Editorial note: We now know that "Elizabeth and Her German Garden" was written by Elizabeth von Arnim (1866-1941). Born Mary Annette Beauchamp in Australia, she grew up in England and married a German, Count Henning August von Arnim-Schlagenthin. After the couple moved to his country estate she began writing children's books. Many of her early books were published "By the Author of 'Elizabeth and Her German Garden', " and later she published as simply "Elizabeth. "

THE PRINCESS PRISCILLA'S FORTNIGHT

BY THE AUTHOR OF "ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN"

1905

 "Oft habe ich die Welt durchwandert, und habe immer gesehen, wie das Grosse am Kleinlichen scheitert, und das Edle von dem ätzenden Gift des Alltäglichen zerfressen wird. " FRITZING, "Erlebtes und Erlittenes. "

I

Her Grand Ducal Highness the Princess Priscilla of Lothen-Kunitz wasup to the age of twenty-one a most promising young lady. She was notonly poetic in appearance beyond the habit of princesses but she wasalso of graceful and appropriate behaviour. She did what she was told;or, more valuable, she did what was expected of her without beingtold. Her father, in his youth and middle age a fiery man, now anirritable old gentleman who liked good food and insisted on strictestetiquette, was proud of her on those occasions when she happened tocross his mind. Her mother, by birth an English princess of anoriginality uncomfortable and unexpected in a royal lady thatcontinued to the end of her life to crop up at disconcerting moments, died when Priscilla was sixteen. Her sisters, one older and oneyounger than herself, were both far less pleasing to look upon thanshe was, and much more difficult to manage; yet each married asuitable prince and each became a credit to her House, while as forPriscilla, --well, as for Priscilla, I propose to describe her dreadfulconduct. 

But first her appearance. She was well above the average height ofwoman; a desirable thing in a princess, who, before everything, mustimpress the public with her dignity. She had a long pointed chin, anda sweet mouth with full lips that looked most kind. Her nose was notquite straight, one side of it being the least bit different from theother, --a slight crookedness that gave her face a charm absolutelybeyond the reach of those whose features are what is known aschiselled. Her skin was of that fairness that freckles readily in hotsummers or on winter days when the sun shines brightly on the snow, adelicate soft skin that is seen sometimes with golden eyelashes andeyebrows, and hair that is more red than gold. Priscilla had theseeyelashes and eyebrows and this hair, and she had besides beautifulgrey-blue eyes--calm pools of thought, the court poet called them, when her having a birthday compelled him to official raptures; andbecause everybody felt sure they were not really anything of the kindthe poet's utterance was received with acclamations. Indeed, aprincess who should possess such pools would be most undesirable--inLothen-Kunitz nothing short of a calamity; for had they not had onealready? It was what had been the matter with the deceased GrandDuchess; she would think, and no one could stop her, and her life inconsequence was a burden to herself and to everybody else at hercourt. Priscilla, however, was very silent. She had never expressed anopinion, and the inference was that she had no opinion to express. Shehad not criticized, she had not argued, she had been tractable, obedient, meek. Yet her sisters, who had often criticized and argued, and who had rarely been obedient and never meek, became as I have saidthe wives of appropriate princes, while Priscilla, --well, he who runsmay read what it was that Priscilla became. 

But first as to where she lived. The Grand Duchy of Lothen-Kunitz liesin the south of Europe; that smiling region of fruitful plains, forest-clothed hills, and broad rivers. It is one of the first placesSpring stops at on her way up from Italy; and Autumn, coming down fromthe north sunburnt, fruit-laden, and blest, goes slowly when shereaches it, lingering there with her serenity and ripeness, her calmskies and her windless days long after the Saxons and Prussians havelit their stoves and got out their furs. There figs can be eaten offthe trees in one's garden, and vineyards glow on the hillsides. Therethe people are Catholics, and the Protestant pastor casts no shadow ofa black gown across life. There as you walk along the white roads, youpass the image of the dead Christ by the wayside; mute reminder tothose who would otherwise forget of the beauty of pitifulness andlove. And there, so near is Kunitz to the soul of things, you may anymorning get into the train after breakfast and in the afternoon findyourself drinking coffee in the cool colonnades of the Piazza SanMarco at Venice. 

Kunitz is the capital of the duchy, and the palace is built on a hill. It is one of those piled-up buildings of many windows and turrets andbattlements on which the tourist gazes from below as at therealization of a childhood's dream. A branch of the river Loth windsround the base of the hill, separating the ducal family from thered-roofed town along its other bank. Kunitz stretches right round thehill, lying clasped about its castle like a necklet of ancient stones. At the foot of the castle walls the ducal orchards and kitchen gardensbegin, continuing down to the water's edge and clothing the base ofthe hill in a garment of blossom and fruit. No fairer sight is to beseen than the glimpse of these grey walls and turrets rising out of acloud of blossom to be had by him who shall stand in the market placeof Kunitz and look eastward up the narrow street on a May morning; andif he who gazes is a dreamer he could easily imagine that where thesetting of life is so lovely its days must of necessity be each like ajewel, of perfect brightness and beauty. 

The Princess Priscilla, however, knew better. To her unfortunately thelife within the walls seemed of a quite blatant vulgarity; pervaded bylacqueys, by officials of every kind and degree, by too much food, toomany clothes, by waste, by a feverish frittering away of time, by ahideous want of privacy, by a dreariness unutterable. To her it was aperpetual behaving according to the ideas officials had formed as tothe conduct to be expected of princesses, a perpetual pretending notto see that the service offered was sheerest lip-service, a perpetualshutting of the eyes to hypocrisy and grasping selfishness. Conceive, you tourist full of illusions standing free down there in the marketplace, the frightfulness of never being alone a moment from the timeyou get out of bed to the time you get into it again. Conceive thedeadly patience needed to stand passive and be talked to, amused, taken care of, all day long for years. Conceive the intolerableness, if you are at all sensitive, of being watched by eyes so sharp andprying, so eager to note the least change of expression and to use theconclusions drawn for personal ends that nothing, absolutely nothing, escapes them. Priscilla's sisters took all these things as a matter ofcourse, did not care in the least how keenly they were watched andtalked over, never wanted to be alone, liked being fussed over bytheir ladies-in-waiting. They, happy girls, had thick skins. ButPriscilla was a dreamer of dreams, a poet who never wrote poems, butwhose soul though inarticulate was none the less saturated with thedesires and loves from which poems are born. She, like her sisters, had actually known no other states; but then she dreamed of themcontinuously, she desired them continuously, she read of themcontinuously; and though there was only one person who knew she didthese things I suppose one person is enough in the way ofencouragement if your mind is bent on rebellion. This old person, cause of all the mischief that followed, for without his helpI do not see what Priscilla could have done, was the ducallibrarian--_Hofbibliothekar_, head, and practically master of thewonderful collection of books and manuscripts whose mere cataloguemade learned mouths in distant parts of Europe water and learned lungssigh in hopeless envy. He too had officials under him, but they wereunlike the others: meek youths, studious and short-sighted, whosebusiness as far as Priscilla could see was to bow themselves outsilently whenever she and her lady-in-waiting came in. The librarian'sname was Fritzing; plain Herr Fritzing originally, but gradually byvarious stages at last arrived at the dignity and sonorousness of HerrGeheimarchivrath Fritzing. The Grand Duke indeed had proposed toennoble him after he had successfully taught Priscilla Englishgrammar, but Fritzing, whose spirit dwelt among the Greeks, could notbe brought to see any desirability in such a step. Priscilla calledhim Fritzi when her lady-in-waiting dozed; dearest Fritzi sometimeseven, in the heat of protest or persuasion. But afterwards, leavingthe room as solemnly as she had come in, followed by her wide-awakeattendant, she would nod a formally gracious "Good afternoon, HerrGeheimrath, " for all the world as though she had been talking that waythe whole time. The Countess (her lady-in-waiting was the CountessIrmgard von Disthal, an ample slow lady, the unmarried daughter of anoble house, about fifty at this time, and luckily--or unluckily--forPriscilla, a great lover of much food and its resultant deep slumbers)would bow in her turn in as stately a manner as her bulk permitted, and with a frigidity so pronounced that in any one less skilled inshades of deportment it would have resembled with a singularcompleteness a sniff of scorn. Her frigidity was perfectly justified. Was she not a _hochgeboren_, a member of an ancient house, of luminouspedigree as far back as one could possibly see? And was he not the sonof an obscure Westphalian farmer, a person who in his youth had satbarefoot watching pigs? It is true he had learning, and culture, and abig head with plenty of brains in it, and the Countess Disthal had asmall head, hardly any brains, no soul to speak of, and no education. This, I say, is true; but it is also neither here nor there. TheCountess was the Countess, and Fritzing was a nobody, and thecondescension she showed him was far more grand ducal than anything inthat way that Priscilla could or ever did produce. 

Fritzing, unusually gifted, and enterprising from the first--whichexplains the gulf between pig-watching and _Hofbibliothekar_--hadspent ten years in Paris and twenty in England in various capacities, but always climbing higher in the world of intellect, and had comeduring this climbing to speak English quite as well as mostEnglishmen, if in a statelier, Johnsonian manner. At fifty he beganhis career in Kunitz, and being a lover of children took over theEnglish education of the three princesses; and now that they had longsince learned all they cared to know, and in Priscilla's case all ofgrammar at least that he had to teach, he invented a talent fordrawing in Priscilla, who could not draw a straight line, much less acurved one, so that she should still be able to come to the library asoften as she chose on the pretext of taking a drawing-lesson. TheGrand Duke's idea about his daughters was that they should know alittle of everything and nothing too well; and if Priscilla had saidshe wanted to study Shakespeare with the librarian he would haveangrily forbidden it. Had she not had ten years for studyingShakespeare? To go on longer than that would mean that she was eager, and the Grand Duke loathed an eager woman. 

But he had nothing to say against a little drawing; and it was duringthe drawing-lessons of the summer Priscilla was twenty-one that theCountess Disthal slept so peacefully. The summer was hot, and the vastroom cool and quiet. The time was three o'clock--immediately, that is, after luncheon. Through the narrow open windows sweet airs and scentscame in from the bright world outside. Sometimes a bee would wander upfrom the fruit-gardens below, and lazily drone round shady corners. Sometimes a flock of pigeons rose swiftly in front of the windows, with a flash of shining wings. Every quarter of an hour the cathedralclock down in the town sent up its slow chime. Voices of peopleboating on the river floated up too, softened to melodiousness. Downat the foot of the hill the red roofs of the town glistened in thesun. Beyond them lay the sweltering cornfields. Beyond them forestsand villages. Beyond them a blue line of hills. Beyond them, saidPriscilla to herself, freedom. She sat in her white dress at a tablein one of the deep windows, her head on its long slender neck, wherethe little rings of red-gold hair curled so prettily, bent over thedrawing-board, her voice murmuring ceaselessly, for time was short andshe had a great many things to say. At her side sat Fritzing, listening and answering. Far away in the coolest, shadiest corner ofthe room slumbered the Countess. She was lulled by the murmured talkas sweetly as by the drone of the bee. 

"Your Grand Ducal Highness receives many criticisms and much advice onthe subject of drawing from the Herr Geheimrath?" she said one day, after a lesson during which she had been drowsily aware of much talk. 

"The Herr Geheimrath is most conscientious, " said Priscilla in thestately, it-has-nothing-to-do-with-you sort of tone she found mosteffectual with the Countess; but she added a request under her breaththat the _lieber Gott_ might forgive her, for she knew she had told afib. 

Indeed, the last thing that Fritzing was at this convulsed period ofhis life was what his master would have called conscientious. Was henot encouraging the strangest, wickedest, wildest ideas in thePrincess? Strange and wicked and wild that is from the grand ducalpoint of view, for to Priscilla they seemed all sweetness and light. Fritzing had a perfect horror of the Grand Duke. He was everythingthat Fritzing, lean man of learning, most detested. The pleasantestfashion of describing the Grand Duke will be simply to say that he wasin all things, both of mind and body, the exact opposite of Fritzing. Fritzing was a man who spent his time ignoring his body and diggingaway at his mind. You know the bony aspect of such men. Hardly ever isthere much flesh on them; and though they are often ugly enough, theirspirit blazes at you out of wonderful eyes. I call him old Fritzing, for he was sixty. To me he seemed old; to Priscilla at twenty heseemed coeval with pyramids and kindred hoarinesses; while to allthose persons who were sixty-one he did not seem old at all. Only twothings could have kept this restless soul chained to the service ofthe Grand Duke, and those two things were the unique library andPriscilla. For the rest, his life at Kunitz revolted him. He loathedthe etiquette and the fuss and the intrigues of the castle. He loathedeach separate lady-in-waiting, and every one of the male officials. Heloathed the vulgar abundance and inordinate length and frequency ofthe meals, when down in the town he knew there were people a-hungered. He loathed the lacqueys with a quite peculiar loathing, scowling atthem from under angry eyebrows as he passed from his apartment to thelibrary; yet such is the power of an independent and scornful spiritthat though they had heard all about Westphalia and the pig-days neveronce had they, who made insolence their study, dared be rude to him. 

Priscilla wanted to run away. This, I believe, is considered an awfulthing to do even if you are only a housemaid or somebody's wife. If itwere not considered awful, placed by the world high up on its list ofUtter Unforgivablenesses, there is, I suppose, not a woman who wouldnot at some time or other have run. She might come back, but she wouldsurely have gone. So bad is it held to be that even a housemaid whoruns is unfailingly pursued by maledictions more or less definiteaccording to the education of those she has run from; and a wife whoruns is pursued by social ruin, it being taken for granted that shedid not run alone. I know at least two wives who did run alone. Farfrom wanting yet another burden added to them by adding to their livesyet another man, they were anxiously endeavouring to get as far asmight be from the man they had got already. The world, foul hag withthe downcast eyes and lascivious lips, could not believe it possible, and was quick to draw its dark mantle of disgrace over their shrinkingheads. One of them, unable to bear this, asked her husband's pardon. She was a weak spirit, and now lives prostrate days, crushed beneaththe unchanging horror of a husband's free forgiveness. The other tooka cottage and laughed at the world. Was she not happy at last, andhappy in the right way? I go to see her sometimes, and we eat thecabbages she has grown herself. Strange how the disillusioned findtheir peace in cabbages. 

Priscilla, then, wanted to run away. What is awful in a housemaid andin anybody's wife became in her case stupendous. The spirit that couldresolve it, decide to do it without being dragged to it by such thingsas love or passion, calmly looking the risks and losses in the face, and daring everything to free itself, was, it must be conceded, atleast worthy of respect. Fritzing thought it worthy of adoration; thedivinest spirit that had ever burned within a woman. He did notsay so. On the contrary, he was frightened, and tried angrily, passionately, to dissuade. Yet he knew that if she wavered he wouldnever forgive her; she would drop at once from her high estate intothose depths in his opinion where the dull average of both sexessprawled for ever in indiscriminate heaps. Priscilla never dreamed ofwavering. She, most poetic of princesses, made apparently of ivory andamber, outwardly so cool and serene and gentle, was inwardly on fire. The fire, I should add, burnt with a very white flame. Nothing inthe shape of a young man had ever had the stoking of it. It wasthat whitest of flames that leaps highest at the thought ofabstractions--freedom, beauty of life, simplicity, and the rest. This, I would remark, is a most rare light to find burning in a woman'sbreast. What she was, however, Fritzing had made her. True thematerial had been extraordinarily good, and for ten years he haddone as he liked with it. Beginning with the simpler poems ofWordsworth--he detested them, but they were better than soiling hersoul with Longfellow and Mrs. Hemans--those lessons in Englishliterature, meant by the authorities to be as innocuous to her as toher sisters, had opened her eyes in a way nothing else could have doneto the width of the world and the littleness of Kunitz. With that goodteacher, as eager to lead as she to follow, she wandered down thesplendid walks of culture, met there the best people of all ages, communed with mighty souls, heard how they talked, saw how they lived, and none, not one, lived and talked as they lived and talked atKunitz. 

Imagine a girl influenced for ten years, ten of her softest mostwax-like years, by a Fritzing, taught to love freedom, to see thebeauty of plain things, of quietness, of the things appertaining tothe spirit, taught to see how ignoble it is, how intensely, hopelesslyvulgar to spend on one's own bodily comforts more than is exactlynecessary, taught to see a vision of happiness possible only to thosewho look to their minds for their joys and not to their bodies, imagine how such a girl, hearing these things every afternoon almostof her life, would be likely to regard the palace mornings andevenings, the ceremonies and publicity, all those hours spent asthough she were a celebrated picture, forced everlastingly to stand inan attitude considered appropriate and smile while she was beinglooked at. 

"No one, " she said one day to Fritzing, "who hasn't himself been aprincess can have the least idea of what it is like. "

"Ma'am, it would be more correct to say herself in place of himself. "

"Well, they can't, " said Priscilla. 

"Ma'am, to begin a sentence with the singular and continue it with theplural is an infraction of all known rules. "

"But the sentiments, Fritzi--what do you think of the sentiments?"

"Alas, ma'am, they too are an infraction of rules. "

"What is not in this place, I should like to know?" sighed Priscilla, her chin on her hand, her eyes on that distant line of hills beyondwhich, she told herself, lay freedom. 

She had long ago left off saying it only to herself. I think she musthave been about eighteen when she took to saying it aloud to Fritzing. At first, before he realized to what extent she was sick for freedom, he had painted in glowing colours the delights that lay on the otherside of the hills, or for that matter on this side of them if you werealone and not a princess. Especially had he dwelt on the glories oflife in England, glories attainable indeed only by the obscure such ashe himself had been, and for ever impossible to those whom Fateobliges to travel in state carriages and special trains. Then he hadcome to scent danger and had grown wary; trying to put her off withgeneralities, such as the inability of human beings to fly from theirown selves, and irrelevancies such as the amount of poverty andwretchedness to be observed in the east of London; refusing to discussFrance, which she was always getting to as the first step towardsEngland, except in as far as it was a rebellious country that didn'tlike kings; pointing out with no little temper that she had alreadyseen England; and finishing by inquiring very snappily when her GrandDucal Highness intended to go on with her drawing. 

Now what Priscilla had seen of England had been the insides ofBuckingham Palace and Windsor Castle; of all insides surely the mostaugust. To and from these she had been conveyed in closed carriagesand royal trains, and there was so close a family likeness betweenthem and Kunitz that to her extreme discomfort she had felt herselfcompletely at home. Even the presence of the Countess Disthal had notbeen wanting. She therefore regarded this as not seeing England atall, and said so. Fritzing remarked tartly that it was a way of seeingit most English people would envy her; and she was so unable tobelieve him that she said Nonsense. 

But lately her desires had taken definite shape so rapidly that he hadcome to dread the very word hill and turn cold at the name of England. He was being torn in different directions; for he was, you see, stilltrying to do what other people had decided was his duty, and till aman gives up doing that he will certainly be torn. How great would bethe temptation to pause here and consider the mangled state of such aman, the wounds and weakness he will suffer from, and how his soulwill have to limp through life, if it were not that I must get on withPriscilla. 

One day, after many weeks of edging nearer to it, of going all roundit yet never quite touching it, she took a deep breath and told himshe had determined to run away. She added an order that he was to helpher. With her most grand ducal air she merely informed, ordered, andforbade. What she forbade, of course, was the betrayal of her plans. "You may choose, " she said, "between the Grand Duke and myself. If youtell him, I have done with you for ever. "

Of course he chose Priscilla. 

His agonies now were very great. Those last lacerations of consciencewere terrific. Then, after nights spent striding, a sudden calm fellupon him. At length he could feel what he had always seen, that therecould not be two duties for a man, that no man can serve two masters, that a man's one clear duty is to be in the possession of his soul andlive the life it approves: in other and shorter words, instead ofleading Priscilla, Priscilla was now leading him. 

She did more than lead him; she drove him. The soul he had socarefully tended and helped to grow was now grown stronger than hisown; for there was added to its natural strength the tremendous daringof absolute inexperience. What can be more inexperienced than acarefully guarded young princess? Priscilla's ignorance of the outsideworld was pathetic. He groaned over her plans--for it was she whoplanned and he who listened--and yet he loved them. She was a divinewoman, he said to himself; the sweetest and noblest, he was certain, that the world would ever see. 

Her plans were these:

First, that having had twenty-one years of life at the top of thesocial ladder she was now going to get down and spend the nexttwenty-one at the bottom of it. (Here she gave her reasons, and I willnot stop to describe Fritzing's writhings as his own past teachingsgrinned at him through every word she said. )

Secondly, that the only way to get to the bottom being to run awayfrom Kunitz, she was going to run. 

Thirdly, that the best and nicest place for living at the bottom wouldbe England. (Here she explained her conviction that beautiful thingsgrow quite naturally round the bottom of ladders that cannot easilyreach the top; flowers of self-sacrifice and love, of temperance, charity, godliness--delicate things, with roots that find theirnourishment in common soil. You could not, said Priscilla, expect soilat the top of ladders, could you? And as she felt that she too hadroots full of potentialities, she must take them down to where theirnatural sustenance lay waiting. )

Fourthly, they were to live somewhere in the country in England, inthe humblest way. 

Fifthly, she was to be his daughter. 

"Daughter?" cried Fritzing, bounding in his chair. "Your Grand DucalHighness forgets I have friends in England, every one of whom is awarethat I never had a wife. "

"Niece, then, " said Priscilla. 

He gazed at her in silence, trying to imagine her his niece. He hadtwo sisters, and they had stopped exactly at the point they were atwhen they helped him, barefoot, to watch Westphalian pigs. I do notmean that they had not ultimately left the little farm, gone intostockings, and married. It is their minds I am thinking of, and thesehad never budged. They were like their father, a doomed dullard; whileFritzing's mother, whom he resembled, had been a rather extraordinarywoman in a rough and barbarous way. He found himself wholly unable toimagine either of his sisters the mother of this exquisite young lady. 

These, then, baldly, were Priscilla's plans. The carrying of them outwas left, she informed him, altogether to Fritzing. After having spentseveral anxious days, she told him, considering whether she ought todye her hair black in order to escape recognition, or stay her owncolour but disguise herself as a man and buy a golden beard, she haddecided that these were questions Fritzing would settle better thanshe could. "I'd dye my hair at once, " she said, "but what about mywretched eyelashes? Can one dye eyelashes?"

Fritzing thought not, and anyhow was decidedly of opinion that hereyelashes should not be tampered with; I think I have said that theywere very lovely. He also entirely discouraged the idea of dressing asa man. "Your Grand Ducal Highness would only look like an extremelyconspicuous boy, " he assured her. 

"I could wear a beard, " said Priscilla. 

But Fritzing was absolutely opposed to the beard. 

As for the money part, she never thought of it. Money was a thing shenever did think about. It also, then, was to be Fritzing's business. Possibly things might have gone on much longer as they were, with agreat deal of planning and talking, and no doing, if an exceedinglydesirable prince had not signified his intention of marryingPriscilla. This had been done before by quite a number of princes. They had, that is, not signified, but implored. On their knees wouldthey have implored if their knees could have helped them. They werehowever all poor, and Priscilla and her sisters were rich; and howfoolish, said the Grand Duke, to marry poor men unless you are pooryourself. The Grand Duke, therefore, took these young men aside andcrushed them, while Priscilla, indifferent, went on with her drawing. But now came this one who was so eminently desirable that he had noneed to do more than merely signify. There had been much trouble and agreat deal of delay in finding him a wife, for he had insisted onhaving a princess who should be both pretty and not his cousin. Europedid not seem to contain such a thing. Everybody was his cousin, excepttwo or three young women whom he was rude enough to call ugly. TheKunitz princesses had been considered in their turn and set aside, forthey too were cousins; and it seemed as if one of the most splendidthrones in Europe would either have to go queen-less or be sat upon bysomebody plain, when fate brought the Prince to a great publicceremony in Kunitz, and he saw Priscilla and fell so violently in lovewith her that if she had been fifty times his cousin he would stillhave married her. 

That same evening he signified his intention to the delighted GrandDuke, who immediately fell to an irrelevant praising of God. 

"Bosh, " said the Prince, in the nearest equivalent his mother-tongueprovided. 

This was very bad. Not, I mean, that the Prince should have said Bosh, for he was so great that there was not a Grand Duke in Europe to whomhe might not have said it if he wanted to; but that Priscilla shouldhave been in imminent danger of marriage. Among Fritzing's manypreachings there had been one, often repeated in the strongestpossible language, that of all existing contemptibilities the verymost contemptible was for a woman to marry any one she did not love;and the peroration, also extremely forcible, had been an announcementthat the prince did not exist who was fit to tie her shoestrings. ThisPriscilla took to be an exaggeration, for she had no very great notionof her shoestrings; but she did agree with the rest. The subjecthowever was an indifferent one, her father never yet having asked herto marry anybody; and so long as he did not do so she need not, shethought, waste time thinking about it. Now the peril was upon her, suddenly, most unexpectedly, very menacingly. She knew there was nohope from the moment she saw her father's face quite distorted bydelight. He took her hand and kissed it. To him she was already aqueen. As usual she gave him the impression of behaving exactly as hecould have wished. She certainly said very little, for she had longago learned the art of being silent; but her very silences weresomehow exquisite, and the Grand Duke thought her perfect. She gavehim to understand almost without words that it was a great surprise, an immense honour, a huge compliment, but so sudden that she would begrateful to both himself and the Prince if nothing more need be saidabout it for a week or two--nothing, at least, till formalnegotiations had been opened. "I saw him yesterday for the firsttime, " she pleaded, "so naturally I am rather overwhelmed. "

Privately she had thought, his eyes, which he had never taken off her, kind and pleasant; and if she had known of his having said Bosh whoknows but that he might have had a chance? As it was, the moment shewas alone she sent flying for Fritzing. "What, " she said, "do you sayto my marrying this man?"

"If you do, ma'am, " said Fritzing, and his face seemed one blaze ofwhite conviction, "you will undoubtedly be eternally lost. "

II

They fled on bicycles in the dusk. The goddess Good Luck, who seems tohave a predilection for sinners, helped them in a hundred ways. Without her they would certainly not have got far, for both were veryignorant of the art of running away. Once flight was decided onFritzing planned elaborately and feverishly, got things thought outand arranged as well as he, poor harassed man, possibly could. Butwhat in this law-bound world can sinners do without the help of Luck?She, amused and smiling dame, walked into the castle and smote theCountess Disthal with influenza, crushing her down helpless into herbed, and holding her there for days by the throat. While one hand wasdoing this, with the other she gaily swept the Grand Duke into EastPrussia, a terrific distance, whither, all unaware of how he was beingtrifled with, he thought he was being swept by an irresistible desireto go, before the business of Priscilla's public betrothal shouldbegin, and shoot the roebucks of a friend. 

The Countess was thrust into her bed at noon of a Monday in October. At three the Grand Duke started for East Prussia, incognito in amotor--you know the difficulty news has in reaching persons inmotors. At four one of Priscilla's maids, an obscure damsel who hadbeen at the mercy of the others and was chosen because she hated them, tripped out of the castle with shining eyes and pockets heavy withbribes, and caused herself to be whisked away by the afternoon expressto Cologne. At six, just as the castle guard was being relieved, twopersons led their bicycles through the archway and down across thebridge. It was dark, and nobody recognized them. Fritzing was got upsportingly, almost waggishly--heaven knows his soul was not feelingwaggish--as differently as possible from his usual sober clothes. Somehow he reminded Priscilla of a circus, and she found it extremelyhard not to laugh. On his head he had a cap with ear-pieces that hidhis grey hair; round his neck a gaudy handkerchief muffled well abouthis face; immense goggles cloaked the familiar overhanging eyebrowsand deep-set eyes, goggles curiously at variance with the dapperbriskness of his gaitered legs. The Princess was in ordinary blueserge, short and rather shabby, it having been subjected for hoursdaily during the past week to rough treatment by the maid nowtravelling to Cologne. As for her face and hair, they were completelyhidden in the swathings of a motor-veil. 

The sentinels stared rather as these two figures pushed their bicyclesthrough the gates, and undoubtedly did for some time afterwards wonderwho they could have been. The same thing happened down below on thebridge; but once over that and in the town all they had to do was toride straight ahead. They were going to bicycle fifteen miles to Rühl, a small town with a railway station on the main line between Kunitzand Cologne. Express trains do not stop at Rühl, but there was a slowtrain at eight which would get them to Gerstein, the capital of thenext duchy, by midnight. Here they would change into the Cologneexpress; here they would join the bribed maid; here luggage had beensent by Fritzing, --a neat bag for himself, and a neat box for hisniece. The neat box was filled with neat garments suggested to him bythe young lady in the shop in Gerstein where he had been two daysbefore to buy them. She told him of many other articles which, shesaid, no lady's wardrobe could be considered complete without; and thedistracted man, fearing the whole shop would presently be put intotrunks and sent to the station to meet them, had ended by flingingdown two notes for a hundred marks each and bidding her keep strictlywithin that limit. The young lady became very scornful. She told himthat she had never heard of any one being clothed from head to footinside and out, even to brushes, soap, and an umbrella, for twohundred marks. Fritzing, in dread of conspicuous masses of luggage, yet staggered by the girl's conviction, pulled out a third hundredmark note, but added words in his extremity of so strong and final anature, that she, quailing, did keep within this limit, and the boxwas packed. Thus Priscilla's outfit cost almost exactly fifteenpounds. It will readily be imagined that it was neat. 

