flew through my head. Astroke! That was serious--very serious in Mr Greaves's weakenedcondition. I could tell from Burrows' manner that the message had beenurgent. Perhaps even now the end of the long suffering _was_ at hand--the end of something else, too; of what had seemed an hour ago apractically hopeless engagement!

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

 _August 12th. _It is a long time since I opened this diary, for I have grown out of thehabit of writing, and it is difficult to get into it again. 

Mr Greaves died the very night of his seizure, and immediately afterhis funeral Mrs Greaves collapsed and has been an invalid ever since. It seemed as if she had kept up to the very limit of her endurance, foras soon as the strain was over her nerves gave way in a rush, andinstead of the gentle, self-controlled creature which she has been allher life, she is now just a bundle of fancies, tears and repinings. Itis hard on Rachel, but she bears it like an angel, and is always patientand amiable. I wondered at first if she and Will would marry soon andtake Mrs Greaves to live with them; I asked Rachel about it one daywhen we were having a quiet chat, and she answered quite openly:

"Will wished it. He thought he could help me to cheer mother, but shewon't hear of it for the next twelve months at least, and, of course, Imust do as she prefers. We have waited so long that another year cannotmake much difference. "

I wondered if Will were of the same opinion, but did not dare to askhim. As I said before, he avoids me nowadays and does not seem to careto talk to me alone. Perhaps it is better so, but I can't help beingsorry. I have wondered sometimes if the dull, aching feeling which Ihave when he passes me by is anything like what poor Wallace Forbes feltabout me. If it is, I am even more sorry for Wallace than before. Ofcourse, I am not in love with Will--I couldn't be, for he is engaged toRachel, and I have known it from the first, but I can't help thinkingabout him, and watching for him, and feeling happy if he comes, andwretched if he stays away. And I know his face by heart and just how itlooks on every occasion. His eyes don't twinkle nearly so much as theydid; he is graver altogether, except sometimes when I have a mad moodand set myself to make him frisky too. I can always succeed, but Idon't try often, for I fancy Rachel doesn't like it. She can't friskherself, poor dear, and it must feel horrid to feel left out in the coldby your very own _fiance_. I should hate it myself. 

At the beginning of this month I had a great treat. Lorna came to staywith me for three days. She was visiting a friend twenty miles off, andcame here in the middle of her visit just for that short time, so thatthere need be no necessity for Wallace to know anything about it. Ofcourse, she came with her parents' consent and approval, and oh, howthankful I was to see her and to look upon her coming as a sign thatthey were beginning to forgive me. Of course we talked shoals aboutWallace, for I just longed to know how he was faring. 

"My dear, it was awful after you left--positively awful!" Lorna said. "Wallace went about looking like a ghost, and mother cried, and fatherwas worried to death. Wallace declared at first that he would goabroad, but father told him that it was cowardly to throw up his workfor the sake of a disappointment, however bitter, and mother asked if hereally cared so little for his parents that he could forsake them intheir old age for the sake of a girl whom he had only known a month. Hegave way at last, as I knew he would, and set to work harder than ever. He was very brave, poor old boy, and never broke down nor made any fuss, but he was so silent! You would not have known him. He never seemed tolaugh, nor to joke, nor take any interest in what was going on, and thewhole winter long he never once entered my little den, where we had hadsuch happy times. I suppose it reminded him too much of you. Thisspring, however, he has been brighter. I insisted on his taking me tothe tennis club as usual, and though he went at first for my sake heenjoys it now for his own. We meet so many friends, and he can't helpbeing happy out in the sunshine with a lot of happy boys and girls allround. He was quite keen about the tournament, and had such a prettypartner. He always walked home with her after the matches. "

"How nice!" I said, and tried to be pleased and relieved, and succeededonly in feeling irritated and rubbed the wrong way. How mean it sounds!How selfish, and small, and contemptible! I just intend to _make_myself feel glad, and to hope that Wallace may see more and more of thatpretty girl, and like her far better than me, and be right down thankfulthat I refused him. So now, Una Sackville, you know what is expected ofyou!

Vere liked Lorna, and was amused to see us frisking about together. Theafternoon before Lorna left we were chasing each other round the room insome mad freak when, turning towards Vere's couch, I thought I saw herhead raised an inch or so from the pillow in her effort to follow ourmovements. My heart gave a great thud of excitement, but I couldn't besure, so I took no notice, but took care to retire still further intothe corner. Then I looked round again, and, yes! it was perfectly true, her head was a good three inches from the couch, and she was smiling allthe time, evidently quite free from pain. 

"Oh, Vere!" I cried; "oh, darling, darling Vere!" and suddenly thetears rolled down my cheeks, and I trembled so that I could hardlystand. Lorna could not think what had happened, neither could Vereherself, and I tried hard to calm myself so as not to excite her toomuch. 

"You raised your head, Vere! Oh, ever so high you raised it! You werewatching us, and forgot all about yourself, and it didn't hurt you abit--you smiled all the time. Try again if you don't believe me--try, darling. You can do it, if you like!"

Her breath came short with nervousness and agitation, but she clenchedher hands and with a sudden effort her head and neck lifted themselvesone, two, a good three or four inches from their support. Oh, her face!The sight of it at that moment was almost enough to make up for thoselong months of anxiety. It was illuminated; it shone! All the wearylines and hollows disappeared, the colour rushed to her cheeks; it wasthe old, lovely, radiant Vere, whom we had thought never to see again. 

I can't describe what we did next. Mother came in and cried, fathercame in and clapped his hands, and asked mother what on earth she meantby crying, while the tears were rolling down his own dear old nose inthe most barefaced manner all the time. I danced about the house andkissed everyone I met, and the servants cried and laughed, and the oldfamily doctor was sent for and came in beaming and rubbing his handswith delight. He said it was a wonderful improvement, and the bestpossible augury of complete recovery, and that now the first step hadbeen taken we could look forward to continuous improvement. 

Oh, how happy we were! I don't think any of us slept much that night;we just lay awake and thanked God, and gloated over the glad news. Allthe next day Vere's face shone with the same wonderful incredulous joy. Hope had been very nearly dead for the last few months, and the suddenchange from despair to practical certainty was too great to realise. Itseemed as if she did not know how to be thankful enough. She said to meonce--

"I am going to get well, Babs, but I must never forget this experience!As long as I live I shall keep this couch in my bedroom, and when I havebeen selfish and worldly I shall lay down straight on my back as I havedone all these months and stay there for an hour or two, just to makemyself remember how much I have been spared, and how humble I ought tobe. And if you ever see me forgetting and going back to the oldthoughtless ways, you must remind me, Babs; you must speak straight outand stop me in time. I want to look back on this illness and feel thatit has been the turning-point in my life. "

Later on the same day she said suddenly--

"I want Jim! Please send for Jim. " And when he came, rushing on thewings of the express next day, she was so sweet and kind to him that thepoor fellow did not know whether he was standing on his head or hisheels. 

It was characteristic of Jim that when recovery seemed certain he shouldsay no more about his own hopes. He had been anxious enough to offerhis love in the dark days of uncertainty, and all the year long a dayhad never passed without bringing Vere some sign of his remembrance--aletter, or a book, or a magazine, or flowers, or scent, or chocolates. The second post never once came in without bringing a message of loveand cheer. He came down to see us, too, once a month at least, andsometimes got very little thanks for his pains, but that made nodifference to his devotion. Now for the first time he was silent andsaid not one word of love. 

Vere told me all about it afterwards, not the nice private little bits, of course, but a general outline of the scene between them, and I couldimagine how pretty it must have been. Vere is bewitching when she issaucy, and it is, oh, so good to see her saucy again!

"There sat Jim like a monument of propriety, " she said, dimpling withamusement at the remembrance, "and do what I would I could not get himon to personal topics. I gave him half a dozen leads, but the wretchalways drifted on to the weather, or politics, or books, and I could notcorner him. Then at last I said mournfully, `Haven't you brought me a_cadeau_, Jim? I looked forward to a _cadeau_. Is there nothing youwant to give me?' He apologised profusely, said there had been no timebefore catching the train, but if there was anything at all that Ifancied when he went back to town he would be only too charmed. Ilooked down and twiddled my fingers, and said bashfully, `Well, Jim, Ishould like--a ring--!'"

Dear old Jim! Dear old loyal, faithful Jim! How I should have loved tosee his face at that moment!

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

 _September 5th. _Every day Vere seems to improve. It is simply wonderful how she hasbounded ahead after the first start. Hope and happiness have a greatdeal to do with it, the doctor says, and the expectation of beingbetter, which has taken the place of the old despair. She looksdeliciously happy, and satisfied, and at rest, while as for Jim--he isten years younger at the very least, and can hardly believe that hisgood fortune is true, and not a dream. 

Needless to say he bought the ring at once--such a beauty! A great bigpearl surrounded with diamonds. I mean to have the twin of it when I amengaged myself. Vere wears it hung on a chain round her neck for thepresent, but as soon as she can walk it is to go on her finger, and theengagement will be announced. She has been propped up on her couchhigher and higher every day, and yesterday she actually sat on a chairfor half an hour, and felt none the worse. 

We are all so happy that we don't know what to do--at least, I ammiserable enough sometimes when I am alone, and begin thinking ofmyself. When Vere marries and goes away I shall be horribly dull, andwhen Rachel marries I wonder where they will live--the Dudleys, I mean!_The Dudleys_! Will is heir to an old bachelor uncle who has a place inthe North. That's the reason why he is learning to be an agent here, sothat he may know how to manage his own land when he gets it. I think, on the whole, I would rather he and Rachel went quite away, but how flatand uninteresting everything would be! I shall have to go about withfather more than ever, but we shall never meet Will striding about inhis tweed suit and deerstalker cap; he will never join us any more andhave nice long talks. Oh, dear! Why do people want to marry otherpeople in this world? Why can't they all go on as they are, beingfriends and having a good time together? Captain Grantly married LadyMary at Easter, and I suppose Wallace will marry the pretty girl next, and Lorna will write to say she is engaged, and can't be bothered withme any more. 

I shall never marry. I could never induce myself to accept a second-best as Vere has done. That sounds horrid, and, of course, she declaresnow that she never cared for another man, but I know better! She was inlove with Will at one time, but she knew it was hopeless, and Jim'sdevotion during all those weary months was enough to melt a heart ofstone. 

Vere wished Rachel to be told of her engagement at once, and despatchedme to the Grange to carry the news, and, as Will Dudley happened to bethere at the time, he was really obliged to walk home with me, so far, at least, as our paths lay together. It was the first time we had beenreally alone for an age, and we were both rather silent for the firstpart of the walk. Then we began talking of the engagement, and got onbetter. Will had been a little uncertain in his congratulations, and heexplained why. 

"Carstairs is a splendid fellow. I admire him immensely, and there isno doubt about his feelings. He has adored your sister for years, but--she never appeared to me to appreciate his devotion!"

I smiled to myself, recalling Vere's rhapsodies of an hour ago. 

"By her own account she has never thought of anyone else, nor cared foranyone else, nor wished for anyone else, but has adored him all the timeshe was snubbing him and flirting with other men. Curious, isn't it?The funny part of it is she really and truly believes that it is true. "

"For the moment--yes. I can understand that. She is altogether in ahighly nervous, exalted condition, and feels that the first act ofconvalescence ought to be to reward his long waiting. My only fear isthat when she gets back to a normal condition she may realise that whatshe feels is more gratitude and affection than love. "

"I don't think so, and you wouldn't either if you saw them together. Idetest lovers as a rule, they are so dull and self-engrossed; but it ispretty to watch Vere and Jim. She is so saucy and domineering, and heis so blissfully happy to be bullied. Oh, yes, I am sure it is allright! I am sure they will be happy. "

"God grant it!" he said solemnly. "Everything depends upon the truth oftheir feelings for each other. If that is right, nothing else will havepower to hurt them seriously. If it is not--" He broke off, looking soserious that I felt frightened, and said nervously:

"But, surely--even at the worst, gratitude and affection would be a goodfoundation!"

"For everything else, but not for marriage. It is a ghastly mistake toimagine that they can ever take the place of love. Never fall into thaterror, Babs, however much you may be tempted. Never let any impulse ofgratitude or pity induce you to promise to marry a man if you have nowarmer feeling. It would be the most cruel thing you could do, not onlyfor yourself, but for him!"

"I have fallen into it once already, but he would not have me, " I said, recalling my hasty speech to Wallace Forbes, and at that Will's face litup with sudden animation, and he cried eagerly:

"Was that the explanation? I guessed, of course, that something hadhappened while you were away last autumn. You remember I was calling onyour sister at the time of your unexpected return, and you have neverbeen quite the same since? Whatever happened then has changed you froma girl into a woman. "

I sighed, as I always did when I recalled that miserable incident. 

"I am glad you think so. I want to be changed. Please don't think methe heroine of an interesting romance. I was a selfish wretch, andamused myself by flirting without thinking of anything but my ownamusement. I was very down on my luck just then, and had got it into myhead that no one cared for me, and when--he--_did_, it cheered andsoothed my feelings, so I let things drift until it was too late. Doyou despise me altogether, or can you understand that, bad as it was, itwasn't so hopelessly bad as it sounds?"

"I understand better than you think, perhaps. And you repented insackcloth and ashes, and were ready to make a sacrifice of yourself byway of reparation? Thank heaven he was man enough to refuse that offer!Whatever happens to the rest of us, you, at least, must be happy. Youwere meant for happiness, and must not throw it aside. I shall probablyleave this place soon, and we may seldom meet in the future, but Ishould like to think of you in the sunshine. Promise me to be happy, Babs! Promise me that you will be happy!"