Painfully the two fugitives rode through the cobbled streets ofKunitz. Priscilla was very shaky on a bicycle, and so was Fritzing. Some years before this, when it had been the fashion, she had bicycledevery day in the grand ducal park on the other side of the town. Then, tired of it, she had given it up; and now for the last week or two, ever since Fritzing had told her that if they fled it would have to beon bicycles, she had pretended a renewed passion for it, riding everyday round and round a circle of which the chilled and astonishedCountess Disthal, whose duty it was to stand and watch, had been thedisgusted central point. But the cobbles of Kunitz are very differentfrom those smooth places in the park. All who bicycle round Kunitzknow them as trying to the most skilful. Naturally, then, thefugitives advanced very slowly, Fritzing's heart in his mouth eachtime they passed a brightly-lit shop or a person who looked at them. Conceive how nearly this poor heart must have jumped right out of hismouth, leaving him dead, when a policeman who had been watching themstrode suddenly into the middle of the street, put up his hand, andsaid, "Halt. "

Fritzing, unstrung man, received a shock so awful that he obeyed byfalling off. Priscilla, wholly unused to being told to halt andabsorbed by the difficulties of the way, did not grasp that the orderwas meant for her and rode painfully on. Seeing this, the policemanvery gallantly removed her from her bicycle by putting his arms roundher and lifting her off. He set her quite gently on her feet, and wasaltogether a charming policeman, as unlike those grim and ghastly eyesof the law that glare up and down the streets of, say, Berlin, as itis possible to imagine. 

But Priscilla was perfectly molten with rage, insulted as she hadnever been in her life. "How dare you--how dare you, " she stammered, suffocating; and forgetting everything but an overwhelming desire tobox the giant's ears she had actually raised her hand to do it, whichwould of course have been the ruin of her plan and the end of my tale, when Fritzing, recovering his presence of mind, cried out in tones ofunmistakable agony, "Niece, be calm. "

She calmed at once to a calm of frozen horror. 

"Now, sir, " said Fritzing, assuming an air of brisk bravery andguiltlessness, "what can we do for you?"

"Light your lamps, " said the policeman, laconically. 

They did; or rather Fritzing did, while Priscilla stood passive. 

"I too have a niece, " said the policeman, watching Fritzing at work;"but I light no lamps for her. One should not wait on one's niece. One's niece should wait on one. "

Fritzing did not answer. He finished lighting the lamps, and thenheld Priscilla's bicycle and started her. 

"I never did that for my niece, " said the policeman. 

"Confound your niece, sir, " was on the tip of Fritzing's tongue; buthe gulped it down, and remarking instead as pleasantly as he couldthat being an uncle did not necessarily prevent your being agentleman, picked up his bicycle and followed Priscilla. 

The policeman shook his head as they disappeared round the corner. "One does not light lamps for one's niece, " he repeated to himself. "It's against nature. Consequently, though the peppery Fräulein maywell be somebody's niece she is not his. "

"Oh, " murmured Priscilla, after they had ridden some way withoutspeaking, "I'm deteriorating already. For the first time in my lifeI've wanted to box people's ears. "

"The provocation was great, ma'am, " said Fritzing, himself shatteredby the spectacle of his Princess being lifted about by a policeman. 

"Do you think--" Priscilla hesitated, and looked at him. Her bicycleimmediately hesitated too, and swerving across the road taught her itwould have nothing looked at except its handles. "Do you think, " shewent on, after she had got herself straight again, "that the way I'mgoing to live now will make me want to do it often?"

"Heaven forbid, ma'am. You are now going to live a most noblelife--the only fitting life for the thoughtful and the earnest. Itwill be, once you are settled, far more sheltered from contact withthat which stirs ignoble impulses than anything your Grand DucalHighness has hitherto known. "

"If you mean policemen by things that stir ignoble impulses, " saidPriscilla, "I was sheltered enough from them before. Why, I neverspoke to one. Much less"--she shuddered--"much less ever touched one. "

"Ma'am, you do not repent?"

"Heavens, no, " said Priscilla, pressing onward. 

Outside Rühl, about a hundred yards before its houses begin, there isa pond by the wayside. Into this, after waiting a moment peering upand down the dark road to see whether anybody was looking, Fritzinghurled the bicycles. He knew the pond was deep, for he had studied itthe day he bought Priscilla's outfit; and the two bicycles one afterthe other were hurled remorsely into the middle of it, disappearingeach in its turn with a tremendous splash and gurgle. Then they walkedon quickly towards the railway station, infinitely relieved to be ontheir own feet again, and between them, all unsuspected, walked theradiant One with the smiling eyes, she who was half-minded to see thisgame through, giving the players just so many frights as would keepher amused, the fickle, laughing goddess Good Luck. 

They caught the train neatly at Rühl. They only had to wait about thestation for ten minutes before it came in. Hardly any one was there, and nobody took the least notice of them. Fritzing, after a carefullook round to see if it contained people he knew, put the Princessinto a second-class carriage labelled _Frauen_, and then respectfullywithdrew to another part of the train. He had decided thatsecond-class was safest. People in that country nearly always travelsecond-class, especially women, --at all times in such matters moreeconomical than men; and a woman by herself in a first-class carriagewould have been an object of surmise and curiosity at every station. Therefore Priscilla was put into the carriage labelled _Frauen_, andfound herself for the first time in her life alone with what she hadhitherto only heard alluded to vaguely as the public. 

She sat down in a corner with an odd feeling of surprise at beingincluded in the category _Frauen_, and giving a swift timid glancethrough her veil at the public confronting her was relieved to find itconsisted only of a comfortable mother and her child. 

I know not why the adjective comfortable should so invariably bedescriptive of mothers in Germany. In England and France though youmay be a mother, you yet, I believe, may be so without beingcomfortable. In Germany, somehow, you can't. Perhaps it is theclimate; perhaps it is the food; perhaps it is simply want of soul, orthat your soul does not burn with a fire sufficiently consuming. Anyhow it is so. This mother had all the good-nature that goes withamplitude. Being engaged in feeding her child with _belegteBrödchen_--that immensely satisfying form of sandwich--she at onceoffered Priscilla one. 

"No thank you, " said Priscilla, shrinking into her corner. 

"Do take one, Fräulein, " said the mother, persuasively. 

"No thank you, " said Priscilla, shrinking. 

"On a journey it passes the time. Even if one is not hungry, thank Godone can always eat. Do take one. "

"No thank you, " said Priscilla. 

"Why does she wear that black thing over her face?" inquired thechild. "Is she a witch?"

"Silence, silence, little worthless one, " cried the mother, delightedly stroking his face with half a _Brödchen_. "You see he isclever, Fräulein. He resembles his dear father as one egg doesanother. "

"Does he?" said Priscilla, immediately conceiving a prejudice againstthe father. 

"Why don't she take that black thing off?" said the child. 

"Hush, hush, small impudence. The Fräulein will take it off in aminute. The Fräulein has only just got in. "

"Mutti, is she a witch? Mutti, Mutti, is she a witch, Mutti?"

The child, his eyes fixed anxiously on Priscilla's swathed head, beganto whimper. 

"That child should be in bed, " said Priscilla, with a severity bornof her anxiety lest, to calm him, humanity should force her to put upher veil. "Persons who are as intelligent as that should never be intrains at night. Their brains cannot bear it. Would he not be happierif he lay down and went to sleep?"

"Yes, yes; that is what I have been telling him ever since we leftKunitz"--Priscilla shivered--"but he will not go. Dost thou hear whatthe Fräulein says, Hans-Joachim?"

"Why don't she take that black thing off?" whimpered the child. 

But how could the poor Princess, however anxious to be kind, take offher veil and show her well-known face to this probable inhabitant ofKunitz?

"Do take it off, Fräulein, " begged the mother, seeing she made nopreparations to do so. "When he gets ideas into his head there isnever peace till he has what he wants. He does remind me so much ofhis father. "

"Did you ever, " said Priscilla, temporizing, "try him with alittle--just a little slap? Only a little one, " she added hastily, forthe mother looked at her oddly, "only as a sort of counter-irritant. And it needn't be really hard, you know--"

"_Ach_, she's a witch--Mutti, she's a witch!" shrieked the child, flinging his face, butter and all, at these portentous words, into hismother's lap. 

"There, there, poor tiny one, " soothed the mother, with an indignantside-glance at Priscilla. "Poor tiny man, no one shall slap thee. TheFräulein does not allude to thee, little son. The Fräulein is thinkingof bad children such as the sons of Schultz and thy cousin Meyer. Fräulein, if you do not remove your veil I fear he will haveconvulsions. "

"Oh, " said the unhappy Priscilla, getting as far into her corner asshe could, "I'm so sorry--but I--but I really can't. "

"She's a witch, Mutti!" roared the child, "I tell it to theeagain--therefore is she so black, and must not show her face!"

"Hush, hush, shut thy little eyes, " soothed the mother, putting herhand over them. To Priscilla she said, with an obvious dawning ofdistrust, "But Fräulein, what reason can you have for hidingyourself?"

"Hiding myself?" echoed Priscilla, now very unhappy indeed, "I'm nothiding myself. I've got--I've got--I'm afraid I've got a--an affectionof the skin. That's why I wear a veil. "

"_Ach_, poor Fräulein, " said the mother, brightening at once intolively interest. "Hans-Joachim, sleep, " she added sharply to her son, who tried to raise his head to interrupt with fresh doubts aconversation grown thrilling. "That is indeed a misfortune. It is arash?"

"Oh, it's dreadful, " said Priscilla, faintly. 

"_Ach_, poor Fräulein. When one is married, rashes no longer matter. One's husband has to love one in spite of rashes. But for a Fräuleinevery spot is of importance. There is a young lady of my acquaintancewhose life-happiness was shipwrecked only by spots. She came out inthem at the wrong moment. "

"Did she?" murmured Priscilla. 

"You are going to a doctor?"

"Yes--that is, no--I've been. "

"Ah, you have been to Kunitz to Dr. Kraus?"

"Y--es. I've been there. "

"What does he say?"

"That I must always wear a veil. "

"Because it looks so bad?"

"I suppose so. "

There was a silence. Priscilla lay back in her corner exhausted, andshut her eyes. The mother stared fixedly at her, one hand mechanicallystroking Hans-Joachim, the other holding him down. 

"When I was a girl, " said the mother, so suddenly that Priscillastarted, "I had a good deal of trouble with my skin. Therefore myexperience on the subject is great. Show me your face, Fräulein--Imight be able to tell you what to do to cure it. "

"Oh, on no account--on no account whatever, " cried Priscilla, sittingup very straight and speaking with extraordinary emphasis. "I couldn'tthink of it--I really positively couldn't. "

"But my dear Fräulein, why mind a woman seeing it?"

"But what do you want to see it for?"

"I wish to help you. "

"I don't want to be helped. I'll show it to nobody--to nobody at all. It's much too--too dreadful. "

"Well, well, do not be agitated. Girls, I know, are vain. If any onecan help you it will be Dr. Kraus. He is an excellent physician, is henot?"

"Yes, " said Priscilla, dropping back into her corner. 

"The Grand Duke is a great admirer of his. He is going to ennoblehim. "

"Really?"

"They say--no doubt it is gossip, but still, you know, he is a veryhandsome man--that the Countess von Disthal will marry him. "

"Gracious!" cried Priscilla, startled, "what, whether he wants to ornot?"

"No doubt he will want to. It would be a brilliant match for him. "

"But she's at least a hundred. Why, she looks like his mother. And heis a person of no birth at all. "

"Birth? He is of course not noble yet, but his family is excellent. And since it is not possible to have as many ailments as she has andstill be alive, some at least must be feigned. Why, then, should shefeign if it is not in order to see the doctor? They were saying inKunitz that she sent for him this very day. "

"Yes, she did. But she's really ill this time. I'm afraid the poorthing caught cold watching--dear me, only see how sweetly your littleboy sleeps. You should make Levallier paint him in that position. "

"Ah, he looks truly lovely, does he not. Exactly thus does his dearfather look when asleep. Sometimes I cannot sleep myself for joy overthe splendid picture. What is the matter with the Countess Disthal?Did Dr. Kraus tell you?"

"No, no. I--I heard something--a rumour. "

"Ah, something feigned again, no doubt. Well, it will be a great matchfor him. You know she is lady-in-waiting to the Princess Priscilla, the one who is so popular and has such red hair? The Countess has aneasy life. The other two Princesses have given their ladies a world oftrouble, but Priscilla--oh, she is a model. Kunitz is indeed proud ofher. They say in all things she is exactly what a Princess should be, and may be trusted never to say or do anything not entirely fittingher station. You have seen her? She often drives through the town, andthen the people all run and look as pleased as if it were a holiday. We in Gerstein are quite jealous. Our duchy has no such princess toshow. Do you think she is so beautiful? I have often seen her, and Ido not think she is. People exaggerate everything so about a princess. My husband does not admire her at all. He says it is not what he callsclassic. Her hair, for instance--but that one might get over. Andpeople who are really beautiful always have dark eyelashes. Then hernose--my husband often laughs, and says her nose--"

"Oh, " said Priscilla, faintly, "I've got a dreadful headache. I thinkI'll try to sleep a little if you would not mind not talking. "

"Yes, that hot thing round your face must be very trying. Now if youwere not so vain--what does a rash matter when only women are present?Well, well, I will not tease you. Do you know many of the Kunitzers?Do you know the Levisohns well?"

"Oh, " sighed Priscilla, laying her distracted head against thecushions and shutting her eyes, "who are they?"

"Who are they? Who are the Levisohns? But dearest Fräulein if you knowKunitz you must know the Levisohns. Why, the Levisohns _are_ Kunitz. They are more important far than the Grand Duke. They lend to it, andthey lead it. You must know their magnificent shop at the corner ofthe Heiligengeiststrasse? Perhaps, " she added, with a glance at thePrincess's shabby serge gown, "you have not met them socially, but youmust know the magnificent shop. We visit. "

"Do you?" said Priscilla wearily, as the mother paused. 

"And you know her story, of course?"

"Oh, oh, " sighed Priscilla, turning her head from side to side on thecushions, vainly seeking peace. 

"It is hardly a story for the ears of Fräuleins. "

"Please don't tell it, then. "

"No, I will not. It is not for Fräuleins. But one still sees she musthave been a handsome woman. And he, Levisohn, was clever enough to seehis way to Court favour. The Grand Duke--"

"I don't think I care to hear about the Levisohns, " said Priscilla, sitting up suddenly and speaking with great distinctness. "Gossip is athing I detest. None shall be talked in my presence. "

"Hoity-toity, " said the astonished mother; and it will easily bebelieved that no one had ever said hoity-toity to Priscilla before. 

She turned scarlet under her veil. For a moment she sat with flashingeyes, and the hand lying in her lap twitched convulsively. Is itpossible she was thinking of giving the comfortable mother thatadmonition which the policeman had so narrowly escaped? I know notwhat would have happened if the merry goddess, seeing things rushingto this dreadful climax, had not stopped the train in the nick of timeat a wayside station and caused a breathless lady, pushing parcelsbefore her, to clamber in. The mother's surprised stare was ofnecessity diverted to the new-comer. A parcel thrust into Priscilla'shands brought her back of necessity to her senses. 

"_Danke, Danke_, " cried the breathless lady, though no help had beenoffered; and hoisting herself in she wished both her fellow-passengersa boisterous good evening. The lady, evidently an able person, arranged her parcels swiftly and neatly in the racks, pulled up thewindows, slammed the ventilators, stripped off her cloak, flung backher veil, and sitting down with a sigh of vast depth and length staredsteadily for five minutes without wavering at the other two. At theend of that time she and the mother began, as with a common impulse, to talk. And at the end of five minutes more they had told each otherwhere they were going, where they had been, what their husbandswere, the number, age, and girth of their children, and all theadjectives that might most conveniently be used to describe theirservants. The adjectives, very lurid ones, took some time. Priscilla shut her eyes while they were going on, thankful to beleft quiet, feeling unstrung to the last degree; and she graduallydropped into an uneasy doze whose chief feature was the distressfulrepetition, like hammer-strokes on her brain, of the words, "You'redeteriorating--deteriorating--deteriorating. "

"_Lieber Gott_, " she whispered at last, folding her hands in her lap, "don't let me deteriorate too much. Please keep me from wanting to boxpeople's ears. _Lieber Gott_, it's so barbarous of me. I never used towant to. Please stop me wanting to now. "

And after that she dropped off quite, into a placid little slumber. 

III

They crossed from Calais in the turbine. Their quickest route wouldhave been Cologne-Ostend-Dover, and every moment being infinitelyvaluable Fritzing wanted to go that way, but Priscilla was determinedto try whether turbines are really as steady as she had heard theywere. The turbine was so steady that no one could have told it wasdoing anything but being quiescent on solid earth; but that wasbecause, as Fritzing explained, there was a dead calm, and in deadcalms--briefly, he explained the conduct of boats in dead calms withmuch patience, and Priscilla remarked when he had done that they mightthen, after all, have crossed by Ostend. 

"We might, ma'am, and we would be in London now if we had, " saidFritzing. 

They had, indeed, lost several hours and some money coming by Calais, and Fritzing had lost his temper as well. 

Fritzing, you remember, was sixty, and had not closed his eyes allnight. He had not, so far as that goes, closed his eyes for nightswithout number; and what his soul had gone through during those nightswas more than any soul no longer in its first youth should be calledupon to bear. In the train between Cologne and Calais he had even, writhing in his seat, cursed every single one of his long-cherishedideals, called them fools, shaken his fist at them; a dreadful stateof mind to get to. He did not reveal anything of this to his dearPrincess, and talking to her on the turbine wore the clear brow of thephilosopher; but he did feel that he was a much-tried man, and hebehaved to the maid Annalise exactly in the way much-tried men dobehave when they have found some one they think defenceless. Unfortunately Annalise was only apparently defenceless. Fritzing wouldhave known it if he had been more used to running away. He did, in hiscalmer moments, dimly opine it. The plain fact was that Annalise heldboth him and Priscilla in the hollow of her hand. 

At this point she had not realized it. She still was awestruck by herpromotion, and looked so small and black and uncertain among her newsurroundings on the turbine that if not clever of him it was at leastnatural that he should address her in a manner familiar to those whohave had to do with men when they are being tried. He behaved, thatis, to Annalise, as he had behaved to his ideals in the night; heshook his fist at her, and called her fool. It was because she hadbroken the Princess's umbrella. This was the new umbrella bought byhim with so much trouble in Gerstein two days before, and thereforepresumably of a sufficient toughness to stand any reasonable treatmentfor a time. There was a mist and a drizzle at Calais, and Priscilla, refusing to go under shelter, had sent Fritzing to fetch her umbrella, and when he demanded it of Annalise, she offered it him in two pieces. This alone was enough to upset a wise man, because wise men are easilyupset; but Annalise declared besides that the umbrella had brokenitself. It probably had. What may not one expect of anything so cheap?Fritzing, however, was maddened by this explanation, and wasted quitea long time pointing out to her in passionate language that it was aninanimate object, and that inanimate objects have no initiative andnever therefore break themselves. To which Annalise, with a stoutnessominous as a revelation of character, replied by repeating herdeclaration that the umbrella had certainly broken itself. Then it wasthat he shook his fist at her and called her fool. So greatly was hemoved that, after walking away and thinking it over, he went to her asecond time and shook his fist at her and called her knave. 

I will not linger over this of the umbrella; it teems with lessons. 

While it was going on the Princess was being very happy. She wassitting unnoticed in a deck-chair and feeling she was really off atlast into the Ideal. Some of us know the fascination of that feeling, and all of us know the fascination of new things; and to be unnoticedwas for her of a most thrilling newness. Nobody looked at her. Peoplewalked up and down the deck in front of her as though she were notthere. One hurried passenger actually tripped over her feet, andpassed on with the briefest apology. Everywhere she saw indifferentfaces, indifferent, oblivious faces. It was simply glorious. And shehad had no trials since leaving Gerstein. There Fritzing had removedher beyond the range of the mother's eyes, grown at last extremelycold and piercing; Annalise, all meek anxiety to please, had put herto bed in the sleeping-car of the Brussels express; and in the morningher joy had been childish at having a little tray with bad coffee onit thrust in by a busy attendant, who slammed it down on the table andhurried out without so much as glancing at her. How delicious thatwas. The Princess laughed with delight and drank the coffee, grits andall. Oh, the blessed freedom of being insignificant. It was as good, she thought, as getting rid of your body altogether and going about aninvisible spirit. She sat on the deck of the apparently motionlessturbine and thought gleefully of past journeys, now for ever donewith; of the grand ducal train, of herself drooping inside it aswearily as the inevitable bouquets drooping on the tables, of thecrowds of starers on every platform, of the bowing officials whereveryour eye chanced to turn. The Countess Disthal, of course, had beenalways at her elbow, and when she had to go to the window and do thegracious her anxiety lest she should bestow one smile too few had onlybeen surpassed by the Countess's anxiety lest she should bestow onesmile too many. Well, that was done with now; as much done with as anightmare, grisly staleness, is done with when you wake to a fairspring morning and the smell of dew. And she had no fears. She wassure, knowing him as she did, that when the Grand Duke found out shehad run away he would make no attempt to fetch her back, but wouldsimply draw a line through his remembrance of her, rub her out of hismind, (his heart, she knew, would need no rubbing, because she hadnever been in it, ) and after the first fury was over, fury solely onaccount of the scandal, he would be as he had been before, whileshe--oh wonderful new life!--she would be born again to all thecharities. 

Now how can I, weak vessel whose only ballast is a cargo ofinterrogations past which life swirls with a thunder of derisivelycontradictory replies, pretend to say whether Priscilla ought to havehad conscience-qualms or not? Am I not deafened by the roar ofanswers, all seemingly so right yet all so different, that thesimplest question brings? And would not the answering roar to anythingso complicated as a question about conscience-qualms deafen me forever? I shall leave the Princess, then, to run away from her home andher parent if she chooses, and make no effort to whitewash any part ofher conduct that may seem black. I shall chronicle, and not comment. Ishall try to, that is, for comments are very dear to me. Indeed I seeI cannot move on even now till I have pointed out that thoughPriscilla was getting as far as she could from the Grand Duke she wasalso getting as near as she could to the possession of her soul; andthere are many persons who believe this to be a thing so precious thatit is absolutely the one thing worth living for. 

The crossing to Dover, then, was accomplished quite peacefully byPriscilla. Not so, however, by Fritzing. He, tormented man, chieftarget for the goddess's darts, spent his time holding on to the railalong the turbine's side in order to steady himself; and as there wasa dead calm that day the reader will at once perceive that the tempestmust have been inside Fritzing himself. It was; and it had been raisedto hurricane pitch by some snatches of the talk of two Englishmen hehad heard as they paced up and down past where he was standing. 

The first time they passed, one was saying to the other, "I neverheard of anything so infamous. "

This ought not to have made Fritzing, a person of stainless life andnoble principles, start, but it did. He started; and he listenedanxiously for more. 

"Yes, " said the other, who had a newspaper under his arm, "theydeserve about as bad as they'll--"

He was out of ear-shot; but Fritzing mechanically finished thesentence himself. Who had been infamous? And what were they going toget? It was at this point that he laid hold of the handrail to steadyhimself till the two men should pass again. 

"You can tell, of course, what steps our Government will take, " wasthe next snatch. 

"I shall be curious to see the attitude of the foreign papers, " wasthe next. 

"Anything more wanton I never heard of, " was the next. 

"Of all the harmless, innocent creatures--" was the next. 

And the last snatch of all--for though they went on walking Fritzingheard no more after it--was the brief and singular expression"Devils. "

Devils? _What_ were they talking about? Devils? Was that, then, howthe public stigmatized blameless persons in search of peace? Devils?What, himself and--no, never Priscilla. She was clearly the harmlessinnocent creature, and he must be the other thing. But why plural? Hecould only suppose that he and Annalise together formed a sulphurousplural. He clung very hard to the rail. Who could have dreamed itwould get so quickly into the papers? Who could have dreamed the newsof it would call forth such blazing words? They would be confronted atDover by horrified authorities. His Princess was going to be put in amost impossible position. What had he done? Heavens and earth, whathad he done?

He clung to the rail, staring miserably over the side into the oilywater. Some of the passengers lingered to watch him, at first becausethey thought he was going to be seasick with so little provocationthat it amounted to genius, and afterwards because they were sure hemust want to commit suicide. When they found that time passed and hedid neither, he became unpopular, and they went away and left himaltogether and contemptuously alone. 

"Fritzi, are you worried about anything?" asked Priscilla, coming towhere he still stood staring, although they had got to Dover. 

Worried! When all Europe was going to be about their ears? When he wasin the eyes of the world a criminal--an aider, abettor, lurer-away ofyouth and impulsiveness? He loved the Princess so much that he carednothing for his own risks, but what about hers? In an agony of hastehe rushed to his ideals and principles for justification and comfort, tumbling them over, searching feverishly among them. They had forsakenhim. They were so much lifeless rubbish. Nowhere in his mind could hefind a rag of either comfort or justification with which to stop uphis ears against the words of the two Englishmen and his eyes againstthe dreadful sight he felt sure awaited them on the quay at Dover--thesight of incensed authorities ready to pounce on him and drag him awayfor ever from his Princess. 

Priscilla gazed at him in astonishment. He was taking no notice ofher, and was looking fearfully up and down the row of faces that werewatching the turbine's arrival. 

"Fritzi, if you are worried it must be because you've not slept, "said Priscilla, laying her hand with a stroking little movement on hissleeve; for what but overwrought nerves could make him look so odd? Itwas after all Fritzing who had behaved with the braveness of a lionthe night before in that matter of the policeman; and it was he whohad asked in stern tones of rebuke, when her courage seemed aflicker, whether she repented. "You do not repent?" she asked, imitating thatsternness. 

"Ma'am--" he began in a low and dreadful voice, his eyes ceaselesslyranging up and down the figures on the quay. 

"Sh--sh--Niece, " interrupted Priscilla, smiling. 

He turned and looked at her as a man may look for the last time at thething in life that has been most dear to him, and said nothing. 

IV

But nobody was waiting for them at Dover. Fritzing's agonies might allhave been spared. They passed quite unnoticed through the crowd ofidlers to the train, and putting Priscilla and her maid into it herushed at the nearest newspaper-boy, pouncing on him, tearing ahandful of his papers from him, and was devouring their contentsbefore the astonished boy had well finished his request that he shouldhold hard. The boy, who had been brought up in the simple faith thatone should pay one's pennies first and read next, said a few thingsunder his breath about Germans--crude short things not worthrepeating--and jerking his thumb towards the intent Fritzing, winkedat a detective who was standing near. The detective did not need thewink. His bland, abstracted eyes were already on Fritzing, and he wasmaking rapid mental notes of the goggles, the muffler, the cap pulleddown over the ears. Truly it is a great art, that of running away, andneeds incessant practice. 

And after all there was not a word about the Princess in the papers. They were full, as the Englishmen on the turbine had been full, ofsomething the Russians, who at that time were always doing something, had just done--something that had struck England from end to end intoa blaze of indignation and that has nothing to do with my story. Fritzing dropped the papers on the platform, and had so little publicspirit that he groaned aloud with relief. 

"Shilling and a penny 'alfpenny, please, sir, " said the newspaper-boyglibly. "_Westminster Gazette_, sir, _Daily Mail_, _Sporting andDramatic_, one _Lady_, and two _Standards_. " From which it will beseen that Fritzing had seized his handful very much at random. 

He paid the boy without heeding his earnest suggestions that he shouldtry _Tit-Bits_, the _Saturday Review_, and _Mother_, to complete, saidthe boy, in substance if not in words, his bird's-eye view over thefield of representative English journalism, and went back to thePrincess with a lighter heart than he had had for months. Thedetective, apparently one of Nature's gentlemen, picked up thescattered papers, and following Fritzing offered them him in thepolitest way imaginable just as Priscilla was saying she wanted to seewhat tea-baskets were like. 

"Sir, " said the detective, taking off his hat, "I believe these areyours. "

"Sir, " said Fritzing, taking off his cap in his turn and bowing withall the ceremony of foreigners, "I am much obliged to you. "

"Pray don't mention it, sir, " said the detective, on whose brain thethree were in that instant photographed--the veiled Priscilla, themaid sitting on the edge of the seat as though hardly daring to sitat all, and Fritzing's fine head and mop of grey hair. 

Priscilla, as she caught his departing eye, bowed and smiledgraciously. He withdrew to a little distance, and fell into areverie: where had he seen just that mechanically gracious bow andsmile? They were very familiar to him. 

As the train slowly left the station he saw the lady in the veil oncemore. She was alone with her maid, and was looking out of the windowat nothing in particular, and the station-master, who was watching thetrain go, chanced to meet her glance. Again there was the same smileand bow, quite mechanical, quite absent-minded, distinctly gracious. The station-master stared in astonishment after the receding carriage. The detective roused himself from his reverie sufficiently to stepforward and neatly swing himself into the guard's van: there beingnothing to do in Dover he thought he would go to London. 