He turned towards me with a violence of voice and manner so unlike hisusual composed, half-quizzical manner, that I was quite aghast, and didnot know how to reply. For the first time a doubt of his own happinesssprang into my mind, and once there it seemed to grow bigger and biggerwith every moment that passed. He did not speak like a happy man; hedid not look like a man whose heart was at rest. Looking at himclosely, I saw a network of lines about his mouth, which I had nevernoticed before; his eyes looked tired and sunken. He has changed sinceI saw him first a year ago, and yet there seems nothing to account forit, for his circumstances are all the same. Is he depressed becauseRachel still puts off their marriage? Oh, if I were in her place Icould not endure to see him looking ill and sad, and still leave himalone! Nothing should keep me away! I'd jump over the moon to get tohis side!

We stood still in the middle of the quiet path and stared at each other. I don't know what he was thinking, but my own thoughts made me blushand change the subject hurriedly. 

"Oh, I mean to be happy! I have had so much anxiety and trouble thislast year that I'm just bubbling over with pent-up spirits. Thisengagement has put the finishing touch to my self-control, and I must dosomething at once to let off steam. Did you hear me ask Rachel to goover to Farnham with us to-morrow? Father and mother and I are going todo it in record time in the new motor, and Rachel is coming, too. Shehas never been in a motor, and is eager to see what it is like. It'squite a triumph to get her to accept an invitation, isn't it? You cancome, too, if you like; there's room for another, and the more themerrier. Do come, and let us all be happy together! We could have sucha merry day!"

He hesitated for a moment, then laughed in a sort of reckless way, andcried loudly:

"Yes, let us be happy! It is only for one day. Let us throw care tothe winds, and think of nothing but our own enjoyment. Oh, yes, I'llcome! We will have a happy day, Babs--a happy day together!"

So now it is all arranged, and I am longing for the time to come. Wethree will sit together on the back seat and talk all the time, and, asWill says, I shall just forget everything in the world I don't care toremember, and enjoy every minute of the time. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

 _September 6th, 11 PM. _Here I am back in my own room; at least, I suppose it is me. I havebeen staring at myself in the glass, and I look much the same. No onewho didn't know would guess what had happened to me during the last fewhours, and that to myself I feel all new and strange--a Una Sackvillewho was never really alive until to-day. 

I ought to be desperately miserable, and I am, but I am happy, too; halfthe time I am so happy that I forget all about the past and the future, and remember only the present. To-morrow morning, I suppose, I shallbegin worrying and fighting against fate, but for to-night I amcontent--so utterly, perfectly content that there is no room to wantanything more. I'll begin at the beginning, and tell it straightthrough to the end. 

We started off for our ride at twelve o'clock this morning in thehighest of spirits, for the sun was shining, the sky was a deepcloudless blue, and, better than all, Vere had taken her first walkacross the floor, supported by father on one side, and Jim on the other, and had managed far better than any of us had expected. She and Jim hadarranged to have lunch together in the garden, and she waved her hand tous at parting, and cried airily:

"Perhaps I may stroll down to the Lodge to meet you on your return!"

Father and mother looked at one another when they were outside the door, so happy, poor dears, that they hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry, and then out we went into the sunshine, where the motor was throbbingand bumping as if it were impatient to be off. When I invent a motorI'll make one that can be quiet when it stands. I'm not a bit nervouswhen once we are started, but I hate it while we are waiting, and thestupid thing behaves as if it were going to blow up every moment. 

Rachel was waiting for us, and flushed to the loveliest pink when Willappeared and she discovered that he was to be one of the party. Father, mother and the chauffeur sat on the front seat, Rachel and I on the onebehind, with Will in the middle, and the luncheon-baskets were packedaway behind. I had a mad turn, and was quite "fey, " as the Scotch say. I kept them laughing the whole time, and was quite surprised at my ownwit. It seemed as if someone else was talking through my lips, for Isaid the things almost before I thought of them. 

We rushed along through beautiful country lanes, through dear, sleepylittle villages, and along the banks of the river. The motor behavedbeautifully, and neither smelt nor shook; it was quite intoxicating tofly through the air without any feeling of exertion, and Rachel herselfgrew almost frisky in time. 

At two o'clock we camped out, and had a delicious luncheon; then off westarted again, to take a further circuit of the country, and have tea ata quaint old inn on the way home. All went well until about fouro'clock, when we began to descend a long, steep hill leading to ariverside village. Father told the chauffeur to take it as slowly aspossible, but we had not covered a quarter of the way when--somethinghappened! Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the machine seemedto leap forward like an arrow from a bow, and rush down the hill, moreand more quickly with every second that passed. We all called out inalarm, and the chauffeur turned a bleached face to father, and saidshakily:

"It's gone, sir! The brake has gone. I can't hold her!"

"Gone? Broken? Are you sure--perfectly sure?"

"Quite sure, sir. What shall I do? Run through the village and chancethe river, or turn up the bank?"

We knew the village--one long, narrow street crowded with excursionists, with vehicles of all descriptions, with little children playing about. At the end the road gave a sharp turn close to the water's edge. On theother hand the bank was high and steep, and in some places covered withflints. 

Father looked round, and his face whitened, but he said firmly:

"We will not risk other lives besides our own. If that is the choice, run her up the bank, Johnson!"

"Right, sir!" said the chauffeur. 

It all happened in a moment, but it seemed like hours and hours. Themachine shook and quivered, and turned unwillingly to the side. Thebank seemed to rush at us--to grow steeper and steeper; to tower aboveour heads like a mountain. My heart seemed to stop beating; a far-awayvoice said clearly in my brain, "_This is death_!" and a great wave ofdespair rolled over me. I turned instinctively towards Will, and at thesame moment he turned towards me, and his eyes were bright and shining. 

"Una, Una!" he cried, and his arms opened wide and clasped me in atight, protecting embrace. There was a crash and a roar, a feeling ofmounting upwards to the skies, and then--darkness!

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The next thing was waking up feeling heavy and dazed, staring stupidlyat my coat-sleeve, and wondering what it was, and how I came to bewearing such an extraordinary night-gown. Then I tried to move the arm, and it was heavy and painful; and suddenly I remembered! I was not deadat all, not even, it appeared, seriously hurt. But the others? I satup and glanced fearfully around. The motor lay half-way up the bank, ashattered mass. Father was on his knees beside mother, who was moaningin a low, unconscious fashion. Will was slowly scrambling to his feet, holding one hand to his back. Rachel lay white and still as death, buther eyes were open, and she was evidently fully conscious. Thechauffeur was dreadful to look at, with the blood pouring from his head, but he, too, moaned, and moved his limbs. Nobody was dead! It wasalmost too wonderful to be believed. I dragged myself across to mother, and she opened her eyes and smiled faintly at the sight of our anxiousfaces. Her dear hands were terribly cut; she winced with pain as shesat up, and was evidently badly bruised, but it was such bliss to seeher move and hear her speak that these seemed but light things. Fatherrushed to the motor, managed to extricate a flask from the scatteredcontents, and went round administering doses of brandy to us all inturns. He had ricked his knee, and hobbled about like an old man. Willhad a bad pain in his back, and a cut on his forehead. My left arm wasuseless. Rachel seemed utterly stunned, and unable to speak or move, and the poor chauffeur was unconscious, having fallen on his head on amass of flints. 

By this time the accident had become known, and the village people cametrooping up the hill, bringing stretchers with them, for, as theyafterwards explained, they expected to find us all dead. The chauffeurand Rachel were carried in front, but the rest of us preferred to hobblealong on our own feet, mother leaning on father's arm, Will and I, oneon each side, never once glancing in the other's face. It was awful tobe alive, and to remember that last moment when we had forgotteneverything in the world but our two selves. I felt like a murderesswhen I looked at Rachel's still face, and hated myself for what I haddone. Yet how could I help it? When you face death at the distance ofa few seconds, all pretence dies away, and you act unconsciously as theheart dictates. I wanted Will--and--_Will wanted me_! Oh, it iswonderful, wonderful to think of! All these months when he has avoidedme, and I thought he liked me less, has he really been loving me, andtrying to get over it in loyalty to poor, dear Rachel? And was thatwhat it meant when he called me "Una!" and his voice lingered over theword?

Looking back now, I can understand lots of things which puzzled andworried me at the time. I think he began to love me almost at the veryfirst, as I did him. But oh, Rachel, Rachel--dear, sweet, unselfishRachel! I'd rather die than steal your happiness from you! Did shehear, I wonder? Did she _see_? Father and mother were too muchengrossed in themselves to know anything about it--perhaps she, too, wastoo excited to notice. Yet, surely in that awful moment she would turnto Will for comfort, and when she saw him absorbed in me, forgetting hervery existence, she must understand. Oh, she must!

I was terrified to meet her eyes when at last we reached the parlour ofthe inn, and the doctor came to attend to us all in turns. She waslying on the sofa, and when I made myself go over to speak to her, myheart gave a great throb of thankfulness, for she smiled at me, veryfeebly, but as sweetly as ever, and pressed my hand between hers. Sheshook her head when I asked her a question, and seemed as if she couldnot bear to talk. The doctor was puzzled by her condition; he couldfind no real injuries, but said she was evidently suffering from shock, and must be kept as quiet as possible until she recovered her nerve. Wewere sponged, bandaged, plastered, and fortified with tea, and awretched livid-looking party we were! No one could possibly haverecognised us as the same people who had set out so gaily four hoursbefore. 

The doctor was anxious that we should telegraph home, and spend thenight at the inn, but we had two more invalids to consider--Mrs Greavesand Vere, neither of whom were fit to be left alone in suspense, so wechartered a big covered omnibus, borrowed dozens of pillows andcushions, and set out to drive the remaining ten miles, leaving thechauffeur to be taken to the village hospital. Mother, Rachel and I layfull length along the seats, the two men banked themselves up withpillows, and endured the shaking as best they could, and so at last wereached our separate homes. I have been sitting here by my deskthinking, thinking, thinking for over an hour, and it all comes to thesame thing. 

I have made one man unhappy through my selfish vanity; I will not ruin awoman's life into the bargain. Rachel is my friend, and I will be trulyand utterly loyal to her. So far my conscience is clear of offencewhere she is concerned, for if I have loved Will it has beenunconsciously, and without realising what I was doing. I have never, never tried to attract him nor take him from her in any way. I havelooked upon him as much out of my reach as if he had been a married man, but after this things will be different. I know the danger that isbefore us both, and shall have to watch myself sternly every minute ofthe time. 

I suppose I shall be an old maid now, for I can't imagine caring foranyone after Will. Father and mother will be glad, and I'll try to be acomfort to them, but it will be dreadful getting old, and ugly, andtired and ill, and never having a real home of my own, and someone tolike me _best_. Preachey people would say that it is wrong of me towant to be first, and that I should be quite content to take a lowerplace, but I can't think that can be true where love is concerned, elsewhy did God put this longing in women's hearts? Anyway, I've found outthat love--the _best_ kind of love--is His gift, and if it comes to meat all it shall _be_ as His gift. I won't steal it! Poor, darling, unselfish Rachel, for your sake I must guard my thoughts as well as mydeeds. 

I think perhaps I'd better not write any more in this diary for a time. It would be difficult to write of just ordinary things without referringto the one great subject, and that is just what I must not do. Mybusiness is to forget, not to remember. I must not allow myself tothink!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

 _January 1st. _I must begin to write again in my poor, neglected diary, for things arehappening so fast that if I do not keep a record of them as they pass Ishall forget half that I want to remember. 

The last entry was written on the evening after the motor accident, nearly four months ago, so I must go back to that day and tell whathappened in the interval. 

We were all invalided more or less for a few weeks, but providentiallythere were no serious developments; even the poor chauffeur recoveredand seemed as well as ever. Rachel was the longest in gaining strength, and the doctor was worried about her, for she seemed listless anduninterested in what was going on, so different from her usual happyself. He said she had evidently had a severe nervous shock, and thatthat sort of thing was often more difficult to overcome than moretangible injuries. A nurse came down from London to look after her andher mother, and finally they went off to Bournemouth, where they intendto remain until the worst of the winter is over. 

I was relieved to feel convinced that Rachel knew nothing of what hadoccurred at that last dreadful moment, for her ignorance seemed provedby the fact that she was absolutely the same in manner both to Will andmyself! in fact, if anything, I think she was more affectionate to methan she had ever been before. I _was_ thankful! It would have beendreadful to feel that we had any part in bringing about her illness. Asfor Will, I kept carefully out of his way, and hoped we need never, never refer to what had passed; but he evidently felt differently, andone day when he knew where I was bound he deliberately waylaid me andhad it out. I never lifted my eyes from the ground, so I don't know howhe looked, but his voice told plainly enough how agitated he wasfeeling. 

"There is something I have to say, and the sooner it is said the betterfor both of us, " he began. "I owe you an explanation for whatoccurred--that day. I should like you to understand that I hardly knewwhat I was about. It seemed as if it might be the last moment of life, and I turned instinctively to you. Otherwise I would never, never--"

"Oh, I know!" I cried brokenly. "I understand it all, and if there isany blame it is mine as much as yours, for I forgot, too. We must neverrefer to it again, and we had better see each other as seldom aspossible. It will be easier that way. "

He was silent for a moment or two, then he sighed heavily and said:

"It will not be easy any way, Una, but it must be done. I can't blamemyself altogether for what has happened. Our hearts are not always inour own keeping, and mine went out to you from the first. I did notrealise it for a time, but when I did, I did not trifle with temptation. I kept out of your way, as you must have noticed. All last winter Ifought a hard fight. It would have been harder still if I had guessedthat--you cared! The trouble began in mistaking friendship for love, but until I met you I was quite content. I had no idea that anythingwas lacking. "

"And you will be happy again. Rachel is better than I am in everypossible way, and is more worthy of you. I am a selfish, discontentedwretch. If you knew what I was really like, you would wonder how youcould ever have cared for me at all, and when you leave this place itwill be easy to forget--"