I believe I have forgotten, in the heat of narration, to say that thefugitives were bound for Somersetshire. Fritzing had been a greatwalker in the days when he lived in England, and among other placeshad walked about Somersetshire. It is a pleasant county; fruitful, leafy, and mild. Down in the valleys myrtles and rhododendrons havebeen known to flower all through the winter. Devonshire junkets andDevonshire cider are made there with the same skill precisely as inDevonshire; and the parts of it that lie round Exmoor are esteemed bythose who hunt. 

Fritzing quite well remembered certain villages buried among thehills, miles from the nearest railway, and he also remembered thefarmhouses round about these villages where he had lodged. To one ofthese he had caused a friend in London to write engaging rooms forhimself and his niece, and there he proposed to stay till they shouldhave found the cottage the Princess had set her heart on. 

This cottage, as far as he could gather from the descriptions shegave him from time to time, was going to be rather difficult tofind. He feared also that it would be a very insect-ridden place, and that their calm pursuits would often be interrupted by thingslike earwigs. It was to be ancient, and much thatched and latticedand rose-overgrown. It was, too, to be very small; the smallest oflabourers' cottages. Yet though so small and so ancient it was tohave several bathrooms--one for each of them, so he understood;"For, " said the Princess, "if Annalise hasn't a bathroom how canshe have a bath? And if she hasn't had a bath how can I let hertouch me?"

"Perhaps, " said Fritzing, bold in his ignorance of Annalise's realnature, "she could wash at the pump. People do, I believe, in thecountry. I remember there were always pumps. "

"But do pumps make you clean enough?" inquired the Princess, doubtfully. 

"We can try her with one. I fancy, ma'am, it will be less difficultto find a cottage that has only two bathrooms than one that has three. And I know there are invariably pumps. "

Searching his memory he could recollect no bathrooms at all, but hedid not say so, and silently hoped the best. 

To the Somerset village of Symford and to the farm about a mileoutside it known as Baker's, no longer, however, belonging to Baker, but rented by a Mr. Pearce, they journeyed down from Dover without abreak. Nothing alarming happened on the way. They were at Victoria byfive, and the Princess sat joyfully making the acquaintance of afour-wheeler's inside for twenty minutes during which Fritzing andAnnalise got the luggage through the customs. Fritzing's goggles andother accessories of flight inspired so much interest in the customsthat they could hardly bear to let him go and it seemed as if theywould never tire of feeling about in the harmless depths ofPriscilla's neat box. They had however ultimately to part from him, for never was luggage more innocent; and rattling past BuckinghamPalace on the way to Paddington Priscilla blew it a cheerful kiss, symbolic of a happiness too great to bear ill-will. Later on WindsorCastle would have got one too, if it had not been so dark that shecould not see it. The detective, who felt himself oddly drawn towardsthe trio, went down into Somersetshire by the same train as they did, but parted from them at Ullerton, the station you get out at when yougo to Symford. He did not consider it necessary to go further; andtaking a bedroom at Ullerton in the same little hotel from whichFritzing had ordered the conveyance that was to drive them their lastseven miles he went to bed, it being close on midnight, with Mr. Pearce's address neatly written in his notebook. 

This, at present, is the last of the detective. I will leave himsleeping with a smile on his face, and follow the dog-cart as it drovealong that beautiful road between wooded hills that joins Ullerton toSymford, on its way to Baker's Farm. 

At the risk of exhausting Priscilla Fritzing had urged pushing onwithout a stop, and Priscilla made no objection. This is how it cameabout that the ostler attached to the Ullerton Arms found himselfdriving to Symford in the middle of the night. He could not recollectever having done such a thing before, and the memory of it would bequite unlikely to do anything but remain fixed in his mind till hisdying day. Fritzing was a curiously conspicuous fugitive. 

It was a clear and beautiful night, and the stars twinkled brightlyover the black tree-tops. Down in the narrow gorge through which theroad runs they could not feel the keen wind that was blowing up onExmoor. The waters of the Sym, whose windings they followed, gurgledover their stones almost as quietly as in summer. There was a freshwet smell, consoling and delicious after the train, the smell ofcountry puddles and country mud and dank dead leaves that had beenrained upon all day. Fritzing sat with the Princess on the back seatof the dog-cart, and busied himself keeping the rug well round her, the while his soul was full of thankfulness that their journey shouldafter all have been so easy. He was weary in body, but very jubilantin mind. The Princess was so weary in body that she had no mind atall, and dozed and nodded and threatened to fall out, and would havefallen out a dozen times but for Fritzing's watchfulness. As forAnnalise, who can guess what thoughts were hers while she was beingjogged along to Baker's? That they were dark I have not a doubt. Noone had told her this was to be a journey into the Ideal; no one hadtold her anything but that she was promoted to travelling with thePrincess and that she would be well paid so long as she held hertongue. She had never travelled before, yet there were somecircumstances of the journey that could not fail to strike the mostinexperienced. This midnight jogging in the dog-cart, for instance. Itwas the second night spent out of bed, and all day long she hadexpected every moment would end the journey, and the end, she hadnaturally supposed, would be a palace. There would be a palace, andwarmth, and light, and food, and welcome, and honour, and appreciativelacqueys with beautiful white silk calves--alas, Annalise's ideal, herone ideal, was to be for ever where there were beautiful white silkcalves. The road between Ullerton and Symford conveyed to her mind noassurance whatever of the near neighbourhood of such things; and asfor the dog-cart--"_Himmel_, " said Annalise to herself, whenever shethought of the dog-cart. 

Their journey ended at two in the morning. Almost exactly at that hourthey stopped at the garden gate of Baker's Farm, and a woman came outwith a lantern and helped them down and lighted them up the path tothe porch. The Princess, who could hardly make her eyes openthemselves, leaned on Fritzing's arm in a sort of confused dream, gotsomehow up a little staircase that seemed extraordinarily steep andcurly, and was sound asleep in a knobbly bed before Annalise realizedshe had done with her. Priscilla had forgotten all about the Ideal, all about her eager aspirations. Sleep, dear Mother with the coolhand, had smoothed them all away, the whole rubbish of those daylighttoys, and for the next twelve hours sat tenderly by her pillow, herfinger on her lips. 

V

No better place than Symford can be imagined for those in search of aspot, picturesque and with creepers, where they may spend quiet yearsguiding their feet along the way of peace. It is one of the prettiestof English villages. It does and has and is everything the idealvillage ought to. It nestles, for instance, in the folds of hills; itis very small, and far away from other places; its cottages are oldand thatched; its little inn is the inn of a story-book, with a quaintsignboard and an apparently genial landlord; its church standsbeautifully on rising ground among ancient trees, besides being hoary;its vicarage is so charming that to see it makes you long to marry avicar; its vicar is venerable, with an eye so mild that to catch it isto receive a blessing; pleasant little children with happy morningfaces pick butter-cups and go a-nutting at the proper seasons andcurtsey to you as you pass; old women with clean caps and suitablefaces read their Bibles behind latticed windows; hearths are scrubbedand snowy; appropriate kettles simmer on hobs; climbing roses and trimgardens are abundant; and it has a lady bountiful of so untiring akindness that each of its female inhabitants gets a new flannelpetticoat every Christmas and nothing is asked of her in return butthat she shall, during the ensuing year, be warm and happy and good. The same thing was asked, I believe, of the male inhabitants, who getcomforters, and also that they should drink seltzer-water whenevertheir lower natures urged them to drink rum; but comforters are somuch smaller than petticoats that the men of Symford's sense ofjustice rebelled, and since the only time they ever felt really warmand happy and good was when they were drinking rum they decided thaton the whole it would be more in accordance with their benefactress'swishes to go on doing it. 

Lady Shuttleworth, the lady from whom these comforters and petticoatsproceeded, was a just woman who required no more of others than sherequired of herself, and who was busy and kind, and, I am sure happyand good, on cold water. But then she did not like rum; and I supposethere are few things quite so easy as not to drink rum if you don'tlike it. She lived at Symford Hall, two miles away in another fold ofthe hills, and managed the estate of her son who was a minor--at thistime on the very verge of ceasing to be one--with great precision andskill. All the old cottages in Symford were his, and so were the farmsdotted about the hills. Any one, therefore, seeking a cottage wouldhave to address himself to the Shuttleworth agent, Mr. Dawson, who toolived in a house so picturesque that merely to see it made you longeither to poison or to marry Mr. Dawson--preferably, I think, topoison him. 

These facts, stripped of the redundances with which I havegarnished them, were told Fritzing on the day after his arrivalat Baker's Farm by Mrs. Pearce the younger, old Mr. Pearce'sdaughter-in-law, a dreary woman with a rent in her apron, whobrought in the bacon for Fritzing's solitary breakfast and the chopfor his solitary luncheon. She also brought in a junket so liquidthat the innocent Fritzing told her politely that he always drankhis milk out of a glass when he did drink milk, but that, as henever did drink milk, she need not trouble to bring him any. 

"Sir, " said Mrs. Pearce in her slow sad voice, after a glance at hisface in search of sarcasm, "'tisn't milk. 'Tis a junket that hasn'tjunked. "

"Indeed?" said Fritzing, bland because ignorant. 

Mrs. Pearce fidgeted a little, wrestling perhaps with her conscience, before she added defiantly, "It wouldn't. "

"Indeed?" said Fritzing once more; and he looked at the junket throughhis spectacles with that air of extreme and intelligent interest withwhich persons who wish to please look at other people's babies. 

He was desirous of being on good terms with Symford, and had been verypleasant all the morning to Mrs. Pearce. That mood in which, shakenhimself to his foundations by anxiety, he had shaken his fist toAnnalise, was gone as completely as yesterday's wet mist. The goldensunshine of October lay beautifully among the gentle hills and seemedto lie as well in Fritzing's heart. He had gone through so much for somany weeks that merely to be free from worries for the moment filledhim with thankfulness. So may he feel who has lived through days ofbodily torture in that first hour when his pain has gone: beaten, crushed, and cowed by suffering, he melts with gratitude because he isbeing left alone, he gasps with a relief so utter that it is almostabject praise of the Cruelty that has for a little loosened its hold. In this abjectly thankful mood was Fritzing when he found his worstagonies were done. What was to come after he really for the moment didnot care. It was sufficient to exist untormented and to let his soulstretch itself in the privacy and peace of Baker's. He and hisPrincess had made a great and noble effort towards the realization ofdreams that he felt were lofty, and the gods so far had been withthem. All that first morning in Symford he had an oddly restful, unburdened feeling, as of having been born again and born agedtwenty-five; and those persons who used to be twenty-five themselveswill perhaps agree that this must have been rather nice. He did notstir from the parlour lest the Princess should come down and want him, and he spent the waiting hours getting information from Mrs. Pearceand informing her mind in his turn with just that amount of knowledgeabout himself and his niece that he wished Symford to possess. Withimpressive earnestness he told her his name was Neumann, repeating itthree times, almost as if in defiance of contradiction; that his niecewas his deceased brother's child; that her Christian name--here he wasswept away by inspiration--was Maria-Theresa; that he had saved enoughas a teacher of German in London to retire into the country; and thathe was looking for a cottage in which to spend his few remainingyears. 

It all sounded very innocent. Mrs. Pearce listened with her head onone side and with something of the air of a sparrow who doesn't feelwell. She complimented him sadly on the fluency of his English, andtold him with a sigh that in no cottage would he ever again find thecomforts with which Baker's was now surrounding him. 

Fritzing was surprised to hear her say so, for his impressions hadall been the other way. As far as he, inexperienced man, couldtell, Baker's was a singularly draughty and unscrubbed place. Hesmelt that its fires smoked, he heard that its windows rattled, heknew that its mattresses had lumps in them, and he saw that itsfood was inextricably mixed up with objects of a black and grittynature. But her calm face and sorrowful assurance shook theevidence of his senses, and gazing at her in silence over hisspectacles a feeling crept dimly across his brain that if thefuture held many dealings with women like Mrs. Pearce he was goingto be very helpless. 

Priscilla appeared while he was gazing. She was dressed for going outand came in buttoning her gloves, and I suppose it was a long timesince Baker's had seen anything quite so radiant in the way of nieceswithin its dusty walls. She had on the clothes she had travelled in, for a search among the garments bought by Fritzing had resulted innothing but a sitting on the side of the bed and laughing tears, so itwas clearly not the clothes that made her seem all of a sparkle withlovely youth and blitheness. Kunitz would not have recognized itsivory Princess in this bright being. She was the statue come to life, the cool perfection kissed by expectation into a bewitching livingwoman. I doubt whether Fritzing had ever noticed her beauty while atKunitz. He had seen her every day from childhood on, and it isprobable that his attention being always riveted on her soul he hadnever really known when her body left off being lanky and freckled. Hesaw it now, however; he would have been blind if he had not; and itset him vibrating with the throb of a new responsibility. Mrs. Pearcesaw it too, and stared astonished at this oddly inappropriate niece. She stared still more when Fritzing, jumping up from his chair, bentover the hand Priscilla held out and kissed it with a devotion andrespect wholly absent from the manner of Mrs. Pearce's own uncles. She, therefore, withdrew into her kitchen, and being a person oflittle culture crudely expressed her wonder by thinking "Lor. " Towhich, after an interval of vague meanderings among saucepans, sheadded the elucidation, "Foreigners. "

Half an hour later Lady Shuttleworth's agent, Mr. Dawson, wasdisturbed at his tea by the announcement that a gentleman wished tospeak to him. Mr. Dawson was a bluff person, and something of atyrant, for he reigned supreme in Symford after Lady Shuttleworth, andto reign supreme over anybody, even over a handful of cottagers, doesbring out what a man may have in him of tyrant. Another circumstancethat brings this out is the possession of a meek wife; and Mr. Dawson's wife was really so very meek that I fear when the Day ofReckoning comes much of this tyranny will be forgiven him and laid toher account. Mr. Dawson, in fact, represented an unending series ofpitfalls set along his wife's path by Fate, into every one of whichshe fell; and since we are not supposed, on pain of punishment, to doanything but keep very upright on our feet as we trudge along thedusty road of life, no doubt all those amiable stumblings will beimputed to her in the end for sin. "This man was handed over to youquite nice and kind, " one can imagine Justice saying in an awfulvoice; "his intentions to start with were beyond reproach. Do you notremember, on the eve of your wedding, how he swore with tears he wouldbe good to you? Look, now, what you have made of him. You haveprevented his being good to you by your own excessive goodness tohim. You have spent your time nourishing his bad qualities. Though hestill swears, he never does it with tears. Do you not know theenormous, the almost insurmountable difficulty there is in notbullying meekness, in not responding to the cringer with a kick? Weakand unteachable woman, away with you. "

Certainly it is a great responsibility taking a man into one's life. It is also an astonishment to me that I write thus in detail of Mrs. Dawson, for she has nothing whatever to do with the story. 

"Who is it?" asked Mr. Dawson; immediately adding, "Say I'm engaged. "

"He gave no name, sir. He says he wishes to see you on business. "

"Business! I don't do business at tea time. Send him away. "

But Fritzing, for he it was, would not be sent away. Priscilla hadseen the cottage of her dreams, seen it almost at once on entering thevillage, fallen instantly and very violently in love with itregardless of what its inside might be, and had sent him to buy it. She was waiting while he bought it in the adjoining churchyard sittingon a tombstone, and he could neither let her sit there indefinitelynor dare, so great was her eagerness to have the thing, go backwithout at least a hope of it. Therefore he would not be sent away. "Your master's in, " he retorted, when the maid suggested he shoulddepart, "and I must see him. Tell him my business is pressing. "

"Will you give me your card, sir?" said the maid, wavering beforethis determination. 

Fritzing, of course, had no card, so he wrote his new name in pencilon a leaf of his notebook, adding his temporary address. 

"Tell Mr. Dawson, " he said, tearing it out and giving it to her, "thatif he is so much engaged as to be unable to see me I shall go directto Lady Shuttleworth. My business will not wait. "

"Show him in, then, " growled Mr. Dawson on receiving this message; forhe feared Lady Shuttleworth every bit as much as Mrs. Dawson fearedhim. 

Fritzing was accordingly shown into the room used as an office, andwas allowed to cool himself there while Mr. Dawson finished his tea. The thought of his Princess waiting on a tombstone that must begrowing colder every moment, for the sun was setting, made him at lastso impatient that he rang the bell. 

"Tell your master, " he said when the maid appeared, "that I am nowgoing to Lady Shuttleworth. " And he seized his hat and was makingindignantly for the door when Mr. Dawson appeared. 

Mr. Dawson was wiping his mouth. "You seem to be in a great hurry, " hesaid; and glancing at the slip of paper in his hand added, "Mr. Newman. "

"Sir, " said Fritzing, bowing with a freezing dignity, "I am. "

"Well, so am I. Sit down. What can I do for you? Time's money, youknow, and I'm a busy man. You're German, ain't you?"

"I am, sir. My name is Neumann. I am here--"

"Oh, Noyman, is it? I thought it was Newman. " And he glanced again atthe paper. 

"Sir, " said Fritzing, with a wave of his hand, "I am here to buy acottage, and the sooner we come to terms the better. I will not wastevaluable moments considering niceties of pronunciation. "

Mr. Dawson stared. Then he said, "Buy a cottage?"

"Buy a cottage, sir. I understand that practically the whole ofSymford is the property of the Shuttleworth family, and that you arethat family's accredited agent. I therefore address myself in thefirst instance to you. Now, sir, if you are unable, either throughdisinclination or disability, to do business with me, kindly state thefact at once, and I will straightway proceed to Lady Shuttleworthherself. I have no time to lose. "

"I'm blessed if I have either, Mr. "--he glanced again at thepaper--"Newman. "

"Neumann, sir, " corrected Fritzing irritably. 

"All right--Noyman. But why don't you write it then? You've writtenNewman as plain as a doorpost. "

"Sir, I am not here to exercise you in the proper pronunciation offoreign tongues. These matters, of an immense elementariness I mustadd, should be and generally are acquired by all persons of anyeducation in their childhood at school. "

Mr. Dawson stared. "You're a long-winded chap, " he said, "but I'mblessed if I know what you're driving at. Suppose you tell me whatyou've come for, Mr. "--he referred as if from habit to thepaper--"Newman. "

"_Neu_mann, sir, " said Fritzing very loud, for he was greatlyirritated by Mr. Dawson's manner and appearance. 

"_Noy_mann, then, " said Mr. Dawson, equally loudly; indeed it wasalmost a shout. And he became possessed at the same instant of whatwas known to Fritzing as a red head, which is the graphic German wayof describing the glow that accompanies wrath. "Look here, " he said, "if you don't say what you've got to say and have done with it you'dbetter go. I'm not the chap for the fine-worded game, and I'm hangedif I'll be preached to in my own house. I'll be hanged if I will, doyou hear?" And he brought his fist down on the table in a fashion veryfamiliar to Mrs. Dawson and the Symford cottagers. 

"Sir, your manners--" said Fritzing, rising and taking up his hat. 

"Never mind my manners, Mr. Newman. "

"_Neu_mann, sir!" roared Fritzing. 

"Confound you, sir, " was Mr. Dawson's irrelevant reply. 

"Sir, confound _you_, " said Fritzing, clapping on his hat. "And let metell you that I am going at once to Lady Shuttleworth and shallrecommend to her most serious consideration the extreme desirabilityof removing you, sir. "

"Removing me! Where the deuce to?"

"Sir, I care not whither so long as it is hence, " cried Fritzing, passionately striding to the door. 

Mr. Dawson lay back in his chair and gasped. The man was plainly mad;but still Lady Shuttleworth might--you never know with women--"Lookhere--hie, you! Mr. Newman!" he called, for Fritzing had torn open thedoor and was through it. 

"_Neu_mann, sir, " Fritzing hurled back at him over his shoulder. 

"Lady Shuttleworth won't see you, Mr. Noyman. She won't on principle. "

Fritzing wavered. 

"Everything goes through my hands. You'll only have your walk fornothing. Come back and tell me what it is you want. "

"Sir, I will only negotiate with you, " said Fritzing down thepassage--and Mrs. Dawson hearing him from the drawing-room folded herhands in fear and wonder--"if you will undertake at least to imitatethe manners of a gentleman. "

"Come, come, you musn't misunderstand me, " said Mr. Dawson getting upand going to the door. "I'm a plain man, you know--"

"Then, sir, all I can say is that I object to plain men. "

"I say, who are you? One would think you were a duke or somebody, you're so peppery. Dressed up"--Mr. Dawson glanced at the suit ofpedagogic black into which Fritzing had once more relapsed--"dressedup as a street preacher. "

"I am not dressed up as anything, sir, " said Fritzing coming in ratherhurriedly. "I am a retired teacher of the German tongue, and have comedown from London in search of a cottage in which to spend my remainingyears. That cottage I have now found here in your village, and I havecome to inquire its price. I wish to buy it as quickly as possible. "

"That's all very well, Mr. --oh all right, all right, I won't say it. But why on earth don't you write it properly, then? It's this paper'sset me wrong. I was going to say we've got no cottages here for sale. And look here, if that's all you are, a retired teacher, I'll troubleyou not to get schoolmastering me again. "

"I really think, sir, " said Fritzing stretching his hand towards hishat, "that it is better I should try to obtain an interview with LadyShuttleworth, for I fear you are constitutionally incapable ofcarrying on a business conversation with the requisite decentself-command. "

"Pooh--you'll get nothing out of her. She'll send you back to me. Why, you'd drive her mad in five minutes with that tongue of yours. If youwant anything I'm your man. Only let's get at what you do want, without all these confounded dictionary words. Which cottage is it?"

"It is the small cottage, " said Fritzing mastering his anger, "adjoining the churchyard. It stands by itself, and is separated fromthe road by an extremely miniature garden. It is entirely covered bycreeping plants which I believe to be roses. "

"That's a couple. "

"So much the better. "

"And they're let. One to the shoemaker, and the other to old motherShaw. "

"Accommodation could no doubt be found for the present tenants in someother house, and I am prepared to indemnify them handsomely. Might Iinquire the number of rooms the cottages contain?"

"Two apiece, and a kitchen and attic. Coal-hole and pig-stye in theback yard. Also a pump. But they're not for sale, so what's the use--"

"Sir, do they also contain bathrooms?"

"Bathrooms?" Mr. Dawson stared with so excessively stupid a stare thatFritzing, who heaver could stand stupidity, got angry again. 

"I said bathrooms, sir, " he said, raising his voice, "and I believewith perfect distinctness. "

"Oh, I heard you right enough. I was only wondering if you were tryingto be funny. "

"Is this a business conversation or is it not?" cried Fritzing, in histurn bringing his fist down on the table. 

"Look here, what do you suppose people who live in such places want?"

"I imagine cleanliness and decency as much as anybody else. "

"Well, I've never been asked for one with a bathroom in my life. "

"You are being asked now, " said Fritzing, glaring at him, "but youwilfully refuse to reply. From your manner, however, I conclude thatthey contain none. If so, no doubt I could quickly have some built. "

"Some? Why, how many do you want?"

"I have a niece, sir, and she must have her own. "

Mr. Dawson again stared with what seemed to Fritzing so deplorablyfoolish a stare. "I never heard of such a thing, " he said. 

"What did you never hear of, sir?"

"I never heard of one niece and one uncle in a labourer's cottagewanting a bathroom apiece. "

"Apparently you have never heard of very many things, " retortedFritzing angrily. "My niece desires to have her own bathroom, and itis no one's business but hers. "

"She must be a queer sort of girl. "

"Sir, " cried Fritzing, "leave my niece out of the conversation. "

"Oh all right--all right. I'm sure I don't want to talk about yourniece. But as for the cottages, it's no good wanting those or anyothers, for you won't get 'em. "

"And pray why not, if I offer a good price?"

"Lady Shuttleworth won't sell. Why should she? She'd only have tobuild more to replace them. Her people must live somewhere. And she'llnever turn out old Shaw and the shoemaker to make room for a couple ofstrangers. "

Fritzing was silent, for his heart was sinking. "Suppose, sir, " hesaid after a pause, during which his eyes had been fixed thoughtfullyon the carpet and Mr. Dawson had been staring at him and whistlingsoftly but very offensively, "suppose I informed Lady Shuttleworth ofmy willingness to build two new cottages--excellent new cottages--forthe tenants of these old ones, and pay her a good price as well forthese, do you think she would listen to me?"

"I say, the schoolmastering business must be a rattling good one. I'mblessed if I know what you want to live in 'em for if money's solittle object with you. They're shabby and uncomfortable, and an oldchap like you--I mean, a man of your age, who's made his little pile, and wants luxuries like plenty of bathrooms--ought to buy somethingtight and snug. Good roof and electric light. Place for horse andtrap. And settle down and be a gentleman. "

"My niece, " said Fritzing, brushing aside these suggestions with anangrily contemptuous wave of his hand, "has taken a fancy--I may sayan exceedingly violent fancy--to these two cottages. What is all thistalk of traps and horses? My niece wishes for these cottages. I shalldo my utmost to secure them for her. "

"Well, all I can say is she must be a--"

"Silence, sir!" cried Fritzing. 

Mr. Dawson got up and opened the door very wide. 

"Look here, " he said, "there's no use going on talking. I've stoodmore from you than I've stood from any one for years. Take my adviceand get back home and keep quiet for a bit. I've got no cottages, andLady Shuttleworth would shut the door in your face when you got to thebathroom part. Where are you staying? At the Cock and Hens?Oh--ah--yes--at Baker's. Well, ask Mrs. Pearce to take great care ofyou. Tell her I said so. And good afternoon to you, Mr. Noyman. Yousee I've got the name right now--just as we're going to part. "

"Before I go, " said Fritzing, glaring down at Mr. Dawson, "let metell you that I have seldom met an individual who unites in hismanner so singularly offensive a combination of facetiousness andhectoring as yourself. I shall certainly describe your conduct toLady Shuttleworth, and not, I hope, in unconvincing language. Sir, good afternoon. "

"By-bye, " said Mr. Dawson, grinning and waving a pleasant hand. Several bathrooms indeed! He need have no fears of Lady Shuttleworth. "Good luck to you with Lady S. !" he called after him cheerily. Then hewent to his wife and bade her see to it that the servant never letFritzing in again, explaining that he was not only a foreigner but alunatic, and that the mixture was so bad that it hardly bore thinkingof. 

VI

While Fritzing was losing his temper in this manner at the agent's, Priscilla sat up in the churchyard in the sun. The Symford churchyard, its church, and the pair of coveted cottages, are on a little eminencerising like an island out of the valley. Sitting under the trees ofthis island Priscilla amused herself taking in the quiet scene at herfeet and letting her thoughts wander down happy paths. The valley wasalready in shadow, but the tops of the hills on the west side of itwere golden in the late afternoon sunshine. From the cottage chimneyssmoke went up straight and blue into the soft sky, rooks came andsettled over her head in the branches of the elms, and every now andthen a yellow leaf would fall slowly at her feet. Priscilla's heartwas filled with peace. She was going to be so good, she was going tolead such a clean and beautiful life, so quiet, so helpful to thepoor, so hidden, so cleared of all confusions. Never again would sheneed to pose; never again be forced into conflict with her soul. Shehad chosen the better part; she had given up everything and followedafter wisdom; and her life would be her justification. Who but knowsthe inward peace that descends upon him who makes good resolutionsand abides with him till he suddenly discovers they have all beenbroken? And what does the breaking of them matter, since it is theirmaking that is so wholesome, so bracing to the soul, bringing with itmoments of such extreme blessedness that he misses much who gives itup for fear he will not keep them? Such blessed moments of lifting upof the heart were Priscilla's as she sat in the churchyard waiting, invisibly surrounded by the most beautiful resolutions it is possibleto imagine. The Rev. Edward Morrison, the vicar of whom I have spokenas venerable, coming slowly up the path leaning on his son's arm withthe intention of going into the church in search of a mislaidsermon-book, saw Priscilla's thoughtful back under the elm-tree andperceived at once that it was a back unknown to him. He knew all theSymford backs, and tourists hardly ever coming there, and never atthat time of the year, it could not, he thought, be the back of atourist. Nor could it belong to any one staying with theShuttleworths, for he had been there that very afternoon and had foundLady Shuttleworth rejoicing over the brief period of solitude she andher son were enjoying before the stream of guests for the coming ofage festivities began. 

"Robin, what girl is that?" asked the vicar of his son. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " said Robin. 

"She'll catch cold, " said the vicar. 

"I dare say, " said Robin. 

When they came out of the church ten minutes later Priscilla had notmoved. 

"She'll certainly catch cold, " said the vicar, concerned. 

"I should think it very likely, " said Robin, locking the door. 

"She's sitting on a stone. "

"Yes, on old Dawson's slab. "

"Unwise, " said the vicar. 

"Profane, " said Robin. 

The vicar took his boy's arm again--the boy, head and shoulders tallerthan his father, was down from Cambridge for the vacation then drawingto its close--and moved, I fear, by the same impulse of pure curiositythey walked together down the path that would take them right in frontof the young woman on the slab. 

Priscilla was lost in the bright dreams she was weaving, and looked upwith the radiance of them still in her eyes at the two figures betweenher and the sunset. 

"My dear young lady, " said the vicar kindly, "are you not afraid ofcatching cold? The evenings are so damp now, and you have chosen avery cold seat. "

"I don't feel cold, " said Priscilla, smiling at this vision ofbenevolence. 

"But I do think you ought not to linger here, " said the vicar. 

"I am waiting for my uncle. He's gone to buy a cottage, and ought tobe back, really, by now. "

"Buy a cottage?" repeated the vicar. "My dear young lady, you saythat in the same voice you might use to tell me your uncle had gone tobuy a bun. "

"What is a bun?" asked Priscilla. 