"I shall never forget, " he said shortly. "Una, I must tell you all thatis in my mind. I believe in honesty in love as in all other matters, and if circumstances were different I should go straight to Rachel andtell her. How, unconsciously to myself, my heart had gone out to you, and that in that supreme moment we turned instinctively to each other, and I knew that my love was returned, and I would ask her for myliberty. In nine out of ten cases I am sure that would be the rightthing to do, but--this is the tenth! Rachel has had years of troubleand anxiety, and now her own health is broken. I could not put anotherburden upon her. Through these last days of misery and uncertainty whathas comforted me most has been to realise that she has no idea of whathappened. She must have been taken up with her own thoughts--praying, no doubt, for our safety, not her own. Rachel never thinks of herself, so I must think for her. With her father gone, her mother invalided, she has no one left but me, and I can't desert her. "

"I should hate you if you did!" I cried eagerly. "I, too, have beenthankful that she knows nothing, and she must never know, you must neverlet her guess. There could be no happiness for us if we broke herheart. You used to call her the best woman in the world, and she is sosweet and gentle that you could not possibly live with her and remainunhappy. In years to come you will be thankful it has happened likethis. "

"In any case it is the right thing to do, " he said, sighing. "As yousay, we should only suffer if we thought of ourselves first. If onetries to grasp happiness at the expense of another's suffering it onlycollapses like a bubble, and leaves one more wretched than before. Youand I are not unprincipled, Una, though we did forget ourselves for thatone moment, and the remembrance of Rachel would poison everything. Perhaps, after all, it is as well that we know our danger, for we shallbe more careful to keep out of temptation. I shall try to persuade herto marry me as soon as possible, and after that we shall live near myuncle. I shall have a busy, active life, and, as you say, one of thesweetest women in the world for my wife. She has been faithful to mefor so many years that I should be a scoundrel if I did not make herhappy. "

I did not say anything--I couldn't! I seemed to see it all stretchedout before me--Will being married, and going to live far, far away, andsettling down with his wife and children, and forgetting that there wasa Una in the world. I tried to be glad at the thought; I tried _hard_, but I was just one big ache, and my heart felt as if it would burst. Honestly and truly, if by lifting up a little finger at that moment Icould have hindered their happiness, nothing would have induced me to doit, but it is difficult to do right _cheerfully_. 

We stood silently for a long time, until Will said brokenly: "And whatwill--you do, Una?"

"Oh, I shall do nothing. I shall stay at home--like the little pig, " Isaid, trying to laugh, and succeeding very badly. "I shall help Verewith her marriage preparations, and visit her in her new home, and takecare of the parents in their old age. Father says there ought always tobe one unmarried woman in every family to play Aunt Mary in time ofneed. I shall be the Sackville Aunt Mary. "

He turned and walked up and down the path. I stole a glance at him andsaw that he was battling with some strong emotion, then our eyes met, and he came forward hastily and stood before me. 

"Oh, it is hard that I should have brought this upon you! I who wouldgive my right hand to ensure your happiness. Have I spoilt your life, Una? Will you think hardly of me some day, and wish that we had nevermet?"

Then at last I looked full in his face. 

"No, Will, " I said; "that day will never come. I have known a good man, and I am proud that he has loved me, and prouder still that he is trueto his word. Don't worry about me. I shall try to be happy and brave, and make the most of my life. It will be easier after you have left. We must not meet like this again. I could not bear that. "

"No, we must not meet. I could not bear it either, but I am glad thatwe have spoken out this once. God bless you, dear, for your sweetwords. They will be a comfort to remember. Good-bye!"

We did not even shake hands; he just took off his cap and--went! I hada horrible impulse to run after him, take him by the arm, and make himstay a little longer, only five minutes longer, but I didn't. I juststood perfectly still and heard his footsteps crunch down the path. Then the sound died away, and it seemed as if everything else died withthem. I did not feel brave at that moment. There seemed nothing leftin the whole wide world that was worth having. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

About the middle of September Will went away to pay a visit to hisuncle. He called to say good-bye when he knew I was out, so we did notmeet again, and no one had any idea of what had happened. Isn't itstrange how far away you feel at times from even your nearest relations?

 "Not e'en the dearest heart and next our own, Knows half the reason why we smile or sigh!"

as it says in the "Christian Year. " A girl's parents think: "She has acomfortable home, and nice food and clothes, and we are always thinkingof her; she ought to be happy, and if she isn't she is a naughty, ungrateful child!" They don't remember that the child is a woman, andwants her very own life! And other people say: "She is a well-off girl, that Una Sackville, she has everything that money can buy!" but moneycan't take the ache out of your heart. And your sister thinks that youshould be so excited and eager at the prospect of being her bridesmaid, that your cup of happiness ought to simply pour over on the spot. Ah, well, perhaps it's just as well to keep your troubles to yourself!

The old uncle was weak and failing, so Will stayed on with him untilChristmas. I suppose he was glad of the excuse. He never wrote, butRachel sent me a note now and then, and mentioned that he had been downto Bournemouth several times, but she is a poor correspondent at thebest of times, and her letters seemed emptier than ever. When Lornawrites, you feel as if she were speaking, and she tells you all thenice, interesting little things you most want to hear, but Rachel'sletters are just a dull repetition of your own. 

"Dearest Una, --I am so glad to hear you are keeping well, and feelinghappier about your sister's health. It is very nice to know that dearMrs Sackville is so much stronger this winter, and that your father isfull of health and vigour. So you are expecting a visit from yoursoldier brother, and are all greatly excited at the prospect of seeinghim after so many years, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. " What is one todo with people who write like that? Just at the end she would say, "Will paid us a flying visit last week, and promised to come again nextSaturday. Believe me, dear Una. .. " Her letters left me as hungry anddissatisfied as when they arrived, but they brought all the news I hadfor three long months. 

At home the atmosphere was very bright and cheery, for Vere improved soquickly that she and Jim actually began to talk of marriage in thesummer. The old doctor came up and croaked warnings when he heard ofit. He said that Vere would need care for a long time to come, and thatin his opinion it would be wiser to wait until she was perfectlystrong--say a matter of two or three years longer; but Jim just laughedin his face, and said he flattered himself that he could take bettercare of his wife than anyone else could possibly do. So it was settled, and the astounding marvel has come to pass that Vere is so engrossed inthinking about Jim and their future life together, that she iscomparatively indifferent to clothes. When I sounded her as tobridesmaids' costume, she said: "Oh, settle it yourself, dear. I don'tmind, so long as you are pleased!" Two years ago she would haveinsisted on my wearing saffron, if it had been the fashionable colour, and have worried the whole household into fits about the shape of thesleeves! She is so loving and sweet to mother, too, not only in words, but in a hundred taking-pains kind of ways, and she never jeers or hurtsmy feelings as she used to do. Jim is going to have a very nice wife, and he deserves it, dear old patient thing!