"A bun?" repeated the vicar bewildered, for nobody had ever asked himthat before. 

"Oh I know--" said Priscilla quickly, faintly flushing, "it's a thingyou eat. Is there a special voice for buns?"

"There is for a thing so--well, so momentous as the buying of acottage. "

"Is it momentous? It seems to me so nice and natural. "

She looked up at the vicar and his son, calmly scrutinizing first oneand then the other, and they stood looking down at her; and each timeher eyes rested on Robin they found his staring at her with thefrankest expression of surprise and admiration. 

"Pardon me, " said the vicar, "if I seem inquisitive, but is it one ofthe Symford cottages your uncle wishes to buy? I did not know any werefor sale. "

"It's that one by the gate, " said Priscilla, slightly turning her headin its direction. 

"Is it for sale? Dear me, I never knew Lady Shuttleworth sell acottage yet. "

"I don't know yet if she wants to, " said Priscilla; "but Fr--, myuncle, will give any price. And I must have it. I shall--I shall beill if I don't. "

The vicar gazed at her upturned face in perplexity. "Dear me, " hesaid, after a slight pause. 

"We must live somewhere, " remarked Priscilla. 

"Of course you must, " said Robin, suddenly and so heartily that sheexamined his eager face in more detail. 

"Quite so, quite so, " said the vicar. "Are you staying here atpresent?"

"Never at the Cock and Hens?" broke in Robin. 

"We're at Baker's Farm. "

"Ah yes--poor Mrs. Pearce will be glad of lodgers. Poor soul, poorsoul. "

"She's a very dirty soul, " said Robin; and Priscilla's eyes flashedover him with a sudden sparkle. 

"Is she the soul with the holes in its apron?" she asked. 

"I expect there are some there. There generally are, " said Robin. 

They both laughed; but the vicar gently shook his head. "Ah well, poorthing, " he said, "she has an uphill life of it. They don't seemable--they don't seem to understand the art of making both ends meet. "

"It's a great art, " said Robin. 

"Perhaps they could be helped, " said Priscilla, already arranging inher mind to go and do it. 

"They do not belong to the class one can help. And Lady Shuttleworth, I am afraid, disapproves of shiftless people too much to do anythingin the way of reducing the rent. "

"Lady Shuttleworth can't stand people who don't look happy and don'tmend their apron, " said Robin. 

"But it's her own apron, " objected Priscilla. 

"Exactly, " said Robin. 

"Well, well, I hope they'll make you comfortable, " said the vicar; andhaving nothing more that he could well say without having to confessto himself that he was inquisitive, he began to draw Robin away. "Weshall see you and your uncle on Sunday in church, I hope, " he saidbenevolently, and took off his hat and showed his snow-white hair. 

Priscilla hesitated. She was, it is true, a Protestant, it having beenarranged on her mother's marriage with the Catholic Grand Duke thatevery alternate princess born to them was to belong to the Protestantfaith, and Priscilla being the alternate princess it came about thatof the Grand Duke's three children she alone was not a Catholic. Therefore she could go to church in Symford as often as she chose; butit was Fritzing's going that made her hesitate, for Fritzing was whatthe vicar would have called a godless man, and never went to church. 

"You are a member of the Church of England?" inquired the vicar, seeing her hesitate. 

"Why, pater, she's not English, " burst out Robin. 

"Not English?" echoed the vicar. 

"Is my English so bad?" asked Priscilla, smiling. 

"It's frightfully good, " said Robin; "but the 'r's, ' you know--"

"Ah, yes. No, I'm not English. I'm German. "

"Indeed?" said the vicar, with all the interest that attaches to anyunusual phenomenon, and a German in Symford was of all phenomena themost unusual. "My dear young lady, how remarkable. I don't rememberever having met a German before in these parts. Your English is reallysurprising. I should never have noticed--my boy's ears are quickerthan my old ones. Will you think me unpardonably curious if I ask whatmade you pitch on Symford as a place to live in?"

"My uncle passed through it years ago and thought it so pretty that hedetermined to spend his old age here. "

"And you, I suppose, are going to take care of him. "

"Yes, " said Priscilla, "for we only"--she looked from one to the otherand thought herself extremely clever--"we only have each other in thewhole wide world. "

"Ah, poor child--you are an orphan. "

"I didn't say so, " said Priscilla quickly, turning red; she who hadalways been too proud to lie, how was she going to lie now to thisaged saint with the snow-white hair?

"Ah well, well, " said the vicar, vaguely soothing. "We shall see youon Sunday perhaps. There is no reason that I know of why a member ofthe German Church should not assist at the services of the Church ofEngland. " And he took off his hat again, and tried to draw Robin away. 

But Robin lingered, and Priscilla saw so much bright curiosity in hiseyes that she felt she was giving an impression of mysteriousness; andthis being the last thing she wanted to do she thought she had betterexplain a little--always a dangerous course to take--and she said, "Myuncle taught languages for years, and is old now and tired, and weboth long for the country and to be quiet. He taught meEnglish--that's why it's as good as it is. His name"--She was carriedaway by the desire to blow out that questioning light in Robin'seyes--"his name is Schultz. "

The vicar bowed slightly, and Robin asked with an air of greatpoliteness but still with that light in his eyes if he were to addressher, then, as Miss Schultz. 

"I'm afraid so, " said Priscilla, regretfully. It really sounded gross. Miss Schultz? She might just as well have chosen something romanticwhile she was about it, for Fritzing in the hurry of many cares hadsettled nothing yet with her about a name. 

Robin stared at her very hard, her answer seemed to him so odd. Hestared still more when she looked up with the air of one who has ahappy thought and informed him that her Christian name was Ethel. 

"Ethel?" echoed Robin. 

"It's a very pretty name, I think, " said Priscilla, looking pleased. 

"Our housemaid's called Ethel, and so is the little girl that wheelsthe gardener's baby's perambulator, " was Robin's impetuous comment. 

"That doesn't make it less pretty, " said Priscilla, frowning. 

"Surely, " interrupted the vicar mildly, "Ethel is not a German name?"

"I was christened after my mother, " said Priscilla gently; and thiswas strictly true, for the deceased Grand Duchess had also beenPriscilla. Then a feeling came over her that she was getting intothose depths where persons with secrets begin to flounder as apreliminary to letting them out, and seized with panic she got up offthe slab. 

"You are half English, then, " said Robin triumphantly, his bright eyessnapping. He looked very bold and masterful staring straight at her, his head thrown back, his handsome face twinkling with interest. But aperson of Priscilla's training could not possibly be discomposed bythe stare of any Robin, however masterful; had it not been up to nowher chief function in life to endure being stared at with gracefulindifference? "I did not say so, " she said, glancing briefly at him;and including both father and son in a small smile composedindescribably of graciousness and chill she added, "It really is damphere--I don't think I'll wait for my uncle, " and slightly bowingwalked away without more ado. 

She walked very slowly, her skirts gathered loosely in one hand, everyline of her body speaking of the most absolute self-possession andunapproachableness. Never had the two men seen any one quite so calm. They watched her in silence as she went up the path and out at thegate; then Robin looked down at his father and drew his hand morefirmly through his arm and said with a slight laugh, "Come on, pater, let's go home. We're dismissed. "

"By a most charming young lady, " said the vicar, smiling. 

"By a very cool one, " said Robin, shrugging his shoulders, for he didnot like being dismissed. 

"Yes--oddly self-possessed for her age, " agreed the vicar. 

"I wonder if all German teacher's nieces are like that, " said Robinwith another laugh. 

"Few can be so blest by nature, I imagine. "

"Oh, I don't mean faces. She is certainly prettier by a good bit thanmost girls. "

"She is quite unusually lovely, young man. Don't quibble. "

"Miss Schultz--Ethel Schultz, " murmured Robin; adding under hisbreath, "Good Lord. "

"She can't help her name. These things are thrust upon one. "

"It's a beastly common name. Macgrigor, who was a year in Dresden, told me everybody in Germany is called Schultz. "

"Except those who are not. "

"Now, pater, you're being clever again, " said Robin, smiling down athis father. 

"Here comes some one in a hurry, " said the vicar, his attentionarrested by the rapidly approaching figure of a man; and, looking up, Robin beheld Fritzing striding through the churchyard, his hat welldown over his eyes as if clapped on with unusual vigour, both handsthrust deep in his pockets, the umbrella, without which he never, evenon the fairest of days, went out, pressed close to his side under hisarm, and his long legs taking short and profane cuts over graves andtombstones with the indifference to decency of one immersed inunpleasant thought. It was not the custom in Symford to leap in thismanner over its tombs; and Fritzing arriving at a point a few yardsfrom the vicar, and being about to continue his headlong career acrossthe remaining graves to the tree under which he had left Priscilla, the vicar raised his voice and exhorted him to keep to the path. 

"Quaint-looking person, " remarked Robin. "Another stranger. I say, itcan't be--no, it can't possibly be the uncle?" For he saw he was aforeigner, yet on the other hand never was there an uncle and a niecewho had less of family likeness. 

Fritzing was the last man wilfully to break local rules or woundsusceptibilities; and pulled out of his unpleasant abstraction by thevicar's voice he immediately desisted from continuing his short cut, and coming onto the path removed his hat and apologized with thepoliteness that was always his so long as nobody was annoying him. 

"My name is Neumann, sir, " he said, introducing himself after theGerman fashion, "and I sincerely beg your pardon. I was looking for alady, and"--he gave his spectacles a little adjusting shove as thoughthey were in fault, and gazing across to the elm where he had leftPriscilla sitting added with sudden anxiety--"I fear I do not seeher. "

"Do you mean Miss Schultz?" asked the vicar, looking puzzled. 

"No, sir, I do not mean Miss Schultz, " said Fritzing, peering abouthim at all the other trees in evident surprise and distress. 

"A lady left about five minutes ago, " said Robin. 

"A tall young lady in a blue costume?"

"Yes. Miss Schultz. "

Fritzing looked at him with some sternness. "Sir, what have I to dowith Miss Schultz?" he inquired. 

"Oh come now, " said the cheerful Robin, "aren't you looking for her?"

"I am in search of my niece, sir. "

"Yes. Miss Schultz. "

"No sir, " said Fritzing, controlling himself with an effort, "notMiss Schultz. I neither know Miss Schultz nor do I care a--"

"Sir, sir, " interposed the vicar, hastily. 

"I do not care a _pfenning_ for any Miss Schultz. "

The vicar looked much puzzled. "There was a young lady, " he said, "waiting under that tree over there for her uncle who had gone, shesaid, to see Lady Shuttleworth's agent about the cottage by the gate. She said her uncle's name was Schultz. "

"She said she was Miss Ethel Schultz, " said Robin. 

"She said she was staying at Baker's Farm, " said the vicar. 

Fritzing stared for a moment from one to the other, then clutching hishat mechanically half an inch into the air turned on his heel withoutanother word and went with great haste out of the churchyard and downthe hill and away up the road to the farm. 

"Quaint, isn't he, " said Robin as they slowly followed this flyingfigure to the gate. 

"I don't understand it, " said the vicar. 

"It does seem a bit mixed. "

"Did he not say his name was Neumann?"

"He did. And he looked as if he'd fight any one who said it wasn't. "

"It is hardly credible that there should be two sets of German unclesand nieces in Symford at one and the same time, " mused the vicar. "Even one pair is a most unusual occurrence. "

"If there are, " said Robin very earnestly, "pray let us cultivate theSchultz set and not the other. "

"I don't understand it, " repeated the vicar, helplessly. 

VII

Symford, innocent village, went to bed very early; but early as itwent long before it had got there on this evening it contained nofamily that had not heard of the arrivals at Baker's Farm. From thevicarage the news had filtered that a pretty young lady called Schultzwas staying there with her uncle; from the agent's house the news thata lunatic called Neumann was staying there with his niece; and aboutsupper-time, while it was still wondering at this sudden influx ofrelated Germans, came the postmistress and said that the boy fromBaker's who fetched the letters knew nothing whatever of any onecalled Schultz. He had, said the postmistress, grown quite angry andforgotten the greater and by far the better part of his manners whenshe asked him how he could stand there and say such things after allthe years he had attended Sunday-school and if he were not afraid theearth would open and swallow him up, and he had stuck to it with anobstinacy that had at length convinced her that only one uncle andniece were at Baker's, and their name was Neumann. He added that therewas another young lady there whose name he couldn't catch, but who saton the edge of her bed all day crying and refusing sustenance. Appeased by the postmistress's apologies for her first unbelief heended by being anxious to give all the information in his power, andcame back quite a long way to tell her that he had forgotten to saythat his mother had said that the niece's Christian name wasMaria-Theresa. 

"But what, then, " said the vicar's wife to the vicar when this newshad filtered through the vicarage walls to the very sofa where shesat, "has become of the niece called Ethel?"

"I don't know, " said the vicar, helplessly. 

"Perhaps she is the one who cried all day. "

"My dear, we met her in the churchyard. "

"Perhaps they are forgers, " suggested the vicar's wife. 

"My dear?"

"Or anarchists. "

"Kate?"

The vicar's wife said no more, but silently made up her mind to go thevery next day and call at Baker's. It would be terrible if a badinfluence got into Symford, her parish that she had kept in such goodorder for so long. Besides, she had an official position as the wifeof the vicar and could and ought to call on everybody. Her call wouldnot bind her, any more than the call of a district visitor would, toinvite the called-upon to her house. Perhaps they were quite decent, and she could ask the girl up to the Tuesday evenings in theparish-room; hardly to the vicarage, because of her daughter Netta. Onthe other hand, if they looked like what she imagined anarchists orforgers look like, she would merely leave leaflets and be out whenthey returned her call. 

Robin, all unaware of his mother's thoughts, was longing to ask her togo to Baker's and take him with her as a first step towards theacquaintance after which his soul thirsted, but he refrained forvarious discreet reasons based on an intimate knowledge of hismother's character; and he spent the evening perfecting a plan thatshould introduce him into the interior of Baker's without her help. The plan was of a barbarous simplicity: he was going to choose anumbrella from the collection that years had brought together in thestand in the hall, and go boldly and ask the man Neumann if he haddropped it in the churchyard. The man Neumann would repudiate theumbrella, perhaps with secret indignation, but he would be forced topretend he was grateful, and who knew what luck might not do for himafter that?

While Robin was plotting, and his mother was plotting, that the nextday would certainly see them inside Baker's, a third person was tryingto do exactly the same thing at Symford Hall; and this third personwas no other than Augustus, the hope of all the Shuttleworths. Augustus--he was known to his friends briefly as Tussie--had beenriding homewards late that afternoon, very slowly, for he was ananxious young man who spent much of his time dodging things like beingoverheated, when he saw a female figure walking towards him along thelonely road. He was up on the heath above Symford, a solitary place ofheather, and gorse bushes, and winding roads that lead with manyhesitations and delays to different parts of Exmoor, and he himselfwith his back to that wild region and the sunset was going, as everysensible person would be going at that time of the evening, in thedirection of the village and home. But where could the girl be going?For he now saw it was a girl, and in a minute or two more that it wasa beautiful girl. With the golden glow of the sky the sun had justleft on her face Priscilla came towards him out of the gathering duskof approaching evening, and Tussie, who had a poetic soul, gazed atthe vision openmouthed. Seeing him, she quickened her steps, and hetook off his cap eagerly when she asked him to tell her where Symfordwas. "I've lost it, " she said, looking up at him. 

"I'm going through it myself, " he answered. "Will you let me show youthe way?"

"Thank you, " said Priscilla; and he got off his horse and she turnedand walked beside him with the same unruffled indifference with whichshe would have walked beside the Countess Disthal or in front of anattending lacquey. Nor did she speak, for she was busy thinking ofFritzing and hoping he was not being too anxious about her, and Tussie(God defend his innocence) thought she was shy. So sure was he as theminutes past that her silence was an embarrassed one that he put anend to it by remarking on the beauty of the evening, and Priscilla whohad entirely forgotten Miss Schultz gave him the iciest look as areminder that it was not his place to speak first. It was lost onTussie as a reminder, for naturally it did not remind him of anything, and he put it down at first to the girl's being ill at ease alone upthere with a strange man, and perhaps to her feeling she had betterkeep him at arm's length. A glance at her profile however dispelledthis illusion once and for ever, for never was profile of a profoundercalm. She was walking now with her face in shadow, and the glow behindher played strange and glorious tricks with her hair. He looked ather, and looked, and not by the quiver of an eyelash did she show shewas aware of anybody's presence. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, and she was deep in thought tinged with remorsefulness that she shouldhave come up here instead of going straight home to the farm, and bylosing her way and staying out so long have given Fritzing's carefulheart an unnecessary pang of anxiety. He had had so many, and allbecause of her. But then it had been the very first time in her lifethat she had ever walked alone, and if words cannot describe the joyand triumph of it how was it likely that she should have been able toresist the temptation to stray aside up a lovely little lane thatlured her on and on from one bend to another till it left her at lasthigh up, breathless and dazzled, on the edge of the heath, withExmoor rolling far away in purple waves to the sunset and all thesplendour of the evening sky in her face? She had gone on, fascinatedby the beauty of the place, and when she wanted to turn back found shehad lost herself. Then appeared Sir Augustus to set her right, andwith a brief thought of him as a useful person on a nice horse shefell into sober meditations as to the probable amount of torture herpoor Fritzi was going through, and Augustus ceased to exist for her ascompletely as a sign-post ceases to exist for him who has taken itsadvice and passed on. 

He looked at her, and looked, and looked again. He had never seen anyone quite so beautiful, and certainly never any one with such an airof extreme detachment. He was twenty-one and much inclined to poetry, and he thought as she walked beside him so tall and straight andaloof, with the nimbus of flaming hair and the noble little head andslightly stern brow that she looked like nothing less than a youngsaint of God. 

Tussie was not bold like Robin. He was a gentle youth who loved quietthings, quiet places, placid people, kind dogs, books, canaries even, if they did not sing too loud. He was sensitive about himself, beingsmall and weakly, and took, as I have said, great care of what he hadof health, such care indeed that some of his robust friends called himFussie. He hated the idea of coming of age and of having a great dealof money and a great many active duties and responsibilities. Hisdream was to be left in peace to write his verses; to get away intosome sweet impossible wilderness, and sit there singing with as muchof the spirit of Omar Kayyam as could reasonably be expected todescend on a youth who only drank water. He was not bold, I say; andafter that one quelling glance from the young saint's eyes did notdare speak again for a long while. But they were getting near Symford;they were halfway down the hill; he could not let her slip awayperhaps suddenly from his side into the shadows without at leasttrying to find out where she was staying. He looked at her soft kindmouth and opened his own to speak. He looked at her stern level browsand shut it again. At last, keeping his eyes on her mouth he blurtedout, growing red, "I know every soul in Symford, and every soul formiles round, but I don't know--" He stopped. He was going to say"you, " but he stopped. 

Priscilla's thoughts were so far away that she turned her head andgazed vaguely at him for a moment while she collected them again. Thenshe frowned at him. I do not know why Robin should have had at leastseveral smiles and poor Tussie only frowns, unless it was that duringthis walk the young person Ethel Schultz had completely faded fromPriscilla's mind and the Royal Highness was well to the fore. Shecertainly frowned at Tussie and asked herself what could possess theman to keep on speaking to her. Keep on speaking! Poor Tussie. Aloudshe said freezingly, "Did you say something?"

"Yes, " said Tussie, his eyes on her mouth--surely a mouth only madefor kindness and gentle words. "I was wondering whether you werestaying at the vicarage. "

"No, " said Priscilla, "we're staying at Baker's Farm. " And at themention of that decayed lodging the friendly Schultz expression creptback, smiling into her eyes. 

Tussie stopped short. "Baker's Farm?" he said. "Why, then this is theway; down here, to the right. It's only a few yards from here. "

"Were you going that way too?"

"I live on the other side of Symford. "

"Then good-bye and thank you. "

"Please let me go with you as far as the high-road--it's almost dark. "

"Oh no--I can't lose myself again if it's only a few yards. "

She nodded, and was turning down the lane. 

"Are you--are you comfortable there?" he asked hurriedly, blushing. "The Pearces are tenants of ours. I hope they make you comfortable?"

"Oh, we're only going to be there a few days. My uncle is buying acottage, and we shall leave almost directly. "

The girl Ethel nodded and smiled and went away quickly into the dusk;and Tussie rode home thoughtfully, planning elaborate plans for adescent the next day upon Baker's Farm that should have the necessaryair of inevitableness. 

Fritzing was raging up and down the road in front of the gate whenPriscilla emerged, five minutes later, from the shadows of the lane. She ran up to him and put her arm through his, and looked up at himwith a face of great penitence. "Dear Fritzi, " she said, "I'm sosorry. I've been making you anxious, haven't I? Forgive me--it was thefirst taste of liberty, and it got into my feet and set them offexploring, and then I lost myself. Have you been worrying?"

He was immensely agitated, and administered something very like ascolding, and he urged the extreme desirability of taking Annalisewith her in future wherever she went--("Oh nonsense, Fritzi, "interjected Priscilla, drawing away her arm)--and he declared in avoice that trembled that it was a most intolerable thought for himthat two strange men should have dared address her in the churchyard, that he would never forgive himself for having left her therealone--("Oh, Fritzi, how silly, " interjected Priscilla)--and he beggedher almost with tears to tell him exactly what she had said to them, for her Grand Ducal Highness must see that it was of the firstimportance they should both say the same things to people. 

Priscilla declared she had said nothing at all but what was quitediplomatic, in fact quite clever; indeed, she had been surprised atthe way ideas had seemed to flow. 

"So please, " she finished, "don't look at me with such lamentableeyes. "

"Ma'am, did you not tell them our name is Schultz?"

"But so it is. "

"It is not, ma'am. Our name is Neumann. "

Priscilla stared astonished. "Neumann?" she said. "Nonsense, Fritzi. Why should it be Neumann? We're Schultz. I told these people we were. It's all settled. "

"Settled, ma'am? I told the woman here as well as the estate agentthat you are my brother's child and that we are Neumann. "

Priscilla was aghast. Then she said severely, "It was your duty to askme first. What right have you to christen me?"

"I intended to discuss it during our walk to the village thisafternoon. I admit I forgot it. On the other hand I could not supposeyour Grand Ducal Highness, left for a moment unprotected, would informtwo strange gentlemen that our name was Schultz. "

"You should certainly have asked me first, " repeated Priscilla withknitted brows. "Why should I have to be Neumann?"

"I might inquire with equal reason why I should have to be Schultz, "retorted Fritzing. 

"But why Neumann?" persisted Priscilla, greatly upset. 

"Ma'am, why not?" said Fritzing, still more upset. Then he added, "Your Grand Ducal Highness might have known that at the agent's Iwould be obliged to give some name. "

"I didn't think any more than you did, " said Priscilla stopping infront of the gate as a sign he was to open it for her. He did, andthey walked through the garden and into the house in silence. Then shewent into the parlour and dropped into a horsehair armchair, andleaning her head against its prickliness she sighed a doleful sigh. 

"Shall I send Annalise to you, ma'am?" asked Fritzing, standing in thedoorway. 

"What can we do?" asked Priscilla, her eyes fixed on the tips of hershoes in earnest thought. "Come in, Fritzi, and shut the door, " sheadded. "You don't behave a bit like an uncle. " Then an idea struckher, and looking up at him with sudden gaiety she said, "Can't we havea hyphen?"

"A hyphen?"

"Yes, and be Neumann-Schultz?"

"Certainly we can, " said Fritzing, his face clearing; how muddled hemust be getting not to have thought of it himself! "I will cause cardsto be printed at once, and we will be Neumann-Schultz. Ma'am, yourwoman's wit--"

"Fritzi, you're deteriorating--you never flattered me at Kunitz. Letus have tea. I invite you to tea with me. If you'll order it, I'llpour it out for you and practice being a niece. "

So the evening was spent in harmony; a harmony clouded at intervals, it is true, first by Priscilla's disappointment about the cottage, then by a certain restiveness she showed before the more blatantinefficiencies of the Baker housekeeping, then by a marked and everrecurring incapacity to adapt herself to her new environment, andlastly and very heavily when Fritzing in the course of conversationlet drop the fact that he had said she was Maria-Theresa. This was avery black cloud and hung about for a long while; but it too passedaway ultimately in a compromise reached after much discussion thatEthel should be prefixed to Maria-Theresa; and before Priscilla wentto bed it had been arranged that Fritzing should go next morningdirectly after a very early breakfast to Lady Shuttleworth and notleave that lady's side and house till he had secured the cottage, andthe Princess for her part faithfully promised to remain within theBaker boundaries during his absence. 

VIII

Lady Shuttleworth then, busiest and most unsuspecting of women, waswhisking through her breakfast and her correspondence next morningwith her customary celerity and method, when a servant appeared andoffered her one of those leaves from Fritzing's note-book which weknow did duty as his cards. 

Tussie was sitting at the other end of the table very limp and sadafter a night of tiresome tossing that was neither wholly sleep norwholly wakefulness, and sheltered by various dishes with spirit-lampsburning beneath them worked gloomily at a sonnet inspired by the girlhe had met the day before while his mother thought he was eating hispatent food. The girl, it seemed, could not inspire much, for beyondthe fourth line his muse refused to go; and he was beginning to beunable to stop himself from an angry railing at the restrictions thesonnet form forces upon poets who love to be vague, which wouldimmediately have concentrated his mother's attention on himself andresulted in his having to read her what he had written--for shesturdily kept up the fiction of a lively interest in his poetictricklings--when the servant came in with Fritzing's leaf. 

"A gentleman wishes to see you on business, my lady, " said theservant. 

"Mr. Neumann-Schultz?" read out Lady Shuttleworth in an inquiringvoice. "Never heard of him. Where's he from?"

"Baker's Farm, my lady. "

At that magic name Tussie's head went up with a jerk. 

"Tell him to go to Mr. Dawson, " said Lady Shuttleworth. 

The servant disappeared. 

"Why do you send him away, mother?" asked Tussie. 

"Why, you know things must go through Dawson, " said Lady Shuttleworthpouncing on her letters again. "I'd be plagued to death if theydidn't. "

"But apparently this is the stranger within our gates. Isn't heGerman?"

"His name is. Dawson will be quite kind to him. "

"Dawson's rather a brute I fancy, when you're not looking. "

"Dearest, I always am looking. "

"He must be one of Pearce's lodgers. "

"Poor man, I'm sorry for him if he is. Of all the shiftless women--"

"The gentleman says, my lady, " said the servant reappearing withrather an awestruck face, "that he wishes to speak to you mostparticular. "

"James, did I not tell you to send him to Mr. Dawson?"

"I delivered the message, my lady. But the gentleman says he's seenMr. Dawson, and that he"--the footman coughed slightly--"he don't wantto see any more of him, my lady. "

Lady Shuttleworth put on her glasses and stared at the servant. "Uponmy word he seems to be very cool, " she said; and the servant, his gazefixed on a respectful point just above his mistress's head, reflectedon the extreme inapplicability of the adjective to anything so warm asthe gentleman at the door. 

"Shall I see him for you, mother?" volunteered Tussie briskly. 

"You?" said his mother surprised. 

"I'm rather a dab at German, you know. Perhaps he can't talk muchEnglish"--the footman started--"evidently he wasn't able to say muchto Dawson. Probably he wants you to protect him from the onslaughts ofold Pearce's cockroaches. Anyhow as he's a foreigner I think it wouldbe kinder to see him. "

Lady Shuttleworth was astonished. Was Tussie going to turn over a newleaf after all, now that he was coming of age, and interest himself inmore profitable things than verse-making?

"Dearest, " she said, quite touched, "he shall be seen if you think itkinder. I'll see him--you haven't done breakfast yet. Show him intothe library, James. " And she gathered up her letters and went out--shenever kept people waiting--and as she passed Tussie she laid her handtenderly for a moment on his shoulder. "If I find I can't understandhim I'll send for you, " she said. 

Tussie folded up his sonnet and put it in his pocket. Then he ate afew spoonfuls of the stuff warranted to give him pure blood, hugemuscles, and a vast intelligence; then he opened a newspaper andstared vacantly at its contents; then he went to the fire and warmedhis feet; then he strolled round the table aimlessly for a little; andthen, when half an hour had passed and his mother had not returned, hecould bear it no longer and marched straight into the library. 

"I think the cigarettes must be here, " said Tussie, going over to themantelpiece and throwing a look of eager interest at Fritzing. 

Fritzing rose and bowed ceremoniously. Lady Shuttleworth was sittingin a straight-backed chair, her elbows on its arms, the tips of herten fingers nicely fitted together. She looked very angry, and yetthere was a sparkle of something like amusement in her eyes. Havingbowed to Tussie Fritzing sat down again with the elaboration of onewho means to stay a long while. During his walk from the farm he hadmade up his mind to be of a most winning amiability and patience, blended with a determination that nothing should shake. At the door, it is true, he had been stirred to petulance by the foolish face andutterances of the footman James, but during the whole of the time hehad been alone with Lady Shuttleworth he had behaved, he considered, with the utmost restraint and tact. 

Tussie offered him a cigarette. 

"My dear Tussie, " said his mother quickly, "we will not keep Mr. Neumann-Schultz. I'm sure his time must be quite as valuable as mineis. "

"Oh madam, " said Fritzing with a vast politeness, settling himself yetmore firmly in his chair, "nothing of mine can possibly be of the samevalue as anything of yours. "

Lady Shuttleworth stared--she had stared a good deal during the lasthalfhour--then began to laugh, and got up. "If you see its value soclearly, " she said, "I'm sure you won't care to take up any more ofit. "

"Nay, madam, " said Fritzing, forced to get up too, "I am here, as Iexplained, in your own interests--or rather in those of your son, whoI hear is shortly to attain his majority. This young gentleman is, Itake it, your son?"

Tussie assented. 

"And therefore the owner of the cottages?"

"What cottages?" asked Tussie, eagerly. He was manifestly so violentlyinterested in Mr. Neumann-Schultz that his mother could only gaze athim in wonder. He actually seemed to hang on that odd person's lips. 

"My dear Tussie, Mr. Neumann-Schultz has been trying to persuade me tosell him the pair of cottages up by the church, and I have been tryingto persuade him to believe me when I tell him I won't. "

"But why won't you, mother?" asked Tussie. 

Lady Shuttleworth stared at him in astonishment. "Why won't I? Do Iever sell cottages?"

"Your esteemed parent's reasons for refusing, " said Fritzing, "reasonswhich she has given me with a brevity altogether unusual in one of hersex and which I cannot sufficiently commend, do more credit, as was tobe expected in a lady, to her heart than to her head. I have offeredto build two new houses for the disturbed inhabitants of these. I haveoffered to give her any price--any price at all, within the limits ofreason. Your interests, young gentleman, are what will suffer if thisbusiness is not concluded between us. "

"Do you want them for yourself?" asked Tussie. 

"Yes, sir, for myself and for my niece. "

"Mother, why do you refuse to do a little business?"

"Tussie, are we so poor?"

"As far as I'm concerned, " said Tussie airily to Fritzing, "you mayhave the things and welcome. "

"Tussie?"

"But they are not worth more than about fifty pounds apiece, and Iadvise you not to give more for them than they're worth. Aren't theyvery small, though? Isn't there any other place here you'd ratherhave?"

"Tussie?"

"Do you mind telling me why you want them?"

"Young man, to live in them. "

"And where are the people to live who are in them now?" asked LadyShuttleworth, greatly incensed. 

"Madam, I promised you to build. "

"Oh nonsense. I won't have new red-brick horrors about the place. There's that nice good old Mrs. Shaw in one, so clean and tidy always, and the shoemaker, a very good man except for his enormous family, inthe other. I will not turn them out. "

"Put 'em in the empty lodge at the north gate, " suggested Tussie. "They'd be delighted. "

Lady Shuttleworth turned angrily on Fritzing--she was indeed greatlyirritated by Tussie's unaccountable behaviour. "Why don't you buildfor yourself?" she asked. 

"My niece has set her heart on these cottages in such a manner that Iactually fear the consequences to her health if she does not getthem. "

"Now, mother, you really can't make Mr. Neumann-Schultz's niece ill. "

"Dearest boy, have you suddenly lost your senses?"

"Not unless it's losing them to be ready to do a kindness. "

"Well said, well said, young man, " said Fritzing approvingly. 

"Tussie, have I ever shirked doing a kindness?" asked LadyShuttleworth, touched on her tenderest point. 

"Never. And that's why I can't let you begin now, " said Tussie, smiling at her. 

"Well said, well said, young man, " approved Fritzing. "The woman up toa certain age should lead the youth, and he should in all thingsfollow her counsels with respect and obedience. But she for her partshould know at what moment to lay down her authority, and begin, witha fitting modesty, to follow him whom she has hitherto led. "

"Is that what your niece does?" asked Lady Shuttleworth quickly. 

"Madam?"

"Is she following you into these cottages, or are you following her?"

"You must pardon me, madam, if I decline to discuss my niece. "

"Do have a cigarette, " said Tussie, delighted. 

"I never smoke, young man. "

"Something to drink, then?"

"I never drink, young man. "

"If I decide to let you have these cottages--_if_ I do, " said LadyShuttleworth, divided between astonishment at everything aboutFritzing and blankest amazement at her son's behaviour, "you willunderstand that I only do it because my son seems to wish it. "

"Madam, provided I get the cottages I will understand anything youlike. "

"First that. Then I'd want some information about yourself. Icouldn't let a stranger come and live in the very middle of my son'sestate unless I knew all about him. "

"Why, mother--" began Tussie. 

"Is not the willingness to give you your own price sufficient?"inquired Fritzing anxiously. 

"Not in the least sufficient, " snapped Lady Shuttleworth. 

"What do you wish to know, madam?" said Fritzing stiffly. 

"I assure you a great deal. "

"Come, mother, " said Tussie, to whom this was painful, for was not theman, apart from his strange clothes and speeches, of a distinctlyrefined and intellectual appearance? And even if he wasn't, was he notstill the uncle of that divine niece?--"these are things for Dawson toarrange. "

Fritzing started at the hated name, and began to frown dreadfully. Hisfrown was always very impressive because of his bushy eyebrows anddeep-set eyes. "Dawson, as you call him, " he said, "and he certainlyhas no claim to any prefix of politeness, is not a person with whom Iwill consent to arrange anything. Dawson is the most offensivecreature who ever walked this earth clad in the outer semblance of oneof God's creatures. "

This was too much for Lady Shuttleworth. "Really--" she said, stretching out her hand to the bell. 

"Didn't I tell you so, mother?" cried Tussie triumphantly; and thatTussie, her own dear boy, should in all things second this madmancompletely overwhelmed her. "I knew he was a brute behind your back. Let's sack him. "

"James, show this gentleman out. "

"Pardon me, madam, we have not yet arranged--"

"Oh, " interrupted Tussie, "the business part can be arranged betweenyou and me without bothering my mother. I'll come part of the way withyou and we'll talk it over. You're absolutely right about Dawson. He'san outrageous mixture of bully and brute. " And he hurried into thehall to fetch his cap, humming _O dear unknown One with the sternsweet face_, which was the first line of his sonnet in praise ofPriscilla, to a cheerful little tune of his own. 

"Tussie, it's so damp, " cried his anxious mother after him--"you'renot really going out in this nasty Scotch mist? Stay in, and I'llleave you to settle anything you like. "

"Oh, it's a jolly morning for a walk, " called back Tussie gaily, searching about for his cap--"_And eyes all beautiful with strenuousthought_--Come on, sir. "

But Fritzing would not skimp any part of his farewell ceremonies. 

"Permit me, madam, " he said, deeply bowing, "to thank you for yourextremely kind reception. "

"Kind?" echoed Lady Shuttleworth, unable to stop herself fromsmiling. 

"Yes, madam, kind, and before all things patient. "

"Yes, I do think I've been rather patient, " agreed Lady Shuttleworth, smiling again. 

"And let me, " proceeded Fritzing, "join to my thanks mycongratulations on your possession of so unusually amiable andpromising a son. "

"Come on, sir--you'll make me vain, " said Tussie, in thedoorway--"'_Hair like a web divine wherein is caught_, '"--he hummed, getting more and more shrill and happy. 

Lady Shuttleworth put out her hand impulsively. Fritzing took it, bentover it, and kissed it with much respect. 

"A most unusually promising young man, " he repeated; "and, madam, Ican tell you it is not my habit to say a thing I do not mean. "

"'_The last reflection of God's daily grace_'"--chirped Tussie, looking on much amused. 

"No, that I'm quite certain you don't, " said Lady Shuttleworth withconviction. 

"Don't say too many nice things about me, " advised Tussie. "My motherwill swallow positively anything. "

But nevertheless he was delighted; for here were his mother and theuncle--the valuable and highly to be cherished uncle--looking aspleased as possible with each other, and apparently in the fairest wayto becoming fast friends. 

IX

The cheerful goddess who had brought Fritzing and his Princess safelyover from Kunitz was certainly standing by them well. She it was whohad driven Priscilla up on to the heath and into the acquaintance ofAugustus Shuttleworth, without whom a cottage in Symford would havebeen for ever unattainable. She it was who had sent the Morrisons, father and son, to drive Priscilla from the churchyard before Fritzinghad joined her, without which driving she would never have metAugustus. She it was who had used the trifling circumstance of amislaid sermon-book to take the vicar and Robin into the church at anunaccustomed time, without which sermon-book they would never have metPriscilla in the churchyard and driven her out of it. Thus are all ourdoings ruled by Chance; and it is a pleasant pastime for an idle hourto trace back big events to their original and sometimes absurdbeginnings. For myself I know that the larger lines of my life werelaid down once for all by--but what has this to do with Priscilla?Thus, I say, are all our doings ruled by Chance, who loves to usesmall means for the working of great wonders. And as for the gaygoddess's ugly sister, the lady of the shifty eye and lowering browcalled variously Misfortune and Ill Luck, she uses the same toolsexactly in her hammering out of lives, meanly taking little folliesand little weaknesses, so little and so amiable at first as hardly tobe distinguished from little virtues, and with them building up amighty mass that shall at last come down and crush our souls. Of thecrushing of souls, however, my story does not yet treat, and I willnot linger round subjects so awful. We who are nestling for the momentlike Priscilla beneath the warm wing of Good Fortune can dare to makewhat the children call a face at her grey sister as she limps scowlingpast. Shall we not too one day in our turn feel her claws? Let us whenwe do at least not wince; and he who feeling them can still make aface and laugh, shall be as the prince of the fairy tales, transforming the sour hag by his courage into a bright reward, striking his very griefs into a shining shower of blessing. 

From this brief excursion into the realm of barren musings, whither Ilove above all things to wander and whence I have continually to fetchmyself back again by force, I will return to the story. 

At Tussie's suggestion when the business part of their talk wasover--and it took exactly five minutes for Tussie to sell and Fritzingto buy the cottages, five minutes of the frothiest business talk evertalked, so profound was the ignorance of both parties as to what mostpeople demand of cottages--Fritzing drove to Minehead in thepostmistress's son's two-wheeled cart in order to purchase suitablefurniture and bring back persons who would paper and paint. Mineheadlies about twenty miles to the north of Symford, so Fritzing could notbe back before evening. By the time he was back, promised Tussie, theshoemaker and Mrs. Shaw should be cleared out and put into a place somuch better according to their views that they would probably make itvocal with their praises. 

Fritzing quite loved Tussie. Here was a young man full of the noblestspirit of helpfulness, and who had besides the invaluable gift ofseeing no difficulties anywhere. Even Fritzing, airy optimist, sawmore than Tussie, and whenever he expressed a doubt it was at oncebrushed aside by the cheerfullest "Oh, that'll be all right. " He wasthe most practical, businesslike, unaffected, energetic young man, thought Fritzing, that he had even seen. Tussie was surprised himselfat his own briskness, and putting the wonderful girl on the heath asmuch as possible out of his thoughts, told himself that it was thepatent food beginning at last to keep its promises. 

He took Fritzing to the post-office and ordered the trap for him, cautioned the postmistress's son, who was going to drive, againstgoing too fast down the many hills, for the bare idea of the pricelessuncle being brought back in bits or in any state but absolutely wholeand happy turned him cold, told Fritzing which shops to go to andwhere to lunch, begged him to be careful what he ate, since hotelluncheons were good for neither body nor soul, ordered rugs and amackintosh covering to be put in, and behaved generally with theforethought of a mother. "I'd go with you myself, " he said, --and thepostmistress, listening with both her ears, recognized that theBaker's Farm lodgers were no longer persons to be criticised--"but Ican be of more use to you here. I must see Dawson about clearing outthe cottages. Of course it is very important you shouldn't stay amoment longer than can be helped in uncomfortable lodgings. "

Here was a young man! Sensible, practical, overflowing with kindness. Fritzing had not met any one he esteemed so much for years. They wentdown the village street together, for Tussie was bound for Mr. Dawsonwho was to be set to work at once, and Fritzing for the farm whitherthe trap was to follow him as soon as ready, and all Symford, curtseying to Tussie, recognized, as the postmistress had recognized, that Fritzing was now raised far above their questionings, seatedfirmly on the Shuttleworth rock. 

They parted at Mr. Dawson's gate, Mrs. Dawson mildly watching theirwarmth over a wire blind. "When we are settled, young man, " saidFritzing, after eloquent words of thanks and appreciation, "you mustcome in the evenings, and together we will roam across the splendidfields of English literature. "

"Oh _thanks_" exclaimed Tussie, flushing with pleasure. He longed toask if the divine niece would roam too, but even if she did not, toroam at all would be a delight, and he would besides be doing it underthe very roof that sheltered that bright and beautiful head. "Oh_thanks_, " cried Tussie, then, flushing. 

His extreme joy surprised Fritzing. "Are you so great a friend ofliterature?" he inquired. 

"I believe, " said Tussie, "that without it I'd have drowned myselflong ago. And as for the poets--"

He stopped. No one knew what poetry had been to him in his sicklyexistence--the one supreme interest, the one thing he really cared tolive for. 

Fritzing now loved him with all his heart. "_Ach Gott, ja_, " heejaculated, clapping him on the shoulder, "the poets--_ja, ja_--'Blessings be with them and eternal praise, ' what? Young man, " headded enthusiastically, "I could wish that you had been my son. Icould indeed. " And as he said it Robin Morrison coming down the streetand seeing the two together and the expression on Tussie's faceinstantly knew that Tussie had met the niece. 

"Hullo, Tuss, " he called across, hurrying past, for it would ratherupset his umbrella plan to be stopped and have to talk to the manNeumann thus prematurely. But Tussie neither saw nor heard him, and"By Jove, hasn't he just seen the niece though, " said Robin tohimself, his eyes dancing as he strode nimbly along on long andbird-like legs. The conviction seized him that when he and hisumbrella should descend upon Baker's that afternoon Tussie wouldeither be there already or would come in immediately afterwards. "Whowould have thought old Fuss would be so enterprising?" he wondered, thinking of the extreme cordiality of Fritzing's face. "He's giventhem those cottages, I'll swear. "

So Fritzing went to Minehead. I will not follow his painful footstepsas they ranged about that dreary place, nor will I dwell upon hispurchases, which resolved themselves at last, after an infinite andsoul-killing amount of walking and bewilderment, into a sofa, arevolving bookstand, and two beds. He forgot a bed for Annalisebecause he forgot Annalise; and he didn't buy things like sheetsbecause he forgot that beds want them. On the other hand he spentquite two hours in a delightful second-hand bookshop on his way to theplace where you buy crockery, and then forgot the crockery. He did, reminded and directed by Mr. Vickerton, the postmistress's son, get toa paperhanger's and order him and his men to come out in shoals toSymford the next morning at daybreak, making the paperhanger vow, whohad never seen them, that the cottages should be done by nightfall. Then, happening to come to the seashore, he stood for a momentrefreshing his nostrils with saltness, for he was desperately wornout, and what he did after that heaven knows. Anyhow young Vickertonfound him hours afterwards walking up and down the shingle in thedark, waving his arms about and crying--

 "O, qui me gelidis convallibus Haemi Sistat et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra!"

"Talking German out loud to himself, " said young Vickerton to hismother that night; and it is possible that he had been doing it allthe time. 

And while he was doing these things Priscilla was having calls paidher. Nothing could exceed her astonishment when about four o'clock, asshe was sitting deep in thought and bored on the arm of a horsehairchair, Mrs. Pearce opened the door and without the least warning letin Mrs. Morrison. Priscilla had promised Fritzing for that one day tostay quietly at the farm, and for the last two hours, finding the farmof an intolerable dulness, she had been engaged in reflections of anextremely complex nature on subjects such as Duty, Will, andPersonality. Her morning in the Baker fields and by the banks of thatpart of the Sym that meanders through them had tuned her mind tomeditation. The food at one o'clock and the manner of its bringing inby Annalise--Priscilla had relieved Mrs. Pearce of that office--tunedit still more. The blended slipperiness and prickliness of all thethings she tried to sit on helped surprisingly; and if I knew how farit is allowable to write of linen I could explain much of her state ofmind by a description of the garments in which she was clothed thatday. They were new garments taken straight from the Gerstein box. They were not even linen, --how could they be for Fritzing's threehundred marks? And their newness had not yet been exposed to thesoftening influence of any wash-tub. Straight did they come, in alltheir crackling stiffness, out of the shop and on to the Princess. Annalise had been supposed to wash them or cause them to be washed theday before, but Annalise had been far too busy crying to do anythingof the sort; and by four o'clock Priscilla was goaded by them into acondition of mind so unworthy that she was thinking quite hard aboutthe Kunitz fine linen and other flesh-pots and actually finding therecollection sweet. It was a place, Priscilla mused, where her bodyhad been exquisitely cared for. Those delicate meals, served inspotlessness, surely they had been rather of the nature of poems?Those web-like garments, soft as a kiss, how beautiful they had beento touch and wear. True her soul had starved; yes, it had cruellystarved. But was it then--she started at her own thought--was it thenbeing fed at Baker's?

And into the middle of this question, a tremendous one to be asked onthe very threshold of the new life, walked Mrs. Morrison. 

"How d'y do, " said Mrs. Morrison. "The vicar asked me to come and seeyou. I hope the Pearces make you comfortable. "

"Well I never, " thought Mrs. Pearce, lingering as was her custom onthe door-mat, and shaking her head in sorrow rather than in anger. 

Priscilla sat for a moment staring at her visitor. 

"You are Miss Schultz, are you not?" asked Mrs. Morrison rathernervously. 

Priscilla said she was, --her name, that is, was Neumann-Schultz--andgot up. She had the vaguest notion as to how Miss Schultz would behaveunder these trying circumstances, but imagined she would begin bygetting up. So she got up, and the sofa being a low one and hermovements leisurely, Mrs. Morrison told her husband afterwards thereseemed to be no end to the girl. The girl certainly was long, and whenat last unfolded and quite straightened out she towered over Mrs. Morrison, who looked up uneasily at the grave young face. Why, Mrs. Morrison asked herself, didn't the girl smile? It was the duty of aMiss Schultz called upon by the vicar's wife to smile; so profound agravity on such an occasion was surely almost rude. Priscilla offeredher hand and hoped it was all right to do so, but still she did notsmile. "Are you Mrs. Morrison?" she asked. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Morrison with an immense reserve in her voice. 

Then Priscilla suggested she should sit down. Mrs. Morrison wasalready doing it; and Priscilla sank on to her sofa again and wonderedwhat she had better say next. She wondered so much that she becamelost in mazes of wonder, and there was so long a silence that Mrs. Pearce outside the door deplored an inconsiderateness that could keepher there for nothing. 

"I didn't know you had a double name, " said Mrs. Morrison, staring atPriscilla and trying to decide whether this was not a case for theapplication of leaflets and instant departure. The girl was reallyquite offensively pretty. She herself had been pretty--she thankedheaven that she still was so--but never, never pretty--she thankedheaven again--in this glaringly conspicuous fashion. 

"My name is Ethel Maria-Theresa Neumann-Schultz, " said Priscilla, veryclearly and slowly; and though she was, as we know, absolutelyimpervious to the steadiest staring, she did wonder whether this goodlady could have seen her photograph anywhere in some paper, her starewas so very round and bright and piercing. 

"What a long name, " said Mrs. Morrison. 

"Yes, " said Priscilla; and as another silence seemed imminent sheadded, "I have two hyphens. "

"Two what?" said Mrs. Morrison, startled; and so full was her head ofdoubt and distrust that for one dreadful moment she thought the girlhad said two husbands. "Oh, hyphens. Yes. Germans have them a gooddeal, I believe. "

"That sounds as if we were talking about diseases, " said Priscilla, afaint smile dawning far away somewhere in the depths of her eyes. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Morrison, fidgeting. 

Odd that Robin should have said nothing about the girl's face. Anyhowshe should be kept off Netta. Better keep her off the parish-roomTuesdays as well. What in the world was she doing in Symford? She wasquite the sort of girl to turn the heads of silly boys. And sounfortunate, just as Augustus Shuttleworth had taken to giving Nettalittle volumes of Browning. 

"Is your uncle out?" she asked, some of the sharpness of her thoughtsgetting into her voice. 

"He's gone to Minehead, to see about things for my cottage. "

"Your cottage? Have you got Mrs. Shaw's, then?"

"Yes. She is being moved out to-day. "

"Dear me, " said Mrs. Morrison, greatly struck. 

"Is it surprising?"

"Most. So unlike Lady Shuttleworth. "

"She has been very kind. "

"Do you know her?"

"No; but my uncle was there this morning. "

"And managed to persuade her?"

"He is very eloquent, " said Priscilla, with a demure downward sweep ofher eyelashes. 

"Just a little more, " thought Mrs. Morrison, watching their duskygolden curve, "and the girl would have had scarlet hair andwhite-eyebrows and masses of freckles and been frightful. " And shesighed an impatient sigh, which, if translated into verse, wouldundoubtedly have come out--

 "Oh the little more and how much it is, And the little less and what worlds away!"

"And poor old Mrs. Shaw--how does she like being turned out?"

"I believe she is being put into something that will seem to her apalace. "

"Dear me, your uncle must really be very eloquent. "

"I assure you that he is, " said Priscilla earnestly. 

There was a short pause, during which Mrs. Morrison staring straightinto those unfathomable pools, Priscilla's eyes, was very angry withthem for being so evidently lovely. "You are very young, " she said, "so you will not mind my questions--"

"Don't the young mind questions?" asked Priscilla, for a momentsupposing it to be a characteristic of the young of England. 

"Not, surely, from experienced and--and married ladies, " said Mrs. Morrison tartly. 

"Please go on then. "

"Oh, I haven't anything particular to go on about, " said Mrs. Morrison, offended. "I assure you curiosity is not one of my faults. "

"No?" said Priscilla, whose attention had begun to wander. 

"Being human I have no doubt many failings, but I'm thankful to saycuriosity isn't one of them. "

"My uncle says that's just the difference between men and women. Hesays women might achieve just as much as men if only they were curiousabout things. But they're not. A man will ask a thousand questions, and never rest till he's found out as much as he can about anything hesees, and a woman is content hardly even to see it. "

"I hope your uncle is a Churchman, " was Mrs. Morrison's unexpectedreply. 

Priscilla's mind could not leap like this, and she hesitated a momentand smiled. ("It's the first time she's looked pleasant, " thought Mrs. Morrison, "and now it's in the wrong place. ")

"He was born, of course, in the Lutheran faith, " said Priscilla. 

"Oh, a horrid faith. Excuse me, but it really is. I hope he isn'tgoing to upset Symford?"

"Upset Symford?"

"New people holding wrong tenets coming to such a small place dosometimes, you know, and you say he is eloquent. And we are such asimple and God-fearing little community. A few years ago we had agreat bother with a Dissenting family that came here. The cottagersquite lost their heads. "

"I think I can promise that my uncle will not try to convert anybody, "said Priscilla. 

"Of course you mean pervert. It would be a pity if he did. It wouldn'tlast, but it would give us a lot of trouble. We are very goodChurchmen here. The vicar, and my son too when he's at home, setbeautiful examples. My son is going into the Church himself. It hasbeen his dearest wish from a child. He thinks of nothing else--ofnothing else at all, " she repeated, fixing her eyes on Priscilla witha look of defiance. 

"Really?" said Priscilla, very willing to believe it. 

"I assure you it's wonderful how absorbed he is in his studies for it. He reads Church history every spare moment, and he's got it socompletely on his mind that I've noticed even when he whistles it's'The Church's One Foundation. '"

"What is that?" inquired Priscilla. 

"Mr. Robin Morrison, " announced Mrs. Pearce. 

The sitting-room at Baker's was a small, straightforward place, withno screens, no big furniture, no plants in pots, nothing that couldfor a moment conceal the persons already in it from the persons comingin, and Robin entering jauntily with the umbrella under his arm fellstraight as it were into his mother's angry gaze. "Hullo mater, youhere?" he exclaimed genially, his face broadening with apparentsatisfaction. 

"Yes, Robin, I am here, " she said, drawing herself up. 

"How do you do, Miss Schultz. I seem to have got shown into the wrongroom. It's a Mr. Neumann I've come to see; doesn't he live here?"

Priscilla looked at him from her sofa seat and wondered what she haddone that she should be scourged in this manner by Morrisons. 

"You know my son, I believe?" said Mrs. Morrison in the stiffestvoice; for the girl's face showed neither recognition nor pleasure, and though she would have been angry if she had looked unduly pleasedshe was still angrier that she should look indifferent. 

"Yes. I met him yesterday. Did you want my uncle? His name is Neumann. Neumann-Schultz. He's out. "

"I only wanted to give him this umbrella, " said Robin, with a swiftglance at his mother as he drew it from under his arm. Would sherecognize it? He had chosen one of the most ancient; the one mostappropriate, as he thought, to the general appearance of the manNeumann. 

"What umbrella is that, Robin?" asked his mother suspiciously. Really, it was more than odd that Robin, whom she had left immersed in study, should have got into Baker's Farm so quickly. Could he have beenexpected? And had Providence, in its care for the righteous cause ofmothers, brought her here just in time to save him from this girl'stoils? The girl's indifference could not be real; and if it was not, her good acting only betrayed the depths of her experience andbalefulness. "What umbrella is that?" asked Mrs. Morrison. 

"It's his, " said Robin, throwing his head back and looking at hismother as he laid it with elaborate care on the table. 

"My uncle's?" said Priscilla. "Had he lost it? Oh thank you--he wouldhave been dreadfully unhappy. Sit down. " And she indicated with herhead the chair she would allow him to sit on. 

"The way she tells us to sit down!" thought Mrs. Morrison indignantly. "As though she were a queen. " Aloud she said, "You could have sentJoyce round with it"--Joyce being that gardener whose baby'sperambulator was wheeled by another Ethel--"and need not haveinterrupted your work. "

"So I could, " said Robin, as though much struck by the suggestion. "But it was a pleasure, " he added to Priscilla, "to be able to returnit myself. It's a frightful bore losing one's umbrella--especially ifit's an old friend. "

"Uncle Fritzi's looks as if it were a very old friend, " saidPriscilla, smiling at it. 

Mrs. Morrison glanced at it too, and then glanced again. When sheglanced a third time and her glance turned into a look that lingeredRobin jumped up and inquired if he should not put it in the passage. "It's in the way here, " he explained; though in whose way it could bewas not apparent, the table being perfectly empty. 

Priscilla made no objection, and he at once removed it beyond thereach of his mother's eye, propping it up in a dark corner of thepassage and telling Mrs. Pearce, whom he found there that it was Mr. Neumann's umbrella. 

"No it ain't, " said Mrs. Pearce. 

"Yes it is, " said Robin. 

"No it ain't. He's took his to Minehead, " said Mrs. Pearce. 

"It is, and he has not, " said Robin. 

"I see him take it, " said Mrs. Pearce. 

"You did not, " said Robin. 

This would have been the moment, Mrs. Morrison felt, for her to go andto carry off Robin with her, but she was held in her seat by thecertainty that Robin would not let himself be carried off; and soonerthan say good-bye and then find he was staying on alone she would sitthere all night. Thus do mothers sacrifice themselves for theirchildren, thought Mrs. Morrison, for their all too frequentlythankless children. But though she would do it to any extent in orderto guard her boy she need not, she said to herself, be pleasantbesides, --she need not, so to speak, be the primroses on his path ofdalliance. Accordingly she behaved as little like a primrose aspossible, sitting in stony silence while he skirmished in the passagewith Mrs. Pearce, and the instant he came in again asked him where hehad found the umbrella. 

"I found it--not far from the church, " said Robin, desiring to betruthful as long as he could. "But mater, bother the umbrella. Itisn't so very noble to bring a man back his own. Did you get yourcottages?" he asked, turning quickly to Priscilla. 

"Robin, are you sure it is his own?" said his mother. 

"My dear mother, I'm never sure of anything. Nor are you. Nor is MissSchultz. Nor is anybody who is really intelligent. But I found thething, and Mr. Neumann--"

"The name to-day is Neumann-Schultz, " said Mrs. Morrison, in a voiceheavy with implications. 

"Mr. Neumann-Schultz, then, had been that way just before, and so Ifelt somehow it must be his. "

"Your Uncle Cox had one just like it when he stayed with us lasttime, " remarked Mrs. Morrison. 

"Had he? I say, mater, what an eye you must have for an umbrella. Thatmust be five years ago. "

"Oh, he left it behind, and I see it in the stand every time I gothrough the hall. "

"No! Do you?" said Robin, who was hurled by this statement into thecorner where his wits ended and where he probably would have stayedignominiously, for Miss Schultz seemed hardly to be listening andreally almost looked--he couldn't believe it, no girl had ever done itin his presence yet, but she did undoubtedly almost look--bored, ifMrs. Pearce had not flung open the door, and holding the torn portionsof her apron bunched together in her hands, nervously announced LadyShuttleworth. 

"Oh, " thought Priscilla, "what a day I'm having. " But she got up andwas gracious, for Fritzing had praised this lady as kind andsensible; and the moment Lady Shuttleworth set her eyes on her themystery of her son's behaviour flashed into clearness. "Tussie's seenher!" she exclaimed inwardly; instantly adding "Upon my word I can'tblame the boy. "

"My dear, " she said, holding Priscilla's hand, "I've come to makefriends with you. See what a wise old woman I am. Frankly, I didn'twant you in those cottages, but now that my son has sold them I loseno time in making friends. Isn't that true wisdom?"