In November, just as it was all settled about the wedding, Spencer camehome from Malta, and stayed for a month. We were all simply burstingwith pride over him, and the whole neighbourhood came up in batches todo obeisance. Why one should be prouder of a soldier who has never evenseen a fight than of a nice, hard-working clerk, I can't think, but thefact remains that you _are_, and I did wish it were the fashion forSpencer to wear his lovely uniform, instead of a dull grey tweed suitlike anybody else! The whole family was busy and happy and engrossed inthe present. Nobody guessed what years those weeks seemed to me. I wasquite bright all day long, but when I got to bed. .. 

So the time went on, one day after another. Spencer went back to Malta, and Jim came down to stay for Christmas, also Lady Mary and her husband, and I sat up in my room making presents, and trying to live in thepresent and not look ahead. Then Christmas morning came, and among astack of cards was a letter from Rachel--an extraordinary letter!

"I am quite well again, " she wrote, "but mother is very frail, and takescold at every change in the weather. Even this sheltered place seemstoo bleak for her, and we are seriously contemplating going abroad--notto the Continent, but a much longer journey--to South Africa itself!You may have heard that mother spent her early life at the Cape, and nowthat father has gone it is only natural that she should wish to spendher last years near her brothers and sisters. It will be a wrench forme to leave England, and all the dear friends who have been so kind tome, but I feel more and more strongly that it is the right thing to do. We shall try to sell the Grange, but shall, of course, come back for afew weeks after the New Year to pack up and make final arrangements, if, as I think probable, our plans are settled by that time. "

The letter went on to discuss other subjects, but I could not bring mymind to attend to them. I just sat staring at that one paragraph, andreading it over again and again and again. 

Going to the Cape! To spend her mother's last days! Mrs Greaves wasnot an old woman. She might easily live for another ten or fifteenyears. Did Rachel seriously mean to imply that she herself was going toremain in South Africa all that time? And what about Will? Was hesupposed to wait patiently until she returned, or to expatriate himselfin order to join her? I felt utterly bewildered, and the worst of itwas that there was no one near who could throw any light on the subject, or answer one of my questions. At one moment I felt indignant withRachel for making no mention of Will's interest; at the next I marvelledhow a mother, so kind and devoted as Mrs Greaves, could possibly demandsuch a sacrifice of her daughter. What would Will say when the projectwas unfolded to him? After his long waiting he would be quite justifiedin taking a strong position and refusing to be put aside any longer. From what I knew of him, I fancied that he would do so--I hoped hewould. Nothing could be more trying and dangerous for him or for methan a long, dragging engagement, with Rachel at the other side of theworld--an engagement which held him bound, yet left him practicallyfree. 

I knew that Will was to spend Christmas at Bournemouth, and wondered ifhe would call on us on his return to discuss the astonishing news, butthough father met him once or twice, he never came near the house untilthis morning, this wonderful never-to-be-forgotten morning when Bennettcame to me as I was writing in the library and said that Mr Dudley hadcalled to see me, and was waiting in the drawing-room. 

To see me! Not mother, nor father, nor Vere, but me! My heart gave agreat leap of excitement, and I trembled so violently that I couldhardly walk across the floor. It must be something extraordinary indeedwhich brought Will on a special mission to me!

He was standing by the fireplace as I entered the room, and the momenthe saw me he darted forward and seized my hands in both his. The lasttime we had met he would not even shake hands at parting. I rememberedthat with another thrill of excitement; then he drew me towards thefireplace and began speaking in quick, excited tones--

"Una, it is all over! Rachel has set me free! It is her own doing, entirely her own wish. I had no idea of it until Christmas Eve, whenshe sent me a letter telling me that she was going to South Africa withher mother, and could not continue our engagement. She asked me not tocome to Bournemouth as arranged, but I went all the same. I could notaccept a written word after all these years. I wanted to satisfy myselfthat she was in earnest. "

"And was she?"

"Absolutely! I could not touch her decision--sweet and gentle andkindly as ever, but perfectly determined to end it once for all. "

"Do you think that Mrs Greaves--"

"No, she has had nothing to do with it. The decision was as great asurprise to her as to me. She told me that she would never haveconsented to the South African scheme if Rachel had not first confidedin her that she wished to break her engagement, and would be glad to beout of England. I think she is genuinely sorry. She and I were alwaysgood friends. "

"Then why--why--why--"

"A matter of feeling entirely. Stay, I will give you her letter toread. It will explain better than I can, and there is nothing that shecould mind your seeing. "

He took an envelope from his coat pocket, unfolded the sheet of paperwhich it contained, and held it before me. I was so shaky and tremblingthat I don't think I could have held it myself. It was dated December23rd, and on the first page Rachel spoke of the proposed journey inalmost the same words which she had used in her letter to me, written onthe same date. Then came the surprise. 

"You will wonder, dear Will, if I am altogether forgetting you and yourclaims in the making of these plans; indeed, I never can be indifferentto anything which concerns your happiness, but I have something to sayto you to-night which cannot longer be delayed. I am going to ask youto set me free from our engagement. I have come to the conclusion thatI have been mistaken in many things, and that it would not be a rightthing for me to become your wife. Please don't imagine that I amdisappointed in you, or have any sins to lay to your charge. I amthankful to say that my affection and esteem are greater now than on theday when we were engaged, and I should be deeply grieved if I thoughtthere could ever be anything approaching a quarrel between us. I wantto be good, true friends, dear Will, but only friends--not lovers. Isee now that I should never have allowed anything else, but you must begenerous, dear, and forgive me, as you have already forgiven so manyfailings. 

"Don't try to dissuade me. You know I am not given to rash decisions, and I have thought over nothing else than this step for some weeks past. I know I am right, and in the future you will see it too, howeverstrangely it strikes you now. It would perhaps be better if you did notcome here to-morrow as arranged--"

The rest of the letter I knew already, so I did not trouble to look atit, but turned back and read the last paragraphs for the second time, "Ihave been mistaken in many things!" "My affection is greater than onthe day when we were engaged. " "I have thought over nothing else forsome weeks past. " Those three sentences seemed to stand out from therest, and to print themselves on my brain. I looked anxiously in Will'sface, and saw in it joy, agitation, a wonderful tenderness, but noshadow of the suspicion which was tearing at my own heart. How blindmen are sometimes, especially when they don't care to see!

"She has never loved me!" he declared. "She had, as she says, anaffection for me as she might have had for a friend, a brother--anaffection such as I had for her, but she does not know--we neither of usknew the meaning of--love!"