"It's true niceness, " said Priscilla, smiling down at the little oldlady whose eyes were twinkling all over her. "I don't think you'llfind us in any way a nuisance. All we want is to be quiet. "

Mrs. Morrison sniffed. 

"Do you really?" said Lady Shuttleworth. "Then we shall get oncapitally. It's what I like best myself. And you've come too, " shewent on, turning to Mrs. Morrison, "to make friends with your newparishioner? Why, Robin, and you too?"

"Oh, I'm only accidental, " said Robin quickly. "Only a restorer oflost property. And I'm just going, " he added, beginning to make hastyadieux; for Lady Shuttleworth invariably produced a conviction in himthat his clothes didn't fit and wanted brushing badly, and no youngman so attentive to his appearance as Robin could be expected to enjoythat. He fled therefore, feeling that even Miss Schultz's lovelinesswould not make up for Lady Shuttleworth's eyes; and in the passage, from whence Mrs. Pearce had retreated, removing herself as far asmight be from the awful lady to whom her father-in-law owed rent andwho saw every hole, Robin pounced on his Uncle Cox's umbrella, tuckedis once more beneath his arm, and bore it swiftly back to the standwhere it had spent five peaceful years. "Really old women are ratherterrible things, " he thought as he dropped it in again. "I wonder whatthey're here for. "

"Ah, it's there, I see, " remarked his mother that night as she passedthrough the hall on her way to dinner. 

"What is?" inquired Robin who was just behind her. 

"Your Uncle Cox's umbrella. "

"Dear mater, why this extreme interest in my Uncle Cox's umbrella?"

"I'm glad to see it back again, that's all. One gets so used tothings. "

Lady Shuttleworth and his mother--I shudder to think that it ispossible Robin included his mother in the reflection about old women, but on the other hand one never can tell--had stayed on at the farmfor another twenty minutes after he left. They would have stayedlonger, for Lady Shuttleworth was more interested in Priscilla thanshe had ever been in any girl before, and Mrs. Morrison, who saw thisinterest and heard the kind speeches, had changed altogether from iceto amiability, crushing her leaflets in her hand and more than onceexpressing hopes that Miss Neumann-Schultz would soon come up to teaand learn to know and like Netta--I repeat, they would have stayedmuch longer, but that an extremely odd thing happened. 

Priscilla had been charming; chatting with what seemed absolutefrankness about her future life in the cottages, answering littlequestionings of Lady Shuttleworth's with a discretion and plausibilitythat would have warmed Fritzing's anxious heart, dwelling most, forhere the ground was safest, on her uncle, his work, his gifts andcharacter, and Lady Shuttleworth, completely fascinated, had offeredher help of every sort, help in the arranging of her little home, inthe planting of its garden, even in the building of those bathroomsabout which Tussie had been told by Mr. Dawson. She thought the desirefor many bathrooms entirely praiseworthy, and only a sign of lunacy inpersons of small means. Fritzing had assured Tussie that he had moneyenough for the bathrooms; and if his poetic niece liked everybodyabout her to be nicely washed was not that a taste to be applauded?Perhaps Lady Shuttleworth expatiated on plans and probablebuilding-costs longer than Priscilla was able to be interested;perhaps she was over-explanatory of practical details; anyhowPriscilla's attention began to wander, and she gradually became verytired of her callers. She answered in monosyllables, and her smilegrew vague. Then suddenly, at the first full stop Lady Shuttleworthreached in a sentence about sanitation--the entire paragraph was neverfinished--she got up with her usual deliberate grace, and held out herhand. 

"It has been very kind of you to come and see me, " she said to theastounded lady, with a little gracious smile. "I hope you will bothcome again another time. "

For an instant Lady Shuttleworth thought she was mad. Then to her ownamazement she found her body rising obediently and letting its hand betaken. 

Mrs. Morrison did the same. Both had their hands slightly pressed, both were smiled upon, and both went out at once and speechless. Priscilla stood calmly while they walked to the door, with the littlesmile fixed on her face. 

"Is it possible we've been insulted?" burst out Mrs. Morrison whenthey got outside. 

"I don't know, " said Lady Shuttleworth, who looked extremelythoughtful. 

"Do you think it can possibly be the barbarous German custom?"

"I don't know, " said Lady Shuttleworth again. 

And all the way to the vicarage, whither she drove Mrs. Morrison, shewas very silent, and no exclamations and conjectures of that indignantlady's could get a word out of her. 

X

Kunitz meanwhile was keeping strangely quiet. Not a breath, not awhisper, had reached the newspapers from that afflicted little town ofthe dreadful thing that had happened to it. It will be remembered thatthe Princess ran away on a Monday, arrived at Baker's in the smallhours of Wednesday morning, and had now spent both Wednesday andThursday in Symford. There had, then, been ample time for Europe toreceive in its startled ears the news of her flight; yet Europe, judging from its silence, knew nothing at all about it. In Minehead onthe Thursday evening Fritzing bought papers, no longer it is true withthe frenzy he had displayed at Dover when every moment seemed packedwith peril, but still with eagerness; and not a paper mentionedKunitz. On the Saturday he did find the laconic information in theLondon paper he had ordered to be sent him every day that the GrandDuke of Lothen-Kunitz who was shooting in East Prussia had been joinedthere by that Prince--I will not reveal his august name--who had sobadly wanted to marry Priscilla. And on the Sunday--it was of coursethe paper published in London on Saturday--he read that the PrincessPriscilla of Lothen-Kunitz, the second and only unmarried daughter ofthe Grand Duke, was confined to her bed by a sharp attack ofinfluenza. After that there was utter silence. Fritzing showedPriscilla the paragraph about her influenza, and she was at first verymerry over it. The ease with which a princess can shake off herfetters the moment she seriously tries to surprised her, and amusedher too, for a little. It surprised Fritzing, but without amusing him, for he was a man who was never amused. Indeed, I am unable to recallany single occasion on which I saw him smile. Other emotions shook himvigorously as we know, but laughter never visited him with itspleasant ticklings under the ribs; it slunk away abashed before a taskso awful, and left him at his happiest to a mood of mild contentment. "Your Royal Parent, " he remarked to Priscilla, "has chosen that whichis ever the better part of valour, and is hushing the incident up. "

"He never loved me, " said Priscilla, wistfully. On thinking it overshe was not quite sure that she liked being allowed to run away soeasily. Did nobody care, then, what became of her? Was she ofpositively no value at all? Running away is all very well, but yourpride demands that those runned from shall at least show some sign ofnot liking it, make some effort, however humble, to fetch you back. Ifthey do not, if they remain perfectly quiescent and resigned, not evensending forth a wail that shall be audible, you are naturallyextremely crushed. "My father, " said Priscilla bitterly, "doesn'tcare a bit. He'll give out I'm dangerously ill, and then you'll see, Fritzi--I shall either die, or be sent away for an interminableyachting cruise with the Countess. And so dust will be thrown inpeople's eyes. My father is very good at that, and the Countess is aperfect genius. You'll see. "

But Fritzing never saw, for there was no more mention at all either ofKunitz or of influenza. And just then he was so much taken up by hisefforts to get into the cottages as quickly as possible that after apassing feeling of thankfulness that the Grand Duke should be of sucha convenient indifference to his daughter's fate it dropped from hismind in the easy fashion in which matters of importance always diddrop from it. What was the use, briefly reflected this philosopher, ofworrying about what they were or were not thinking at Kunitz? Therewould be time enough for that when they actually began to dosomething. He felt very safe from Kunitz in the folds of the Somersethills, and as the days passed calmly by he felt still safer. Butthough no dangers seemed to threaten from without there were certaindangers within that made it most desirable for them to get away fromBaker's and into their own little home without a moment's unnecessarydelay. He could not always be watching his tongue, and he found forinstance that it positively refused to call the Princess Ethel. It hadan almost equal objection to addressing her as niece; and it had amost fatal habit of slipping out Grand Ducal Highnesses. True, atfirst they mostly talked German together, but the tendency to talkEnglish grew more marked every day; it was in the air they breathed, and they both could talk it so fatally well. Up at the cottages amongthe workmen, or when they were joined by Mr. Dawson, grown zealous tohelp, or by either of the young men Robin and Tussie, who seemedconstantly to be passing, the danger too was great. Fritzing was soconscious of it that he used to break out into perspirations wheneverPriscilla was with him in public, and his very perspirations wereconspicuous. The strain made his manner oddly nervous when speaking toor of his niece, and he became the subject of much conjecture to theobservant Robin. Robin thought that in spite of her caressing wayswith her uncle the girl must be privately a dreadful tyrant. It seemeddifficult to believe, but Robin prided himself on being ready tobelieve anything at a moment's notice, especially if it was the worst, and he called it having an open mind. The girl was obviously the mostspoilt of girls. No one could help seeing that. Her least wish seemedto be for the uncle a command that was not even to be talked about. Yet the uncle was never openly affectionate to her. It almost seemedas though she must have some secret hold over him, be in possession, perhaps, of some fact connected with a guilty past. But then this girland guilty pasts! Why, from the look in her eyes she could never evenhave heard of such things. Robin thought himself fairly experiencedin knowledge of human nature, but he had to admit that he had neveryet met so incomprehensible a pair. He wanted to talk to TussieShuttleworth about them, but Tussie would not talk. To Tussie itseemed impossible to talk about Priscilla because she was sacred tohim, and she was sacred to him because he adored her so. He adored herto an extent that amazes me to think of, worshipping her beauty withall the headlong self-abasement of a very young man who is also apoet. His soul was as wax within him, softest wax punched all overwith little pictures of Priscilla. No mother is happy while herchild's soul is in this state, and though he was extremely decent, andhid it and smothered it and choked it with all the energy hepossessed, Lady Shuttleworth knew very well what was going on insidehim and spent her spare time trying to decide whether to laugh or tocry over her poor Tussie. "When does Robin go back to Cambridge?" sheasked Mrs. Morrison the next time she met her, which was in the frontgarden of a sick old woman's cottage. 

Mrs. Morrison was going in with a leaflet; Lady Shuttleworth was goingin with a pound of tea. From this place they could see Priscilla'scottage, and Robin was nailing up its creepers in the sight of allSymford. 

"Ah--I know what you mean, " said Mrs. Morrison quickly. 

"It is always such a pity to see emotions wasted, " said LadyShuttleworth slowly, as if weighing each word. 

"Wasted? You do think she's an adventuress, then?" said Mrs. Morrisoneagerly. 

"Sh-sh. My dear, how could I think anything so unkind? But we who areold"--Mrs. Morrison jerked up her chin--"and can look on calmly, dosee the pity of it when beautiful emotions are lavished and wasted. Somuch force, so much time frittered away in dreams. And all so useless, so barren. Nothing I think is so sad as waste, and nothing is sowasteful as a one-sided love. "

Mrs. Morrison gave the pink tulle bow she liked to wear in theafternoons at her throat an agitated pat, and tried to conceal hermisery that Augustus Shuttleworth should also have succumbed to MissNeumann-Schultz. That he had done so was very clear from LadyShuttleworth's portentous remarks, for it was not in human nature fora woman to be thus solemn about the wasted emotions of other people'ssons. His doing so might save Robin's future, but it would ruinNetta's. We all have our little plans for the future--dear rosy thingsthat we dote on and hug to our bosoms with more tenderness even thanwe hug the babies of our bodies, and the very rosiest and bestdeveloped of Mrs. Morrison's darling plans was the marriage of herdaughter Netta with the rich young man Augustus. It was receiving arude knock on its hopeful little head at this moment in old Mrs. Jones's front garden, and naturally the author of its being winced. Augustus, she feared, must be extremely far gone in love, and it wasnot likely that the girl would let such a chance go. It was aconsolation that the marriage would be a scandal, --this person fromnowhere, this niece of a German teacher, carrying off the wealthiestyoung man in the county. The ways of so-called Providence were quitecriminally inscrutable, she thought, in stark defiance of what avicar's wife should think; but then she was greatly goaded. 

Priscilla herself came out of Mrs. Jones's door at that moment with avery happy face. She had succeeded in comforting the sick woman to anextent that surprised her. The sick woman had cheered up so suddenlyand so much that Priscilla, delighted, had at once concluded that workamong the sick poor was her true vocation. And how easy it had been! Afew smiles, a few kind words, a five-pound note put gently into thewithered old hands, and behold the thing was done. Never was sickwoman so much comforted as Mrs. Jones. She who had been disinclined tospeak above a whisper when Priscilla went in was able at the end ofthe visit to pour forth conversation in streams, and quite loudconversation, and even interspersed with chuckles. All FridayPriscilla had tried to help in the arranging of her cottage, and hadmade herself and Fritzing so tired over it that on Saturday she lethim go up alone and decided that she would, for her part, now begin todo good to the people in the village. It was what she intended to doin future. It was to be the chief work of her new life. She was goingto live like the poor and among them, smooth away their sorrows andincrease their joys, give them, as it were, a cheery arm along therough path of poverty, and in doing it get down herself out of theclouds to the very soil, to the very beginnings and solid elementaryfacts of life. And she would do it at once, and not sit idle at thefarm. It was on such idle days as the day Fritzing went to Mineheadthat sillinesses assailed her soul--shrinkings of the flesh fromhonest calico, disgust at the cooking, impatience at Annalise'sswollen eyes. Priscilla could have cried that night when she went tobed, if she had not held tears in scorn, at the sickliness of herspirit, her spirit that she had thought more than able to keep herbody in subjection, that she had hoped was unalterably firm and brave. But see the uses of foolishness, --the reaction from it is so greatthat it sends us with a bound twice as far again along the right roadas we were while we were wise and picking our way with clean shoesslowly among the puddles. Who does not know that fresh impulse, sostrong and gracious, towards good that surges up in us after a periodof sitting still in mud? What an experience it is, that vigorous shakeand eager turning of our soiled face once more towards the blessedlight. "I will arise and go to my Father"--of all the experiences ofthe spirit surely this is the most glorious; and behold the prudent, the virtuous, the steadfast--dogged workers in the vineyard in theheat of the day--are shut out from it for ever. 

Priscilla had not backslided much; but short as her tarrying had beenamong the puddles she too sprang forward after it with renewedstrength along the path she had chosen as the best, and havingcompleted the second of her good works--the first had been performedjust previously, and had been a warm invitation made personally fromdoor to door to all the Symford mothers to send their children to teaand games at Baker's Farm the next day, which was Sunday--she cameaway very happy from the comforted Mrs. Jones, and met the twoarriving comforters in the front garden. 

Now Priscilla's and Mrs. Jones's last words together had been these:

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Priscilla had asked, leaning over the old lady and patting her arm in farewell. 

"No, deary--you've done enough already, God bless your pretty face, "said Mrs. Jones, squeezing the five-pound note ecstatically in herhands. 

"But isn't there anything you'd like? Can't I get you anything? See, Ican run about and you are here in bed. Tell me what I can do. "

Mrs. Jones blinked and worked her mouth and blinked again and wheezedand cleared her throat. "Well, I do know of something would comfortme, " she said at last, amid much embarrassed coughing. 

"Tell me, " said Priscilla. 

"I don't like, " coughed Mrs. Jones. 

"Tell me, " said Priscilla. 

"I'll whisper it, deary. "

Priscilla bent down her head, and the old lady put her twitching mouthto her ear. 

"Why, of course, " said Priscilla smiling, "I'll go and get you some atonce. "

"Now God for ever bless your beautiful face, darlin'!" shrilled Mrs. Jones, quite beside herself with delight. "The Cock and 'Ens, deary--that's the place. And the quart bottles are the best; one getsmore comfort out of them, and they're the cheapest in the end. "

And Priscilla issuing forth on this errand met the arriving visitorsin the garden. 

"How do you do, " she said in a happy voice, smiling gaily at both ofthem. She had seen neither since she had dismissed them, but naturallyshe had never given that strange proceeding a thought. 

"Oh--how do you do, " said Lady Shuttleworth, surprised to see herthere, and with a slight and very unusual confusion of manner. 

Mrs. Morrison said nothing but stood stiffly in the background, answering Priscilla's smile with a stern, reluctant nod. 

"I've been talking to poor old Mrs. Jones. Your son"--she looked atMrs. Morrison--"told me how ill she was. "

"Did he?" said Mrs. Morrison, hardly raising her eyes a moment fromthe ground. This girl was her double enemy: bound, whatever she did, to make either a fool of her son or of her daughter. 

"So I went in and tried to cheer her up. And I really believe I did. "

"Well that was very kind of you, " said Lady Shuttleworth, smiling inspite of herself, unable to withstand the charm of Priscilla'spersonality. How supremely ridiculous of Mrs. Morrison to think thatthis girl was an adventuress. Such are the depths of ignorance one candescend to if one is buried long enough in the country. 

"Now, " said Priscilla cheerfully, "she wants rum, and I'm just goingto buy her some. "

"Rum?" cried Lady Shuttleworth in a voice of horror; and Mrs. Morrisonstarted violently. 

"Is it bad for her?" said Priscilla, surprised. 

"Bad!" cried Lady Shuttleworth. 

"It is, " said Mrs. Morrison with her eyes on the ground, "poison forboth body and soul. "

"Dear me, " said Priscilla, her face falling. "Why, she said it wouldcomfort her. "

"It will poison both her body and her soul, " repeated Mrs. Morrisongrimly. 

"My dear, " said Lady Shuttleworth, "our efforts are all directedtowards training our people to keep from drinking. "

"But she doesn't want to drink, " said Priscilla. "She only wants totaste it now and then. I'm afraid she's dying. Mustn't she diehappy?"

"It is our duty, " said Mrs. Morrison, "to see that our parishionersdie sober. "

"But I've promised, " said Priscilla. 

"Did she--did she ask for it herself?" asked Lady Shuttleworth, agreat anxiety in her voice. 

"Yes, and I promised. "

Both the women looked very grave. Mrs. Jones, who was extremely oldand certainly dying--not from any special disease but from mereinability to go on living--had been up to this a shining example toSymford of the manner in which Christian old ladies ought to die. Assuch she was continually quoted by the vicar's wife, and LadyShuttleworth had felt an honest pride in this ordered and seemlydeath-bed. The vicar went every day and sat with her and said that hecame away refreshed. Mrs. Morrison read her all those of her leafletsthat described the enthusiasm with which other good persons behave ina like case. Lady Shuttleworth never drove through the village withouttaking her some pleasant gift--tea, or fruit, or eggs, or even littlepots of jam, to be eaten discreetly and in spoonfuls. She also paid awoman to look in at short intervals during the day and shake up herpillow. Kindness and attention and even affection could not, it willbe admitted, go further; all three had been heaped on Mrs. Jones withgenerous hands; and in return she had expressed no sentiments thatwere not appropriate, and never, never had breathed the faintestsuggestion to any of her benefactors that what she really wanted mostwas rum. It shocked both the women inexpressibly, and positivelypained Lady Shuttleworth. Mrs. Morrison privately believed Priscillahad put the idea into the old lady's head, and began to regard her insomething of the light of a fiend. 

"Suppose, " said Priscilla, "we look upon it as medicine. "

"But my dear, it is not medicine, " said Lady Shuttleworth. 

"It is poison, " repeated Mrs. Morrison. 

"How can it be if it does her so much good? I must keep my promise. Iwouldn't disappoint her for the world. If only you'd seen herdelight"--they quivered--"you'd agree that she mustn't bedisappointed, poor old dying thing. Why, it might kill her. Butsuppose we treat it as a medicine, and I lock up the bottle and goround and give her a little myself three or four times a day--wouldn'tthat be a good plan? Surely it couldn't hurt?"

"There is no law to stop you, " said Mrs. Morrison; and LadyShuttleworth stared at the girl in silent dismay. 

"I can try it at least, " said Priscilla; "and if I find it's reallydoing her harm I'll leave off. But I promised, and she's expecting itnow every minute. I can't break my promise. Do tell me--is the Cockand Hens that inn round the corner? She told me it was best there. "

"But you cannot go yourself to the Cock and Hens and buy rum, "exclaimed Lady Shuttleworth, roused to energy; and her voice was fullof so determined a protest that the vicar's wife, who thought itdidn't matter at all where such a young woman went, received a freshshock. 

"Why not?" inquired Priscilla. 

"My dear, sooner than you should do that I'll--I'll go and buy itmyself, " cried Lady Shuttleworth. 

"Gracious heavens, " thought Mrs. Morrison, perfectly staggered by thisspeech. Had Lady Shuttleworth suddenly lost her reason? Or was shealready accepting the girl as her son's wife? Priscilla looked at hera moment with grave eyes. "Is it because I'm a girl that I mustn't?"she asked. 

"Yes. For one thing. But--" Lady Shuttleworth shut her mouth. 

"But what?" asked Priscilla. 

"Oh, nothing. "

"If it's not the custom of the country for a girl to go I'll send Mr. Morrison, " said Priscilla. 

"Send Mr. Morrison?" gasped the vicar's wife. 

"What, the vicar?" exclaimed Lady Shuttleworth. 

"No, no, " said Priscilla smiling, "young Mr. Morrison. I see him overthere tying up my creepers. He's so kind. He'll go. I'll ask him. "

And nodding good-bye she hurried out of the garden and over to hercottage, almost running in her desire not to keep Mrs. Jones anylonger in suspense. 

The two women, rooted to the ground, watched her as if fascinated, sawher speak to Robin on his ladder, saw how he started and dropped hisnails, saw how nimbly he clambered down, and how after the shortestparley the infatuated youth rushed away at once in the direction ofthe Cock and Hens. The only thing they did not see from where theystood was the twinkle in his eye. 

"I don't think, " murmured Lady Shuttleworth, "I don't think, my dear, that I quite care to go in to Mrs. Jones to-day. I--I think I'll gohome. "

"So shall I, " said Mrs. Morrison, biting her lips to keep them steady. "I shall go and speak to the vicar. "

XI

What she meant by speaking to the vicar was a vigorous stirring of himup to wrath; but you cannot stir up vicars if they are truly good. Thevicar was a pious and patient old man, practiced in forgiveness, inoverlooking, in waiting, in trying again. Always slow to anger, as theyears drew him more and more apart into the shadows of old age and hewatched from their clear coolness with an ever larger comprehensionthe younger generations striving together in the heat, he grew at lastunable to be angered at all. The scriptural injunction not to let thesun go down upon your wrath had no uses for him, for he possessed nowrath for the sun to go down upon. He had that lovable nature thatsees the best in everything first, and then prefers to look nofurther. He took for granted that people were at bottom good andnoble, and the assumption went a long way towards making them so. Robin, for instance, was probably saved by his father's uncloudedfaith in him. Mrs. Morrison, a woman who had much trouble withherself, having come into the world with the wings of the angel in herwell glued down and prevented from spreading by a multitude of littledefects, had been helped without her knowing it by his example out ofmany a pit of peevishness and passion. Who shall measure the influenceof one kind and blameless life? His wife, in her gustier moments, thought it sheer weakness, this persistent turning away from evil, this refusal to investigate and dissect, to take sides, to wrestle. The evil was there, and it was making an ostrich or a vegetable ofone's self to go on being calm in the face of it. With the blindnessof wives, who are prevented from seeing clearly by the very closenessof the object--the same remark exactly applies to husbands--she didnot see that the vicar was the candle shining in a naughty world, thathe was the leaven that leaveneth the whole lump. And just as leavenleavens by its mere presence in the lump, by merely passively beingthere, and will go on doing it so long as there is a lump to leaven, so had the vicar, more than his hardworking wife, more than theuntiring Lady Shuttleworth, more than any district visitor, parishnurse, or other holy person, influenced Symford by simply living in itin a way that would have surprised him had he known. There is a greatvirtue in sweeping out one's own house and trimming its lamps beforestarting on the house and lamps of a neighbour; and since new dustsettles every day, and lamps, I believe, need constant trimming, Iknow not when the truly tidy soul will have attained so perfect aspotlessness as to justify its issuing forth to attack the privatedust of other people. And if it ever did, lo, it would find thenecessity no longer there. Its bright untiringness wouldunconsciously have done its work, and every dimmer soul within sightof that cheerful shining been strengthened and inspired to go and dolikewise. 

But Mrs. Morrison, who saw things differently, was constantly tryingto stir up storms in the calm waters of the vicar's mind; and afterthe episode in Mrs. Jones's front garden she made a very determinedeffort to get him to rebuke Priscilla. Her own indignation was pouredout passionately. The vicar was surprised at her heat, he who was sobeautifully cool himself, and though he shook his head over Mrs. Jones's rum he also smiled as he shook it. Nor was he more reasonableabout Robin. On the contrary, he declared that he would think mightilylittle of a young man who did not immediately fall head over ears inlove with such a pretty girl. 

"You don't mind our boy's heart being broken, then?" questioned hiswife bitterly; of her plans for Netta she had never cared to speak. 

"My dear, if it is to be broken there is no young lady I would soonerentrust with the job. "

"You don't mind his marrying an adventuress, then?"

"My dear, I know of no adventuress. "

"You rather like our old people to be tempted to drink, to have itthrust upon them on their very dying beds?"

"Kate, are you not bitter?"

"Psha, " said his wife, drumming her foot. 

"Psha, Kate?" inquired the vicar mildly; and it is not always thatthe saintly produce a soothing effect on their wives. 

It really seemed as if the girl were to have her own way in Symford, unchecked even by Lady Shuttleworth, whose attitude was entirelyincomprehensible. She was to be allowed to corrupt the little hamletthat had always been so good, to lead it astray, to lure it down pathsof forbidden indulgence, to turn it topsy turvy to an extent not evenreached by the Dissenting family that had given so much trouble a fewyears before. It was on the Sunday morning as the church bells wereringing, that Mrs. Morrison, prayer-book in hand, looked in at Mrs. Jones's on her way to service and discovered the five-pound note. 

The old lady was propped up in bed with her open Bible on her lap andher spectacles lying in it, and as usual presented to her visitor theperfect realization of her ideal as to the looks and manners mostappropriate to ailing Christians. There was nowhere a trace of rum, and the only glass in the room was innocently filled with the chinaroses that flowered so profusely in the garden at Baker's Farm. ButMrs. Morrison could not for all that dissemble the disappointment andsternness of her heart, and the old lady glanced up at her as she camein with a kind of quavering fearfulness, like that of a little childwho is afraid it may be going to be whipped, or of a conscientious dogwho has lapsed unaccountably from rectitude. 

"I have come to read the gospel for the day to you, " said Mrs. Morrison, sitting down firmly beside her. 

"Thank you mum, " said Mrs. Jones with meekness. 

"My prayer-book has such small print--give me your Bible. "

A look of great anxiety came into Mrs. Jones's eyes, but the Bible wasdrawn from between her trembling old hands, and Mrs. Morrison began toturn its pages. She had not turned many before she came to thefive-pound note. "What is this?" she asked, in extreme surprise. 

Mrs. Jones gave a little gasp, and twisted her fingers about. 

"A five-pound note?" exclaimed Mrs. Morrison, holding it up. "How didit come here?"

"It's mine, mum, " quavered Mrs. Jones. 

"Yours? Do you mean to say you have money hidden away and yet allowLady Shuttleworth to pay everything for you?"

"It's the first I ever 'ad, mum, " faintly murmured the old lady, hereyes following every movement of Mrs. Morrison's hands with a look ofalmost animal anxiety. 

"Where did it come from?"

"The young lady give it me yesterday, mum. "

"The young lady?" Mrs. Morrison's voice grew very loud. "Do you meanthe person staying at the Pearces'?"

Mrs. Jones gulped, and feebly nodded. 

"Most improper. Most wrong. Most dangerous. You cannot tell how shecame by it, and I must say I'm surprised at you, Mrs. Jones. Itprobably is not a real one. It is unlikely a chit like that should beable to give so large a sum away--" And Mrs. Morrison held up the noteto the light and turned it round and round, scrutinizing it from everypoint of view, upside down, back to front, sideways, with one eyeshut; but it refused to look like anything but a good five-pound note, and she could only repeat grimly "Most dangerous. "

The old lady watched her, a terrible anxiety in her eyes. Her worstfears were fulfilled when the vicar's wife folded it up and saiddecidedly, "For the present I shall take care of it for you. Youcannot lie here with so much money loose about the place. Why, if itgot round the village you might have some one in who'd murder you. People have been murdered before now for less than this. I shall speakto the vicar about it. " And she put it in her purse, shut it with asnap, and took up the Bible again. 

Mrs. Jones made a little sound between a gasp and a sob. Her headrolled back on the pillow, and two tears dropped helplessly down thefurrows of her face. In that moment she felt the whole crushing miseryof being weak, and sick, and old, --so old that you have outlived yourclaims to everything but the despotic care of charitable ladies, soold that you are a mere hurdy-gurdy, expected each time any one insearch of edification chooses to turn your handle to quaver out tunesof immortality. It is a bad thing to be very old. Of all the badthings life forces upon us as we pass along it is the last andworst--the bitterness at the bottom of the cup, the dregs of what formany was after all always only medicine. Mrs. Jones had just enough ofthe strength of fear left to keep quite still while the vicar's wiferead the Gospel in a voice that anger made harsh; but when she hadgone, after a parting admonition and a dreadful assurance that shewould come again soon, the tears rolled unchecked and piteous, and itwas a mercy that Priscilla also took it into her head to look in onher way to church, for if she had not I don't know who would havedried them for this poor baby of eighty-five. And I regret to say thatPriscilla's ideas of doing good were in such a state of crudeness thatshe had no sooner mastered the facts brokenly sobbed out than she ranto the cupboard and gave Mrs. Jones a tablespoonful of rum for thestrengthening of her body and then took out her purse and gave heranother five-pound note for the comforting of her soul. And then shewiped her eyes, and patted her, and begged her not to mind. Suchconduct was, I suppose, what is called indiscriminate charity andtherefore blameworthy, but its effect was great. Priscilla went tochurch with the reflection of the old lady's wonder and joy shining inher own face. "Hide it, " had been her last words at the door, herfinger on her lips, her head nodding expressively in the direction ofthe vicarage; and by this advice she ranged herself once and for allon the opposite side to Mrs. Morrison and the followers of obedienceand order. Mrs. Jones would certainly have taken her for an angelworking miracles with five-pound notes and an inexhaustible pocket ifit had not been for the rum; even in her rapture she did feel that agenuine angel would be incapable of any really harmonious combinationwith rum. But so far had she fallen from the kind of thinking that thevicar's wife thought proper in a person so near her end that sheboldly told herself she preferred Priscilla. 

Now this was the day of Priscilla's children's party, and though allSymford had been talking of it for twenty-four hours the news of ithad not yet reached Mrs. Morrison's ears. The reason was that Symfordtalked in whispers, only too sure that the authorities would considerit wrong for it to send its children a-merrymaking on a Sunday, anddesperately afraid lest the forbidden cup should be snatched from itslonging lips. But the news did get to Mrs. Morrison's ears, and it gotto them in the porch of the church as she was passing in to prayer. She had it from an overgrown girl who was waiting outside for herfather, and who was really much too big for children's parties but hadgot an invitation by looking wistful at the right moment. 

"Emma, " said Mrs. Morrison in passing, "you have not returned thebook I lent you. Bring it up this afternoon. "

"Please mum, I'll bring it to-morrow, mum, " said the girl, curtseyingand turning red. 

"No, Emma, you will do as I direct. One can never be too particularabout returning books. You have kept it an unconscionable time. Youwill bring it to the vicarage at four o'clock. "

"Please mum, I--I can't at four o'clock. "

"And pray, Emma, what is to prevent you?"

"I--I'm going to Baker's, mum. "

"Going to Baker's? Why are you going to Baker's, Emma?"

So it all came out. 

The bells were just stopping, and Mrs. Morrison, who played the organ, was forced to hurry in without having told Emma her whole opinion ofthose who gave and those who attended Sunday parties, but the preludeshe played that day expressed the tumult of her mind very well, andstruck Tussie Shuttleworth, who had sensitive ears, quite cold. He wasthe only person in the church acutely sensitive to sound, and it wasvery afflicting to him, this plunging among the pedals, this angryshrieking of stops no man ever yet had heard together. The very blowerseemed frightened, and blew in gasps; and the startled Tussie, comparing the sounds to the clamourings of a fiend in pain, could notpossibly guess they were merely the musical expression of the state ofa just woman's soul. 

Mrs. Morrison's anger was perfectly proper. It had been theconscientious endeavour of twenty-five solid years of her life to makeof Symford a model parish, and working under Lady Shuttleworth, whosepower was great since all the cottages were her son's and were livedin by his own labourers, it had been kept in a state of order sonearly perfect as to raise it to the position of an example to theadjoining parishes. The church was full, the Sunday-school wellattended, the Sabbath was kept holy, the women were one and all soberand thrifty, the men were fairly satisfactory except on Saturdaynights, there was no want, little sickness, and very seldom downrightsin. The expression downright sin is Mrs. Morrison's own, --heavenforbid that I should have anything to do with such an expression--andI suppose she meant by it thieving, murder, and other grossnesses thatwould bring the sinner, as she often told her awe-struck Dorcas class, to infallible gallows, and the sinner's parents' grey hairs tosorrowful graves. "Please mum, will the parents go too?" asked a girlone day who had listened breathlessly, an inquiring-minded girl wholiked to get to the root of things. 

"Go where, Bessie?"

"With the grey hairs, mum. "

Mrs. Morrison paused a moment and fixed a searching gaze on Bessie'sface. Then she said with much dignity, "The parents, Bessie, willnaturally follow the hairs. " And to a girl bred in the nearneighbourhood of Exmoor it sounded very sporting. 

Into this innocent, frugal, well-managed hamlet Priscilla droppedsuddenly from nowhere, trailing with her thunder-clouds of impulsiveand childish ideas about doing good, and holding in her hands thedangerous weapon of wealth. It is hard to stand by and see one'slife-work broken up before one's eyes by an irresponsible stranger, aforeigner, a girl, a young girl, a pretty girl; especially hard if onewas born with an unbending character, tough and determined, ambitiousand vain. These are not reproaches being piled up on the vicar's wife;who shall dare reproach another? And how could she help being born so?We would all if we could be born good and amiable and beautiful, andremain so perpetually during our lives; and she too was one of God'schildren, and inside her soul, behind the crust of failings thathindered it during these years from coming out, sat her bright angel, waiting. Meanwhile she was not a person to watch the destruction ofher hopes without making violent efforts to stop it; and immediatelyshe had played the vicar into the vestry after service that Sunday sheleft the congregation organless and hurried away into the churchyard. There she stood and waited for the villagers to question them aboutthis unheard of thing; and it was bad to see how they melted away inother directions, --out at unused gates, making detours over the grass, visiting the long-neglected graves of relatives, anywhere rather thanalong the ordinary way, which was the path where the vicar's wifestood. At last came Mrs. Vickerton the postmistress. She was deep inconversation with the innkeeper's wife, and did not see the figure onthe path in time to melt away herself. If she had she certainly wouldhave melted, for though she had no children but her grown-up son shefelt very guilty; for it was her son who had been sent the afternoonbefore to Minehead by Priscilla with a list as long as his arm of thecakes and things to be ordered for the party. "Oh Mrs. Morrison, Ididn't see you, " she exclaimed, starting and smiling and turning red. She was a genteel woman who called no one mum. 

The innkeeper's wife slipped deftly away among graves. 

"Is it true that the children are going to Baker's Farm thisafternoon?" asked Mrs. Morrison, turning and walking grimly by Mrs. Vickerton. 

"I did hear something about it, Mrs. Morrison, " said Mrs. Vickerton, hiding her agitation behind a series of smiles with sudden endings. 

"All?"

"I did hear they pretty well all thought of it, " said Mrs. Vickerton, coughing. "Beautiful weather, isn't it, Mrs. Morrison. "

"They are to have tea there?"

Mrs. Vickerton gazed pleasantly at the clouds and the tree-tops. "Ishould think there might be tea, Mrs. Morrison, " she said; and thevision of that mighty list of cakes rising before her eyes made herput up her hand and cough again. 

"Have the parents lost their senses?"

"I couldn't say--I really couldn't say, Mrs. Morrison. "

"Have they forgotten the commandments?"

"Oh I 'ope not, Mrs. Morrison. "

"And the vicar's teaching? And the good habits of years?"

"Oh, Mrs. Morrison. "

"I never heard of anything more disgraceful. Disgraceful to the giverand to those who accept. Wicked, scandalous, and unscriptural. "

"We all 'oped you'd see no harm in it, Mrs. Morrison. It's a fine day, and they'll just have tea, and perhaps--sing a little, and they don'tget treats often this time of year. "

"Why, it's disgraceful--disgraceful anywhere to have a treat on aSunday; but in a parish like this it is scandalous. When LadyShuttleworth hears of it I quite expect she'll give everybody noticeto quit. "

"Notice to quit? Oh I hope not, Mrs. Morrison. And she do know aboutit. She heard it last night. And Sir Augustus himself has promised theyoung lady to go and help. "

"Sir Augustus?"

"And we all think it so kind of him, and so kind of the young ladytoo, " said Mrs. Vickerton, gathering courage. 

"Sir Augustus?" repeated Mrs. Morrison. Then a horrid presentimentlaid cold fingers on her heart. "Is any one else going to help?" sheasked quickly. 

"Only the young lady's uncle, and--"

Mrs. Vickerton hesitated, and looked at the vicar's wife with aslightly puzzled air. 

"And who?"

"Of course Mr. Robin. "

XII

It is the practice of Providence often to ignore the claims of poeticjustice. Properly, the Symford children ought to have been choked byPriscilla's cakes; and if they had been, the parents who had sent themmerrymaking on a Sunday would have been well punished by theundeniable awfulness of possessing choked children. But nobody waschoked; and when in the early days of the following week there were innearly every cottage pangs being assuaged, they were so naturally theconsequence of the strange things that had been eaten that only Mrs. Morrison was able to see in them weapons being wielded by Providencein the cause of eternal right. She, however, saw it so plainly thateach time during the next few days that a worried mother came andasked advice, she left her work or her meals without a murmur, andwent to the castor-oil cupboard with an alacrity that was almostcheerful; and seldom, I suppose, have such big doses been supplied andadministered as the ones she prescribed for suffering Symford. 

But on this dark side of the picture I do not care to look; theparty, anyhow, had been a great success, and Priscilla became atone stroke as popular among the poor of Symford as she had been inLothen-Kunitz. Its success it is true was chiefly owing to theimmense variety of things to eat she had provided; for theconjuror, merry-go-round, and cocoa-nuts to be shied at that shehad told young Vickerton to bring with him from Minehead, had allbeen abandoned on Tussie's earnest advice, who instructed herinnocent German mind that these amusements, undoubtedly admirablein themselves and on week days, were looked upon askance in Englandon Sundays. 

"Why?" asked Priscilla, in great surprise. 

"It's not keeping the day holy, " said Tussie, blushing. 

"How funny, " said Priscilla. 

"Oh, I don't know. "

"Why, " said Priscilla, "in Kun--" but she pulled herself up just asshe was about to give him a description of the varied nature of Sundayafternoons in Kunitz. 

"You must have noticed, " said Tussie, "as you have lived so long inLondon, that everything's shut on Sundays. There are no theatres andthings--certainly no cocoa-nuts. "

"No, I don't remember any cocoa-nuts, " mused Priscilla, her memorygoing over those past Sundays she had spent in England. 

Tussie tried to make amends for having obstructed her plans byexerting himself to the utmost to entertain the children as far asdecorum allowed. He encouraged them to sing, he who felt everyugliness in sound like a blow; he urged them to recite for prizes ofsixpences, he on whose soul Casabianca and Excelsior had much theeffect of scourges on a tender skin; he led them out into a fieldbetween tea and supper and made them run races, himself setting theexample, he who caught cold so easily that he knew it probably meant aweek in bed. Robin helped too, but his exertions were confined to thenear neighbourhood of Priscilla. His mother had been very angry withhim, and he had been very angry with his mother for being angry, andhe had come away from the vicarage with a bad taste in his mouth and agreat defiance in his heart. It was the first time he had said hardthings to her, and it had been a shocking moment, --a moment sometimesinevitable in the lives of parents and children of strong characterand opposed desires. He had found himself quite unable in his anger toclothe his hard sayings in forms of speech that would have hiddentheir brutal force, and he had turned his back at last on heranswering bitterness and fled to Baker's, thankful to find when he gotthere that Priscilla's beauty and the interest of the mystery thathung about her wiped out every other remembrance. 

Priscilla was in the big farm kitchen, looking on at the childrenhaving tea. That was all she did at her party, except go round everynow and then saying pleasant little things to each child; but thisgoing round was done in so accomplished a manner, she seemed so usedto it, was so well provided with an apparently endless supply ofappropriate remarks, was so kind, and yet so--what was the word?could it be mechanical?--that Robin for the hundredth time foundhimself pondering over something odd, half-remembered, elusive aboutthe girl. Then there was the uncle; manifestly a man who had neverbefore been required to assist at a school-treat, manifestly on thisoccasion an unhappy man, yet look how he worked while she sat idlywatching, look how he laboured round with cakes and bread-and-butter, clumsily, strenuously, with all the heat and anxiety of one eager toplease and obey. Yes, that was what he did; Robin had hit on it atlast. This extraordinary uncle obeyed his niece; and Robin knew verywell that Germany was the last country in the world to produce men whodid that. Had he not a cousin who had married a German officer? Awhilom gay and sprightly cousin, who spent her time, as she dolefullywrote, having her mind weeded of its green growth of little opinionsand gravelled and rolled and stamped with the opinions of her malerelations-in-law. "And I'd rather have weeds than gravel, " she wroteat the beginning of this process when she was still restive under theroller, "for they at least are green. " But long ago she had left offcomplaining, long ago she too had entered into the rest that remainethfor him who has given up, who has become what men praise as reasonableand gods deplore as dull, who is tired of bothering, tired of trying, tired of everything but sleep. Then there was the girl's maid. Thiswas the first time Robin had seen her; and while she was helping Mrs. Pearce pour out cups of chocolate and put a heaped spoonful of whippedcream on the top of each cup in the fashion familiar to Germans andaltogether lovely in the eyes of the children of Symford, Robin wentto her and offered help. 

Annalise looked at him with heavy eyes, and shook her head. 

"She don't speak no English, sir, " explained Mrs. Pearce. "This one'spure heathen. "

"No English, " echoed Annalise drearily, who had at least learned thatmuch, "no English, no English. "

Robin gathered up his crumbs of German and presented them to her witha smile. Immediately on hearing her own tongue she flared into life, and whipping out a little pocket-book and pencil asked him eagerlywhere she was. 

"Where you are?" repeated Robin, astonished. 

"_Ja, Ja_. The address. This address. What is it? Where am I?"

"What, don't you know?"

"Tell me--quick, " begged Annalise. 

"But why--I don't understand. You must know you are in England?"

"England! Naturally I know it is England. But this--where is it? Whatis its address? For letters to reach me? Quick--tell me quick!"

Robin, however, would not be quick. "Why has no one told you?" heasked, with an immense curiosity. 

"_Ach_, I have not been told. I know nothing. I am kept in the darklike--like a prisoner. " And Annalise dragged her handkerchief out ofher pocket, and put it to her eyes just in time to stop her readytears from falling into the whipped cream and spoiling it. 

"There she goes again, " sniffed Mrs. Pearce. "It's cry, cry, frommorning till night, and nothing good enough for her. It's a mercy shegoes out of this to-morrow. I never see such an image. "

"Tell me, " implored Annalise, "tell me quick, before my mistress--"

"I'll write it for you, " said Robin, taking the note-book from her. "You know you go into a cottage next week, so I'll put your newaddress. " And he wrote it in a large round hand and gave it to herquickly, for Mrs. Pearce was listening to all this German and watchinghim write with a look that made him feel cheap. So cheap did it makehim feel that he resisted for the present his desire to go onquestioning Annalise, and putting his hands in his pockets saunteredaway to the other end of the kitchen where Priscilla sat looking on. "I'm afraid that really was cheap of me, " he thought ruefully, when hecame once more into Priscilla's sweet presence; but he comfortedhimself with the reflection that no girl ought to be mysterious, and if this one chose to be so it was fair to cross her plansoccasionally. Yet he went on feeling cheap; and when Tussie who washurrying along with a cup of chocolate in each hand ran into him andspilt some on his sleeve the sudden rage with which he said "Confoundyou, Tussie, " had little to do with the hot stuff soaking through tohis skin and a great deal with the conviction that Tussie, despisedfrom their common childhood for his weakness, smallness and ugliness, would never have done what he had just done and betrayed what the girlhad chosen to keep secret from her maid. 

"But why secret? Why? Why?" asked Robin, torn with desire to find outall about Priscilla. 

"I'm going to do this often, " said Priscilla, looking up at him with apleased smile. "I never saw such easily amused little creatures. Don'tyou think it is beautiful, to give poor people a few happy momentssometimes?"

"Very beautiful, " said Robin, his eyes on her face. 

"It is what I mean to do in future, " she said dreamily, her chin onher hand. 

"It will be expensive, " remarked Robin; for there were nearly twohundred children, and Priscilla had collected the strangest things infood on the long tables as a result of her method, when inviting, ofasking each mother what her child best liked to eat and then orderingit with the lavishness of ignorance from Minehead. 

"Oh, we shall live so simply ourselves that there will be enough leftto do all I want. And it will be the most blessed change andrefreshment, living simply. Fritzi hated the fuss and luxury quite asmuch as I did. "

"Did he?" said Robin, holding his breath. The girl was evidently offher guard. He had not heard her call her uncle baldly Fritzi before;and what fuss and luxury could a German teacher's life have known?

"He it was who first made me see that the body is more than meat andthe soul than raiment, " mused Priscilla. 

"Was he?"

"He pulled my soul out of the flesh-pots. I'm a sort of Israel comeout of Egypt, but an Egypt that was altogether too comfortable. "

"Too comfortable? Can one be too comfortable?"

"I was. I couldn't move or see or breathe for comfort. It was like afeather bed all over me. "

"I wouldn't call that comfort, " said Robin, for she paused, and he wasafraid she was not going on. "It sounds much more like torture. "

"So it was at last. And Fritzi helped me to shake it off. If he hadn'tI'd have smothered slowly, and perhaps if I'd never known him I'd havedone it as gracefully as my sisters did. Why, they don't know to thisday that they are dead. "

Robin was silent. He was afraid to speak lest anything he said shouldremind her of the part she ought to be playing. He had no doubt nowat all that she was keeping a secret. A hundred questions were burningon his lips. He hated himself for wanting to ask them, for being soinquisitive, for taking advantage of the girl's being off her guard, but what are you to do with your inherited failings? Robin's motherwas inquisitive and it had got into his blood, and I know of no moralmagnesia that will purify these things away. "You said the other day, "he burst out at last, quite unable to stop himself, "that you only hadyour uncle in the world. Are your sisters--are they in London?"

"In London?" Priscilla gazed at him a moment with a vague surprise. Then fright flashed into her eyes. "Did I not tell you they were dead?Smothered?" she said, getting up quickly, her face setting into thefrown that had so chilled Tussie on the heath. 

"But I took that as a parable. "

"How can I help how you took it?"

And she instantly left him and went away round the tables, beginningthose little pleasant observations to the children again that struckhim as so strange. 

Well did he know the sort of thing. He had seen Lady Shuttleworth doit fifty times to the tenants, to the cottagers, at flower-shows, bazaars, on all occasions of public hospitality or ceremony; butpractised and old as Lady Shuttleworth was this girl seemed yet morepractised. She was a finished artist in the work, he said to himselfas he leaned against the wall, his handsome face flushed, his eyessulky, watching her. It was enough to make any good-looking youngman sulky, the mixture of mystery and aloofness about MissNeumann-Schultz. Extraordinary as it seemed, up to this point he hadfound it quite impossible to indulge with her in that form of more orless illustrated dialogue known to Symford youths and maidens asbilling and cooing. Very fain would Robin have billed and have cooed. It was a practice he excelled in. And yet though he had devotedhimself for three whole days, stood on ladders, nailed up creepers, bought and carried rum, had a horrible scene with his mother becauseof her, he had not got an inch nearer things personal and cosy. MissNeumann-Schultz thanked him quite kindly and graciously for hispains--oh, she was very gracious; gracious in the sort of way LadyShuttleworth used to be when he came home for the holidays and shepatted his head and uttered benignities--and having thanked, apparently forgot him till the next time she wanted anything. 

"Fritzi, " said Priscilla, when in the course of her progress down theroom she met that burdened man, "I'm dreadfully afraid I've said somefoolish things. "

Fritzing put the plate of cake he was carrying down on a dresser andwiped his forehead. "Ma'am, " he said looking worried, "I cannot watchyou and administer food to these barbarians simultaneously. If yourtongue is so unruly I would recommend complete silence. "

"I've said something about my sisters. "

"Sisters, ma'am?" said Fritzing anxiously. 

"Does it matter?"

"Matter? I have carefully instructed the woman Pearce, who hascertainly informed, as I intended she should inform, the entirevillage, that you were my brother's only child. Consequently, ma'am, you have no sisters. "

Priscilla made a gesture of despair. "How fearfully difficult it isnot to be straightforward, " she said. 

"Yes, ma'am, it is. Since we started on this adventure the whole raceof rogues has become the object of my sincerest admiration. What wits, what quickness, what gifts--so varied and so deftly used--what skillin deception, what resourcefulness in danger, what self-command--"

"Yes but Fritzi what are we to do?"

"Do, ma'am? About your royal sisters? Would to heaven I had been borna rogue!"

"Yes, but as you were not--ought I to go back and say they're onlyhalf-sisters? Or step-sisters? Or sisters in law? Wouldn't that do?"

"With whom were you speaking?"

"Mr. Morrison. "

"Ma'am, let me beg you to be more prudent with that youth than withany one. Our young friend Cæsar Augustus is I believe harmlessnessitself compared with him. Be on your guard, ma'am. Curb that fatalfeminine appendage, your tongue. I have remarked that he watches us. But a short time since I saw him eagerly conversing with your GrandDucal Highness's maid. For me he has already laid several traps that Ihave only just escaped falling into by an extraordinary presence ofmind and a nimbleness in dialectic almost worthy of a born rogue. "

"Oh Fritzi, " said the frightened Priscilla, laying her hand on hissleeve, "do go and tell him I didn't mean what I said. "

Fritzing wiped his brow again. "I fail to understand, " he said, looking at Priscilla with worried eyes, "what there is about us thatcan possibly attract any one's attention. "

"Why, there isn't anything, " said Priscilla, with conviction. "We'vebeen most careful and clever. But just now--I don't know why--I beganto think aloud. "

"Think aloud?" exclaimed Fritzing, horrified. "Oh ma'am let me beseechyou never again to do that. Better a thousand times not to think atall. What was it that your Grand Ducal Highness thought aloud?"

And Priscilla, shamefaced, told him as well as she could remember. 

"I will endeavour to remedy it, " said poor Fritzing, running anagitated hand through his hair. 

Priscilla sighed, and stood drooping and penitent by the dresser whilehe went down the room to where Robin still leaned against the wall. 

"Sir, " said Fritzing--he never called Robin young man, as he didTussie--"my niece tells me you are unable to distinguish truth fromparable. "

"What?" said Robin staring. 

"You are not, sir, to suppose that when my niece described her sistersas dead that they are not really so. "

"All right sir, " said Robin, his eyes beginning to twinkle. 

"The only portion of the story in which my niece used allegory waswhen she described them as having been smothered. These young ladies, sir, died in the ordinary way, in their beds. "

"Feather beds, sir?" asked Robin briskly. 

"Sir, I have not inquired into the nature of the beds, " said Fritzingwith severity. 

"Is it not rather unusual, " asked Robin, "for two young ladies in onefamily to die at once? Were they unhealthy young ladies?"

"Sir, they did not die at once, nor were they unhealthy. They wereperfectly healthy until they--until they began to die. "

"Indeed, " said Robin, with an interest properly tinged with regret. "At least, sir, " he added politely, after a pause in which he andFritzing stared very hard at each other, "I trust I may be permittedto express my sympathy. "

"Sir, you may. " And bowing stiffly Fritzing returned to Priscilla, andwith a sigh of relief informed her that he had made things rightagain. 

"Dear Fritzi, " said Priscilla looking at him with love and admiration, "how clever you are. "

XIII

It was on the Tuesday, the day Priscilla and Fritzing left Baker's andmoved into Creeper Cottage, that the fickle goddess who had let themnestle for more than a week beneath her wing got tired of them andshook them out. Perhaps she was vexed by their clumsiness atpretending, perhaps she thought she had done more than enough forthem, perhaps she was an epicure in words and did not like a cottagecalled Creeper; anyhow she shook them out. And if they had had eyes tosee they would not have walked into their new home with such sighs ofsatisfaction and such a comfortable feeling that now at last the eraof systematic serenity and self-realization, beautifully combined withthe daily exercise of charity, had begun; for waiting for them inPriscilla's parlour, established indeed in her easy-chair by the fireand warming her miserable toes on the very hob, sat grey Ill Luckhorribly squinting. 

Creeper Cottage, it will be remembered, consisted of two cottages, each with two rooms, an attic, and a kitchen, and in the back yard thefurther accommodation of a coal-hole, a pig-stye, and a pump. Thanksto Tussie's efforts more furniture had been got from Minehead. Tussiehad gone in himself, after a skilful questioning of Fritzing had madehim realize how little had been ordered, and had, with Fritzing'spermission, put the whole thing into the hands of a Minehead firm. Thus there was a bed for Annalise and sheets for everybody, and theplace was as decent as it could be made in the time. It was so tinythat it got done, after a great deal of urging from Tussie, by theTuesday at midday, and Tussie himself had superintended the storing ofwood in the coal-hole and the lighting of the fire that was to warmhis divine lady and that Ill Luck found so comforting to her toes. TheShuttleworth horses had a busy time on the Friday, Saturday, andMonday, trotting up and down between Symford and Minehead; and theShuttleworth servants and tenants, not being more blind than otherpeople, saw very well that their Augustus had lost his heart to thelady from nowhere. As for Lady Shuttleworth, she only smiled a ruefulsmile and stroked her poor Tussie's hair in silence when, havingmurmured something about the horses being tired, he reproved her bytelling her that it was everybody's duty to do what they could forstrangers in difficulties. 

Priscilla's side of Creeper Cottage was the end abutting on thechurchyard, and her parlour had one latticed window looking south downthe village street, and one looking west opening directly on to thechurchyard. The long grass of the churchyard, its dandelions anddaisies, grew right up beneath this window to her wall, and a talltombstone half-blocked her view of the elm-trees and the church. Overthis room, with the same romantic and gloomy outlook, was her bedroom. Behind her parlour was what had been the shoemaker's kitchen, but ithad been turned into a temporary bathroom. True no water was laid onas yet, but the pump was just outside, and nobody thought there wouldbe any difficulty about filling the bath every morning by means of thepump combined with buckets. Over the bathroom was the attic. This wasAnnalise's bedroom. Nobody thought there would be any difficulty aboutthat either; nobody, in fact, thought anything about anything. It wasa simple place, after the manner of attics, with a window in itssloping ceiling through which stars might be studied with greatcomfort as one lay in bed. A frugal mind, an earnest soul, would haveliked the attic, would have found a healthy enjoyment in a place soplain and fresh, so swept in windy weather by the airs of heaven. Apoet, too, would certainly have flooded any parts of it that seemeddark with the splendour of his own inner light; a nature-lover, again, would have quickly discovered the spiders that dwelt in its corners, and spent profitable hours on all fours observing them. But anAnnalise--what was she to make of such a place? Is it not true thatthe less a person has inside him of culture and imagination the morehe wants outside him of the upholstery of life? I think it is true;and if it is, then the vacancy of Annalise's mind may be measured bythe fact that what she demanded of life in return for the negativeservices of not crying and wringing her hands was nothing less filledwith food and sofas and servants than a grand ducal palace. 

But neither Priscilla nor Fritzing knew anything of Annalise's mind, and if they had they would instantly have forgotten it again, of suchextreme unimportance would it have seemed. Nor would I dwell on itmyself if it were not that its very vacancy and smallness was thecause of huge upheavals in Creeper Cottage, and the stone that thebuilders ignored if they did not actually reject behaved as suchstones sometimes do and came down upon the builders' heads and crushedthem. Annalise, you see, was unable to appreciate peace, yet on theother hand she was very able to destroy the peace of other people; andPriscilla meant her cottage to be so peaceful--a temple, a holy place, within whose quiet walls sacred years were going to be spent in doingjustly, in loving mercy, in walking humbly. True she had not as yetmade a nearer acquaintance with its inconveniences, but anyhow sheheld the theory that inconveniences were things to be laughed atand somehow circumvented, and that they do not enter into theconsideration of persons whose thoughts are absorbed by the burningdesire to live out their ideals. "You can be happy in any placewhatever, " she remarked to Tussie on the Monday, when he wasexpressing fears as to her future comfort; "absolutely any place willdo--a tub, a dingle, the top of a pillar--any place at all, if onlyyour soul is on fire. "

"Of course you can, " cried Tussie, ready to kiss her feet. 

"And look how comfortable my cottage seems, " said Priscilla, "directlyone compares it with things like tubs. "

"Yes, yes, " agreed Tussie, "I do see that it's enough for free spiritsto live in. I was only wondering whether--whether bodies would find itenough. "

"Oh bother bodies, " said Priscilla airily. 

But Tussie could not bring himself to bother bodies if they includedher own; on the contrary, the infatuated young man thought it would bedifficult sufficiently to cherish a thing so supremely precious andsweet. And each time he went home after having been in the frugalbaldness of Creeper Cottage he hated the superfluities of his ownhouse more and more, he accused himself louder and louder of beingmean-spirited, effeminate, soft, vulgar, he loathed himself for livingembedded in such luxury while she, the dear and lovely one, was readycheerfully to pack her beauty into a tub if needs be, or let it beweather-beaten on a pillar for thirty years if by so doing she couldsave her soul alive. Tussie at this time became unable to see a sleekservant dart to help him take off his coat without saying somethingsharp to him, could not sit through a meal without making bittercomparisons between what they were eating and what the poor wereprobably eating, could not walk up his spacious staircase and alonghis lofty corridors without scowling; they, indeed, roused hiscontemptuous wrath in quite a special degree, the reason being thatPriscilla's stairs, the stairs up and down which her little feet wouldhave to clamber daily, were like a ladder, and she possessed nopassages at all. But what of that? Priscilla could not see that itmattered, when Tussie drew her attention to it. 