I looked at the carpet, and there rose before me a vision of Rachel'sface when Will appeared unexpectedly on the scene; when she heard thetones of his voice in the distance; when she watched him out of sightafter he had said "Good-bye. " In his actual presence she was quiet andprecise, but at these moments her eyes would shine with a deep glow ofhappiness, her lips would tremble, and her cheeks turn suddenly fromwhite to pink. Not love him--Rachel not love Will! Why, she adoredhim! He was more to her than anything and everybody in the world puttogether. She might be able to deceive him, but nothing could make mebelieve that she had broken off the engagement for her own happiness. She was thinking of someone else, not herself. Who was it? Ah, thatwas the question. Her mother, or Will, Will and perhaps--me! Was itpossible that she had been conscious of what had happened on theafternoon of the motor accident, and that, in consideration of ourfeelings, she had kept her own counsel until a sufficient time hadelapsed to enable her to end her engagement in a natural manner? Anyonewho knew Rachel as I do would realise in a flash that it was justexactly what she would do in the circumstances. Then, if this wereindeed the case, the nervous shock which prostrated her for so long wasnot physical, but mental. Oh, poor Rachel! Yet you could smile at me, and be sweet and gentle in the first moments of your agony! It was allI could do to keep back the tears, as I thought of what she must haveendured during these last three months; but through all my agitation onedetermination remained unshaken: I must not let Will see my suspicions;Rachel's secret must be loyally guarded. He was talking incessantly--aquick, excited stream of words. I came back from my dreams to pick up ahalf-finished sentence--

"Too good to be true. She has filled so large a place in my life. Ihave such a strong admiration for her that it would have been a realpain to have parted coldly. But to keep her as my friend, to know thather affection is unchanged, and yet to be free to seek my own happinessis such a marvellous unravelling of the skein that I can hardly realisemy good fortune. I came back last night, and could hardly wait untilthis morning to tell you my news. Una, you understand! I ask nothingof you to-day, it is not the time to speak of ourselves. I shall goback to my uncle, and stay with him for the next few months. He is veryfrail, and my place seems to be with him at present, but in the spring, if I come back in the spring, will you see me then? Will you let metell you--"

I moved away from him hurriedly. 

"No, no--don't say it! Say nothing to-day, but just `Good-bye. ' Idon't want to think of the future--it's too soon. You said we must notthink of ourselves. "

"I did. You are quite right, but sometimes it is difficult to beconsistent. You are not angry with me for coming to-day?"

He held out his hand as he spoke, and--I was inconsistent, too! I laidmine in it, and we stood with clasped fingers, quite still and silentfor a long, long time, but I think we said many things to each other, all the same. 

Then Will went away--my Will!--and I came upstairs to my room, and satdown all alone. No, that is not true--I can never fed alone now as longas I live!

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

 _January 20th_. Mrs Greaves and Rachel came home after the New Year and set to work atonce to break up the old home. All the furniture is to be sold byauction, and the house is to be sold too, or let upon a very long lease. I wanted to see Rachel, but dreaded seeing her, at the same time, so atlast I sent a letter asking when I might come, and she wrote back a dearlittle affectionate note fixing the very next afternoon. When I arrivedshe took me upstairs to the sitting-room where I used to spend my dayswhen my ankle was bad, and fussed over me in just the same old way. Shelooked--different! Just as sweet, just as calm, but--oh, I can'tdescribe it, as if something had gone which had been the mainspring ofit all. 

I should never have dared to mention Will, but she began almost at onceto speak of the broken engagement, quite calmly and quietly, repeatingthat it was the best thing for both, and that she should be perfectlycontent if she were satisfied about Will's future. 

"Nothing will give me greater pleasure than to hear that Will is happilymarried and settled down. He has been too long alone, and would sothoroughly appreciate a home of his own. I have done him a greatinjustice by condemning him to so many lonely years, but our engagementneed be no hindrance now. It was known to very few people, and, "--shesmiled a little sadly--"even those who did know refused to take itseriously. They saw at once what I was so slow in discovering--that wewere unsuited to each other. We were thrown together at a time when hewas depressed and lonely, otherwise the engagement could never havehappened. It was a great mistake, but it is over now, and he must notsuffer from its consequences. I am going away, but I shall wait to hearof his happiness, and I hope it may come soon. "

Our eyes met. I looked at her steadily, and the colour rose in hercheeks and spread up to the roots of her hair. She shrank back in herchair and put up her hands as if to ward me off, but I just sank on myknees before them and held them tightly in mine. 

"Oh, Rachel!" I cried. "I know, I know! You can't deceive me, dear. You have done this for our sakes, not your own. Oh, I hoped you hadbeen too much engrossed to notice what happened that day. When you saidnothing about it, I was so relieved and thankful, for truly, Rachel, itwas only an impulse. Nothing of the sort had ever happened before--nota word or a look to which you could have objected. You believe that, don't you, dear? Say you believe it. "

Her fingers tightened round mine. 

"Indeed, indeed, I do! You have been all that is true and loyal, and sohas Will. There is no one to blame but myself. I knew from the firstthat he was attracted to you, and that you suited him better than Icould ever do; but I shut my eyes--I did not want to see. Don't besorry for what happened; it is a great blessing for us all that I wasnot allowed to deceive myself any longer. You say it was only animpulse. Ah, Una, but the impulse which made him turn to you and forgetme is too clear a warning to be neglected. It showed how his heart laybetter than any deliberate action. "

I could not deny it. I did not want to deny it, deeply as I felt forher suffering. I laid my head in her lap, so that she should not see myface, and begged her to forgive me. 

"I feel such a wretch to take my happiness at the expense of yours. Youare an angel, Rachel, to be so sweet and forgiving. I should be a furyof rage and jealousy if I were in your place, but you give it all upwithout a murmur. "

She smiled at that--such a sad little smile. 

"I have nothing to give. It was yours all the time. When I found thatout, I could not be mean enough to hold an empty claim. I never meantyou to know my real reason, but since you have found it out foryourself, you must promise me not to let it interfere with Will'shappiness. Don't let me feel that he has to suffer any more because ofme. Never let him suspect the truth. He has such a tender heart thatit would trouble him sorely if he knew that I had discovered his secret, and I don't want any shadow on our friendship. Promise me, Una, thatyou will never let him know. "

"I promise, Rachel. I had made up my mind about that long ago. "

I did not tell her that in making my decision I had considered herfeelings, not his. I had imagined that for her pride's sake she wouldnot wish him to know her real reasons for breaking off the engagement. But Rachel herself had no thought of her pride; her anxiety was simplyand wholly for Will's comfort. 

I looked up at her in a passion of admiration, and in that moment aquestion which had tormented me for weeks past seemed to find itssolution. 

"Rachel, " I cried, "I know now why this has happened! I have beenwondering how anyone so good and unselfish as you could be allowed tohave such a trouble as this, and how it could be for the best that youare passed over for a creature like me, but I can understand now. Youare too valuable to be shut up in just one home; so many people needyou--you can help so wonderfully all round that you are kept free forthe general good. The world needs you. You belong to the world. "

Her face lit up with happiness. 

"Oh, Una, what a lovely thought! I shall remember that, and it will besuch a comfort. Kiss me, dear. I am so glad that it is you. I am sothankful that Will has chosen someone whom I can love. "

We talked a good deal more, and she said a lot of lovely things that Ishall remember all my life. It was as though she were giving over thecharge of Will into my hands, and they are such hasty incapable handsthat they need all the guiding they can get. She told, me all about himas she had known him all these years--his good qualities, which I was toencourage; his weaknesses, which I was to discourage; his faults, (ah!Will dear, they were nothing compared to mine), which I was to help himto fight. She looked upon it all so seriously, that marriage seemed tobecome a terrible as well as a beautiful thing. Can it really be truethat I have such wonderful power to influence Will for good or evil?Oh, I must be good, I must, I must, for his welfare is fifty thousandtimes dearer to me than my own!

After this I was constantly at the Grange, and worked like a charwomanhelping to pack, and getting ready for the sale. I think I was reallyof use, for Rachel has not much taste, and I re-arranged things so thatthey looked ever so much more attractive, and so brought bigger prices. We had very happy times together, and were quite merry, sometimessitting down to tea on the top of boxes, with our dresses pinned up andcovered with aprons, but we never spoke of Will again. That wasfinished. The last two nights they were in England Mrs Greaves andRachel spent in our home, and I drove down and saw them off at thestation. I knew who was going to meet them at the other end, but eventhen we did not mention him. Rachel just clung tightly to me, andwhispered "_Remember_!" and that said everything. Then the train puffedslowly out of the station, and I caught one glimpse of her white, whiteface through the window. Oh! if I live to be a hundred I shall never, never forget her, and I shall love her more than anyone else except myvery own people, but I don't think I shall ever see Rachel again in thisworld!

 _June 25th_. Vere's wedding eve. My poor neglected diary must come out of hiding tohear the record of a time so wonderful to her and to me. I have hadvery little leisure for thinking of my own affairs since Rachel left, for a wedding means a tremendous amount of work and management, when itinvolves inviting relations from all parts of the world, buying as manyclothes as if you were never expected to see a shop again, and choosingand furnishing a brand-new house. Neither mother nor Vere are strongenough to do much running about, so all the active preparations fell tome, and I had to go up to town to scold dressmakers and hurry updecorators, and threaten cabinet makers, and tell plumbers andironmongers that they ought to be ashamed of themselves, and matchpatterns, and choose trimmings, and change things that wouldn't do, until Vere said, laughingly, that the wedding seemed far more mine thanhers. It kept me so busy that I had no time to dream until I went tobed at nights and then I used to be awake for hours, thinking of Rachelaway at the other side of the world, happy in her mother's restoredhealth, and, to judge from the tone of her letters, thoroughly enjoyingthe complete change of scene after the very quiet life she had led theselast years; thinking of Lorna, my dear old faithful Lorna, as good afriend to me as ever, in spite of all the trouble I caused her. It is ayear ago now since that wretched affair, and Wallace seems almost hisold self again, she says, so I hope he will soon have forgotten allabout me. I feel hot and cold whenever I think about it. It is_wicked_ to play at being in love! Suppose I had accepted Wallace outof pique, as I thought of doing for a few mad moments; suppose I hadbeen going to marry him to-morrow--how awful, how perfectly awful Ishould feel now! How different from Vere, whose face looks so sweet andsatisfied that it does one good to look at her. 

I have been slaving all day long arranging flowers and presents, andafter tea mother just insisted that I should come up to my room to restfor an hour, so here I am, sitting on the very same chair on which I satin those far-away pre-historic ages when I began this diary, a silly bitof a girl just home from school. I am not so very ancient now as yearsgo, but I have come through some big experiences, and to-day especiallyI feel full of all sorts of wonderful thoughts and resolutions, becauseto-morrow--to-morrow, Will is coming, and we shall meet again!

I think Vere guesses, I am almost sure that she does, for she and Jimmade such a point of his coming to the wedding, and she gave me his noteof acceptance with such a sympathetic little smile. Oh, how anxious Ihad been until that letter arrived, and now that it is all settled I canhardly rest until to-morrow. Rest! How can I rest? He arrives lateto-night, so we shall meet first of all in church. I shall feel as if, like Vere, I am going to meet my bridegroom. It will seem like a doublewedding--hers and mine. 

 _The Wedding Day_. It has all passed off perfectly, without a single hitch or drawback. Tobegin with, the weather was ideal, just a typical warm June day, withthe sky one deep, unclouded blue. As I looked out of my window thismorning the lawns looked like stretches of green velvet, bordered withpink and cream, for it is to be a rose wedding, and the date was fixedto have them at their best. The house is full of visitors, andeverybody seemed overflowing with sympathy and kindness. 

It must be horrid to be married in a place where you are not known, orin a big town where a lot of strangers collect to stare at you, as ifyou were part of a show. This dear little place is, to a man, almost asmuch interested and excited as we are ourselves; the villagers are allfriends, for either we have known them since they were babies, or theyhave known us since we were babies, which comes to the same thing. Theold almshouse women had a tea yesterday, and sat in the gallery inchurch, and the Sunday-school children had a tea to-day, and lined thechurch path and scattered roses. The Mother's Meeting was in thegallery, too, and the Band of Hope somewhere else, and the Girls'Friendly by the door. The whole place was _en fete_, with penny flagshanging out of the cottage windows, and streamers tied across the HighStreet. It all felt so nice, and kind, and homey. 

There were eight bridesmaids, and we really _did_ look nice, in whitechiffon dresses, shepherdess hats wreathed with roses, and long whitestaves wreathed with the same. 

As for Vere, she was a vision of loveliness, all pink and white andgold. We walked together downstairs into the hall, where father waswaiting to receive us. Poor father! the tears came into his eyes as hetook her hand, and looked down at her. It must be hard to bring up achild, and go through all the anxiety and care and worry, and then, justwhen she is old enough to be a real companion, to have to give her up, and see her go away with a "perfect stranger, " as Spencer says. 

Last night, when I was going to bed, father held me in his arms, andsaid:

"Thank heaven, I shall have you left, Babs! It will be a long timebefore I can spare you to another man. "

And I hugged him, and said nothing, for I knew. .. Ah! well, they did itthemselves once on a time, so they can't be surprised!

The church was crowded with people, and everybody turned to stare at usas we came in, but I saw only one face--Will's face--with the light Imost loved shining in his eyes. I stood at Vere's side, and heard herrepeat her vows in sweet, firm tones, which never faltered, but Jim'svoice trembled as he made that touching promise of faithfulness "insickness and in health, " and I saw his hand tighten over hers. 

It was like a dream--the swelling bursts of music, the faces of theclergy; behind all, the great stained window, with the Christ lookingdown. .. Then the wedding march pealed out, we took our places in thecarriages, and drove home once more. 

Vere and her husband stood beneath one of the arches of the pergola, toreceive the congratulations of their friends, a picture couple, as happyas they were handsome. The sky was like a dome of blue, the scent ofroses was in the air, and Will came to meet me across the green, greengrass. 

"Una!" he cried. "_At last_!" and clasped my hand in his. 

Oh, I am terribly happy! I should like everyone in the world to be ashappy as I am to-day!

THE END.