Both Fritzing's and her front door opened straight into theirsitting-rooms; both their staircases walked straight from the kitchensup into the rooms above. They had meant to have a door knocked in thedividing wall downstairs, but had been so anxious to get away fromBaker's that there was no time. In order therefore to get to FritzingPriscilla would have either to go out into the street and in again athis front door, or go out at her back door and in again at his. Anymeals, too, she might choose to have served alone would have to becarried round to her from the kitchen in Fritzing's half, eitherthrough the backyard or through the street. 

Tussie thought of this each time he sat at his own meals, surroundedby deft menials, lapped as he told himself in luxury, --oh, thoughtTussie writhing, it was base. His much-tried mother had to listen tomany a cross and cryptic remark flung across the table from the dearboy who had always been so gentle; and more than that, he put hisfoot down once and for all and refused with a flatness that silencedher to eat any more patent foods. "Absurd, " cried Tussie. "No wonderI'm such an idiot. Who could be anything else with his stomach full ofstarch? Why, I believe the stuff has filled my veins with milk insteadof good honest blood. "

"Dearest, I'll have it thrown out of the nearest window, " said LadyShuttleworth, smiling bravely in her poor Tussie's small cross face. "But what shall I give you instead? You know you won't eat meat. "

"Give me lentils, " cried Tussie. "They're cheap. "

"Cheap?"

"Mother, I do think it offensive to spend much on what goes into oronto one's body. Why not have fewer things, and give the rest to thepoor?"

"But I do give the rest to the poor; I'm always doing it. And there'squite enough for us and for the poor too. "

"Give them more, then. Why, " fumed Tussie, "can't we live decently?Hasn't it struck you that we're very vulgar?"

"No, dearest, I can't say that it has. "

"Well, we are. Everything we have that is beyond bare necessariesmakes us vulgar. And surely, mother, you do see that that's not a nicething to be. "

"It's a horrid thing to be, " said his mother, arranging his tie withan immense and lingering tenderness. 

"It's a difficult thing not to be, " said Tussie, "if one is rich. Hasn't it struck you that this ridiculous big house, and the masses ofthings in it, and the whole place and all the money will inevitablyend by crushing us both out of heaven?"

"No, I can't say it has. I expect you've been thinking of things likethe eyes of needles and camels having to go through them, " said hismother, still patting and stroking his tie. 

"Well, that's terrifically true, " mused Tussie, reflecting ruefully onthe size and weight of the money-bags that were dragging him down intodarkness. Then he added suddenly, "Will you have a small bed--a littleiron one--put in my bedroom?"

"A small bed? But there's a bed there already, dear. "

"That big thing's only fit for a sick woman. I won't wallow in it anylonger. "

"But dearest, all your forefathers wallowed, as you call it, in it. Doesn't it seem rather--a pity not to carry on traditions?"

"Well mother be kind and dear, and let me depart in peace from them. Acamp bed, --that's what I'd like. Shall I order it, or will you? Anddid I tell you I've given Bryce the sack?"

"Bryce? Why, what has he done?"

"Oh he hasn't done anything that I know of, except make a sort of dollor baby of me. Why should I be put into my clothes and taken out ofthem again as though I hadn't been weaned yet?"

Now all this was very bad, but the greatest blow for Lady Shuttleworthfell when Tussie declared that he would not come of age. The cheerfulface with which his mother had managed to listen to his otherdefiances went very blank at that; do what she would she could notprevent its falling. "Not come of age?" she repeated stupidly. "But mydarling, you can't help yourself--you must come of age. "

"Oh I know I can't help being twenty-one and coming into allthis"--and he waved contemptuous arms--"but I won't do it blatantly. "

"I--I don't understand, " faltered Lady Shuttleworth. 

"There mustn't be any fuss, mother. "

"Do you mean no one is to come?"

"No one at all, except the tenants and people. Of course they are tohave their fun--I'll see that they have a jolly good time. But I won'thave our own set and the relations. "

"Tussie, they've all accepted. "

"Send round circulars. "

"Tussie, you are putting me in a most painful position. "

"Dear mother, I'm very sorry for that. I wish I'd thought like thissooner. But really the idea is so revolting to me--it's so sickeningto think of all these people coming to pretend to rejoice over a wormlike myself. "

"Tussle, you are not a worm. "

"And then the expense and waste of entertaining them--the dreariness, the boredom--oh, I wish I only possessed a tub--one single tub--or hadthe pluck to live like Lavengro in a dingle. "

"It's quite impossible to stop it now, " interrupted Lady Shuttleworthin the greatest distress; of Lavengro she had never heard. 

"Yes you can, mother. Write and put it off. "

"Write? What could I write? To-day is Tuesday, and they all arrive onFriday. What excuse can I make at the last moment? And how can abirthday be put off? My dearest boy, I simply can't. " And LadyShuttleworth, the sensible, the cheery, the resourceful, theperennially brave, wrung her hands and began quite helplessly to cry. 

This unusual and pitiful sight at once conquered Tussie. For a momenthe stood aghast; then his arms were round his mother, and he promisedeverything she wanted. What he said to her besides and what she sobbedback to him I shall not tell. They never spoke of it again; but foryears they both looked back to it, that precious moment of clingingtogether with bursting hearts, her old cheek against his young one, her tears on his face, as to one of the most acutely sweet, acutely, painfully, tender experiences of their joint lives. 

It will be conceded that Priscilla had achieved a good deal in the oneweek that had passed since she laid aside her high estate and steppeddown among ordinary people for the purpose of being and doing good. She had brought violent discord into a hitherto peaceful vicarage, thwarted the hopes of a mother, been the cause of a bitter quarrelbetween her and her son, brought out by her mysteriousness a pryingtendency in the son that might have gone on sleeping for ever, entirely upset the amiable Tussie's life by rending him asunder with alove as strong as it was necessarily hopeless, made his mother anxiousand unhappy, and, what was perhaps the greatest achievement of all, actually succeeded in making that mother cry. For of course Priscillawas the ultimate cause of these unusual tears, as Lady Shuttleworthvery well knew. Lady Shuttleworth was the deceased Sir Augustus'ssecond wife, had married him when she was over forty and well out ofthe crying stage, which in the busy does not last beyond childhood, had lost him soon after Tussie's birth, had cried copiously and mostproperly at his funeral, and had not cried since. It was thenundoubtedly a great achievement on the part of the young lady fromnowhere, this wringing of tears out of eyes that had been dry for oneand twenty years. But the list of what Priscilla had done does not endwith this havoc among mothers. Had she not interrupted the decentcourse of Mrs. Jones's dying, and snatched her back to a hankeringafter the unfit? Had she not taught the entire village to break theSabbath? Had she not made all its children either sick or cross underthe pretence of giving them a treat? On the Monday she did somethingelse that was equally well-meaning, and yet, as I shall presentlyrelate, of disastrous consequences: she went round the village fromcottage to cottage making friends with the children's mothers andleaving behind her, wherever she went, little presents of money. Shehad found money so extraordinarily efficacious in the comforting ofMrs. Jones that before she started she told Fritzing to fill her pursewell, and in each cottage it was made somehow so clear how badlydifferent things were wanted that the purse was empty before she washalf round the village and she had to go back for a fresh supply. Shewas extremely happy that afternoon, and so were the visited mothers. They, indeed, talked of nothing else for the rest of the day, discussed it over their garden hedges, looked in on each other tocompare notes, hurried to meet their husbands on their return fromwork to tell them about it, and were made at one stroke into somethingvery like a colony of eager beggars. And in spite of Priscilla'sinjunction to Mrs. Jones to hide her five-pound note all Symford knewof that as well, and also of the five-pound note Mrs. Morrison hadtaken away. Nothing was talked of in Symford but Priscilla. She had inone week created quite a number of disturbances of a nature fruitfulfor evil in that orderly village; and when on the Tuesday she andFritzing moved into Creeper Cottage they were objects of the intensestinterest to the entire country side, and the report of their riches, their recklessness, and their eccentric choice of a dwelling hadrolled over the intervening hills as far as Minehead, where it was thesubject of many interesting comments in the local papers. 

They got into their cottage about tea time; and the first thingPriscilla did was to exclaim at the pleasant sight of the wood fireand sit down in the easy-chair to warm herself. We know who wassitting in it already; and thus she was received by Bad Luck at onceinto her very lap, and clutched about securely by that unpleasantlady's cold and skinny arms. She looked up at Fritzing with a shiverto remark wonderingly that the room, in spite of its big fire and itssmallness, was like ice, but her lips fell apart in a frozen stare andshe gazed blankly past him at the wall behind his head. "Look, " shewhispered, pointing with a horrified forefinger. And Fritzing, turningquickly, was just in time to snatch a row of cheap coloured portraitsfrom the wall and fling them face downwards under the table beforeTussie came in to ask if he could do anything. 

The portraits were those of all the reigning princes of Germany andhad been put up as a delicate compliment by the representative of theMinehead furnishers, while Priscilla and Fritzing were taking leave ofBaker's Farm; and the print Priscilla's eye had lighted on was theportrait of her august parent, smiling at her. He was splendid instate robes and orders, and there was a charger, and an obviouslyexpensive looped-up curtain, and much smoke as of nations furiouslyraging together in the background, and outside this magnificencemeandered the unmeaning rosebuds of Priscilla's cheap wallpaper. Hissmile seemed very terrible under the circumstances. Fritzing feltthis, and seized him and flung him with a desperate energy under thetable, where he went on smiling, as Priscilla remembered with a guiltyshudder, at nothing but oilcloth. "I don't believe I'll sleep if Iknow he--he's got nothing he'd like better than oilcloth to look at, "she whispered with an awestruck face to Fritzing as Tussie came in. 

"I will cause them all to be returned, " Fritzing assured her. 

"What, have those people sent wrong things?" asked Tussie anxiously, who felt that the entire responsibility of this _ménage_ was on hisshoulders. 

"Oh, only some cheap prints, " said Priscilla hastily. "I think they'recalled oleographs or something. "

"What impertinence, " said Tussie hotly. 

"I expect it was kindly meant, but I--I like my cottage quite plain. "

"I'll have them sent back, sir, " Tussie said to Fritzing, who wasrubbing his hands nervously through his hair; for the sight of hisgrand ducal master's face smiling at him on whom he would surely neverwish to smile again, and doing it, too, from the walls of CreeperCottage, had given him a shock. 

"You are ever helpful, young man, " he said, bowing abstractedly andgoing away to put down his hat and umbrella; and Priscilla, with acold feeling that she had had a bad omen, rang the handbell Tussie'sthoughtfulness had placed on her table and ordered Annalise to bringtea. 

Now Annalise had been standing on the threshold of her attic staringat it in an amazement too deep for words when the bell fetched herdown. She appeared, however, before her mistress with a composed face, received the order with her customary respectfulness, and sought outFritzing to inquire of him where the servants were to be found. "HerGrand Ducal Highness desires tea, " announced Annalise, appearing inFritzing's sitting-room, where he was standing absorbed in the billfrom the furnishers that he had found lying on his table. 

"Then take it in, " said Fritzing impatiently, without looking up. 

"To whom shall I give the order?" inquired Annalise. 

"To whom shall you give the order?" repeated Fritzing, pausingin his study to stare at her, the bill in one hand and hispocket-handkerchief, with which he was mopping his forehead, inthe other. 

"Where, " asked Annalise, "shall I find the cook?"

"Where shall you find the cook?" repeated Fritzing, staring stillharder. "This house is so gigantic is it not, " he said with anenormous sarcasm, "that no doubt the cook has lost himself. Have youperhaps omitted to investigate the coal-hole?"

"Herr Geheimrath, where shall I find the cook?" asked Annalise tossingher head. 

"Fräulein, is there a mirror in your bedroom?"

"The smallest I ever saw. Only one-half of my face can I see reflectedin it at a time. "

"Fräulein, the half of that face you see reflected in it is the halfof the face of the cook. "

"I do not understand, " said Annalise. 

"Yet it is as clear as shining after rain. You, _mein liebes Kind_, are the cook. "

It was now Annalise's turn to stare, and she stood for a moment doingit, her face changing from white to red while Fritzing turned his backand taking out a pencil made little sums on the margin of the bill. "Herr Geheimrath, I am not a cook, " she said at last, swallowing herindignation. 

"What, still there?" he exclaimed, looking up sharply. "Unworthy one, get thee quickly to the kitchen. Is it seemly to keep the Princesswaiting?"

"I am not a cook, " said Annalise defiantly. "I was not engaged as acook, I never was a cook, and I will not be a cook. "

Fritzing flung down the bill and came and glared close intoAnnalise's face. "Not a cook?" he cried. "You, a German girl, thedaughter of poor parents, you are not ashamed to say it? You do nothide your head for shame? No--a being so useful, so necessary, soworthy of respect as a cook you are not and never will be. I'll tellyou what you are, --I've told you once already, and I repeat it--youare a knave, my Fräulein, a knave, I say. And in those parts of yourmiserable nature where you are not a knave--for I willingly concedethat no man or woman is bad all through--in those parts, I say, whereyour knavishness is intermittent, you are an absolute, unmitigatedfool. "

"I will not bear this, " cried Annalise. 

"Will not! Cannot! Shall not! Inept Negation, get thee to thy kitchenand seek wisdom among the pots. "

"I am no one's slave, " cried Annalise, "I am no one's prisoner. "

"Hark at her! Who said you were? Have I not told you the only twothings you are?"

"But I am treated as a prisoner, I am treated as a slave, " sobbedAnnalise. 

"Unmannerly one, how dare you linger talking follies when your royalmistress is waiting for her tea? Run--run! Or must I show you how?"

"Her Grand Ducal Highness, " said Annalise, not budging, "told me alsoto prepare the bath for her this evening. "

"Well, what of that?" cried Fritzing, snatching up the bill again andadding up furiously. "Prepare it, then. "

"I see no water-taps. "

"Woman, there are none. "

"How can I prepare a bath without water-taps?"

"O thou Inefficiency! Ineptitude garbed as woman! Must I then teachthee the elements of thy business? Hast thou not observed the pump? Goto it, and draw water. Cause the water to flow into buckets. Carrythese buckets--need I go on? Will not Nature herself teach thee whatto do with buckets?"

Annalise flushed scarlet. "I will not go to the pump, " she said. 

"What, you will not carry out her Grand Ducal Highness's orders?"

"I will not go to the pump. "

"You refuse to prepare the bath?"

"I will not go to the pump. "

"You refuse to prepare the tea?"

"I will not be a cook. "

"You are rankly rebellious?"

"I will not sleep in the attic. "

"What!"

"I will not eat the food. "

"What!"

"I will not do the work. "

"What!"

"I will go. "

"Go?"

"_Go_, " repeated Annalise, stamping her foot. "I demand my wages, theincreased wages that were promised me, and I will go. "

"And where, Impudence past believing, will you go, in a country whosetongue you most luckily do not understand?"

Annalise looked up into Fritzing's furious eyes with the challengeof him who flings down his trump card. "Go?" she cried, with adefiance that was blood-curdling in one so small and hitherto sosilent, "I will first go to that young gentleman who speaks mylanguage and I will tell him all, and then, with his assistance, Iwill go straight--but _straight_, do you hear?"--and she stampedher foot again--"to Lothen-Kunitz. "

XIV

Early in this story I pointed out what to the intelligent must havebeen from the beginning apparent, that Annalise held Priscilla andFritzing in the hollow of her hand. In the first excitement of thestart she had not noticed it, but during those woeful days ofdisillusionment at Baker's she saw it with an ever-growing clearness;and since Sunday, since the day she found a smiling young gentlemanready to talk German to her and answer questions, she was perfectlyaware that she had only to close her hand and her victims wouldsqueeze into any shape she liked. She proposed to do this closing atthe first moment of sheer intolerableness, and that moment seemed wellreached when she entered Creeper Cottage and realized what the attic, the kitchen, and the pump really meant. 

It is always a shock to find one's self in the company of a worm thatturns, always a shock and an amazement; a spectacle one never, somehow, gets used to. But how dreadful does it become when one is inthe power of the worm, and the worm is resentful, and ready to squeezeto any extent. Fritzing reflected bitterly that Annalise might quitewell have been left at home. Quite well? A thousand times better. What had she done but whine during her passive period? And now thatshe was active, a volcano in full activity hurling forth hot streamsof treachery on two most harmless heads, she, the insignificant, thebase-born, the empty-brained, was actually going to be able to ruinthe plans of the noblest woman on earth. 

Thus thought Fritzing, mopping his forehead. Annalise had rushed awayto her attic after flinging her defiance at him, her spirit ready todare anything but her body too small, she felt, to risk staying withinreach of a man who looked more like somebody who meant to shake herthan any one she had ever seen. Fritzing mopped his forehead, andmopped and mopped again. He stood where she had left him, his eyesfixed on the ground, his distress so extreme that he was quite nearcrying. What was he to do? What was he to say to his Princess? How washe to stop the girl's going back to Kunitz? How was he to stop hergoing even so far as young Morrison? That she should tell youngMorrison who Priscilla was would indeed be a terrible thing. It wouldend their being able to live in Symford. It would end their being ableto live in England. The Grand Duke would be after them, and therewould have to be another flight to another country, another startthere, another search for a home, another set of explanations, pretences, fears, lies, --things of which he was so weary. But therewas something else, something worse than any of these things, thatmade Fritzing mop his forehead with so extreme a desperation: Annalisehad demanded the money due to her, and Fritzing had no money. 

I am afraid Fritzing was never meant for a conspirator. Nature nevermeant him to be a plotter, an arranger of unpleasant surprises forparents. She never meant him to run away. She meant him, probably, to spend his days communing with the past in a lofty room withdistempered walls and busts round them. That he should be forced toact, to decide, to be artful, to wrangle with maids, to make endsmeet, to squeeze his long frame and explosive disposition into aCreeper Cottage where only an ill-fitting door separated him from thenoise and fumes of the kitchen, was surely a cruel trick of Fate, andnot less cruel because he had brought it on himself. That he shouldhave thought he could run away as well as any man is merely a proof ofhis singleness of soul. A man who does that successfully is always, among a great many other things, a man who takes plenty of money withhim and knows exactly where to put his hand on more when it is wanted. Fritzing had thought it better to get away quickly with little moneythan to wait and get away with more. He had seized all he could of hisown that was not invested, and Priscilla had drawn her loose cash fromthe Kunitz bank; but what he took hidden in his gaiters after payingfor Priscilla's outfit and bribing Annalise was not more than threehundred pounds; and what is three hundred pounds to a person who buysand furnishes cottages and scatters five-pound notes among the poor?The cottages were paid for. He had insisted on doing that at once, chiefly in order to close his dealings with Mr. Dawson; but Mr. Dawsonhad not let them go for less than a hundred and fifty for the two, inspite of Tussie's having said a hundred was enough. When Fritzing toldMr. Dawson what Tussie had said Mr. Dawson soon proved that Tussiecould not possibly have meant it; and Fritzing, knowing how richPriscilla really was and what vast savings he had himself lying overin Germany in comfortable securities, paid him without arguing andhastened from the hated presence. Then the journey for the three fromKunitz had been expensive; the stay at Baker's Farm had been, strangeto say, expensive; Mrs. Jones's comforting had been expensive; thevillage mothers had twice emptied Priscilla's purse of ten pounds; andthe treat to the Symford children had not been cheap. After paying forthis--the Minehead confectioner turned out to be a man of little faithin unknown foreigners, and insisted on being paid at once--Fritzinghad about forty pounds left. This, he had thought, would do for foodand lights and things for a long while, --certainly till he had hit ona plan by which he would be able to get hold of the Princess's moneyand his own without betraying where they were; and here on his table, the second unpleasant surprise that greeted him on entering his newhome (the first had been his late master's dreadful smile) was thebill for the furnishing of it. To a man possessed of only forty poundsany bill will seem tremendous. This one was for nearly two hundred;and at the end of the long list of items, the biggest of which wasthat bathroom without water that had sent Annalise out on strike, wasthe information that a remittance would oblige. A remittance! PoorFritzing. He crushed the paper in his hand and made caustic mentalcomments on the indecency of these people, clamouring for their moneyalmost before the last workman was out of the place, certainly beforethe smell of paint was out of it, and clamouring, too, in the face ofthe Shuttleworth countenance and support. He had not been a week yetin Symford, and had been so busy, so rushed, that he had put offthinking out a plan for getting his money over from Germany until heshould be settled. Never had he imagined people would demand paymentin this manner. Never, either, had he imagined the Princess would wantso much money for the poor; and never, of course, had he imagined thatthere would be a children's treat within three days of their arrival. Least of all had he dreamed that Annalise would so soon need morebribing; for that was clearly the only thing to do. He saw it was theonly thing, after he had stood for some time thinking and wiping thecold sweat from his forehead. She must be bribed, silenced, given into. He must part with as much as he possibly could of that last fortypounds; as much, also, as he possibly could of his pride, and submitto have the hussy's foot on his neck. Some day, some day, thoughtFritzing grinding his teeth, he would be even with her; and when thatday came he promised himself that it should certainly begin with asound shaking. "Truly, " he reflected, "the foolish things of the worldconfound the wise, and the weak things of the world confound thethings that are mighty. " And he went out, and standing in the backyard beneath Annalise's window softly called to her. "Fräulein, "called Fritzing, softly as a dove wooing its mate. 

"Aha, " thought Annalise, sitting on her bed, quick to mark the change;but she did not move. 

"Fräulein, " called Fritzing again; and it was hardly a call so much asa melodious murmur. 

Annalise did not move, but she grinned. 

"Fräulein, come down one moment, " cooed Fritzing, whose head was quitenear the attic window so low was Creeper Cottage. "I wish to speak toyou. I wish to give you something. "

Annalise did not move, but she stuffed her handkerchief into hermouth; for the first time since she left Calais she was enjoyingherself. 

"If, " went on Fritzing after an anxious pause, "I was sharp with youjust now--and I fear I may have been hasty--you should not take itamiss from one who, like Brutus, is sick of many griefs. Come down, Fräulein, and let me make amends. "

The Princess's bell rang. At once habit impelled Annalise to thatwhich Fritzing's pleadings would never have effected; she scrambleddown the ladder, and leaving him still under her window presentedherself before her mistress with her usual face of meek respect. 

"I said tea, " said Priscilla very distinctly, looking at her withslightly lifted eyebrows. 

Annalise curtseyed and disappeared. 

"How fearfully polite German maids are, " remarked Tussie. 

"In what way?" asked Priscilla. 

"Those curtseys. They're magnificent. "

"Don't English maids curtsey?"

"None that I've ever seen. Perhaps they do to royalties. "

"Oh?" said Priscilla with a little jump. She was still so muchunnerved by the unexpected meeting with her father on the wall ofCreeper Cottage that she could not prevent the little jump. 

"What would German maids do, I wonder, in dealing with royalties, "said Tussie, "if they curtsey so beautifully to ordinary mistresses?They'd have to go down on their knees to a princess, wouldn't they?"

"How should I know?" said Priscilla, irritably, alarmed to feel shewas turning red; and with great determination she began to talkliterature. 

Fritzing was lying in wait for Annalise, and caught her as she cameinto the bathroom. 

"Fräulein, " said the miserable man trying to screw his face intopersuasiveness, "you cannot let the Princess go without tea. "

"Yes I can, " said Annalise. 

He thrust his hands into his pockets to keep them off her shoulders. 

"Make it this once, Fräulein, and I will hire a woman of the villageto make it in future. And see, you must not leave the Princess'sservice, a service of such great honour to yourself, because I chancedto be perhaps a little--hasty. I will give you two hundred marks toconsole you for the slight though undoubted difference in the mode ofliving, and I will, as I said, hire a woman to come each day and cook. Will it not be well so?"

"No, " said Annalise. 

"No?"

Annalise put her hands on her hips, and swaying lightly from side toside began to sing softly. Fritzing gazed at this fresh development inher manners in silent astonishment. "_Jedermann macht mir die Cour, c'est l'amour, c'est l'amour_, " sang Annalise, her head one side, hereyes on the ceiling. 

"_Liebes Kind_, are your promises of no value? Did you not promise tokeep your mouth shut, and not betray the Princess's confidence? Didshe not seek you out from all the others for the honour of keeping hersecrets? And you will, after one week, divulge them to a stranger? Youwill leave her service? You will return to Kunitz? Is it well so?"

"_C'est l'amour, c'est l'amour_, " sang Annalise, swaying. 

"Is it well so, Fräulein?" repeated Fritzing, strangling a furiousdesire to slap her. 

"Did you speak?" inquired Annalise, pausing in her song. 

"I am speaking all the time. I asked if it were well to betray thesecrets of your royal mistress. "

"I have been starved, " said Annalise. 

"You have had the same fare as ourselves. "

"I have been called names. "

"Have I not expressed--regret?"

"I have been treated as dirt. "

"Well, well, I have apologized. "

"If you had behaved to me as a maid of a royal lady should be behavedto, I would have faithfully done my part and kept silence. Now give memy money and I will go. "

"I will give you your money--certainly, _liebes Kind_. It is what I ammost desirous of doing. But only on condition that you stay. If yougo, you go without it. If you stay, I will do as I said about the cookand will--" Fritzing paused--"I will endeavour to refrain from callingyou anything hasty. "

"Two hundred marks, " said Annalise gazing at the ceiling, "isnothing. "

"Nothing?" cried Fritzing. "You know very well that it is, for you, agreat sum. "

"It is nothing. I require a thousand. "

"A thousand? What, fifty English sovereigns? Nay, then, but there isno reasoning with you, " cried Fritzing in tones of real despair. 

She caught the conviction in them and hesitated. "Eight hundred, then, " she said. 

"Impossible. And besides it would be a sin. I will give you twenty. "

"Twenty? Twenty marks?" Annalise stared at him a moment then resumedher swaying and her song--"_Jedermann macht mir die Cour_"--sangAnnalise with redoubled conviction. 

"No, no, not marks--twenty pounds, " said Fritzing, interrupting whatwas to him a most maddening music. "Four hundred marks. As much asmany a German girl can only earn by labouring two years you willreceive for doing nothing but hold your tongue. "

Annalise closed her lips tightly and shook her head. "My tongue cannotbe held for that, " she said, beginning to sway again and hum. 

Adjectives foamed on Fritzing's own, but he kept them back. "_Mädchen_, " he said with the gentleness of a pastor in a confirmationclass, "do you not remember that the love of money is the root of allevil? I do not recognize you. Since when have you become thus greedyfor it?"

"Give me eight hundred and I will stop. "

"I will give you six hundred, " said Fritzing, fighting for each of hislast precious pounds. 

"Eight. "

"Six. "

"I said eight, " said Annalise, stopping and looking at him with liftedeye-brows and exactly imitating the distinctness with which thePrincess had just said "I said tea. "

"Six is an enormous sum. Why, what would you do with it?"

"That is my affair. Perhaps buy food, " she said with a maliciousside-glance. 

"I tell you there shall be a cook. "

"A cook, " said Annalise counting on her fingers, --"and a good cook, observe--not a cook like the Frau Pearce--a cook, then, no more rudenames, and eight hundred marks. Then I stop. I suffer. I am silent. "

"It cannot be done. I cannot give you eight. "

"_C'est l'amour, c'est l'amour_. . . . The Princess waits for her tea. Iwill prepare it for her this once. I am good, you see, at heart. But Imust have eight hundred marks. _Cest l'amo-o-o-o-o-our_. "

"I will give you seven, " said Fritzing, doing rapid sums in his head. Seven hundred was something under thirty-five pounds. He would stillhave five pounds left for housekeeping. How long that would last headmitted to himself that probably only heaven knew, but he hoped thatwith economy it might be made to carry them over a fortnight; andsurely by the end of a fortnight he would have hit on a way of gettingfresh supplies from Germany? "I will give you seven hundred. That isthe utter-most. I can give no more till I have written home for money. I have only a little more than that here altogether. See, I treat youlike a reasonable being--I set the truth plainly before you. Morethan seven hundred I could not give if I would. "

"Good, " said Annalise, breaking off her music suddenly. "I will takethat now and guarantee to be silent for fourteen days. At the end ofthat time the Herr Geheimrath will have plenty more money and will, ifhe still desires my services and my silence, give me the three hundredstill due to me on the thousand I demand. If the Herr Geheimrathprefers not to, then I depart to my native country. While thefortnight lasts I will suffer all there is to suffer in silence. Isthe Herr Geheimrath agreed?"

"Shameless one!" mentally shrieked Fritzing, "Wait and see what willhappen to thee when my turn comes!" But aloud he only agreed. "It iswell, Fräulein, " he said. "Take in the Princess's tea, and then cometo my sitting-room and I will give you the money. The fire burns inthe kitchen. Utensils, I believe, are ready to hand. It should notprove a task too difficult. "

"Perhaps the Herr Geheimrath will show me where the tea and milk is?And also the sugar, and the bread and butter if any?" suggestedAnnalise in a small meek voice as she tripped before him into thekitchen. 

What could he do but follow? Her foot was well on his neck; and itoccurred to him as he rummaged miserably among canisters that if thecreature should take it into her head to marry him he mightconceivably have to let her do it. As it was it was he and notAnnalise who took the kettle out to the pump to fill it, and her facewhile he was doing it would have rejoiced her parents or other personsto whom she was presumably dear, it was wide with so enormous asatisfaction. Thus terrible is it to be in the power of an Annalise. 

XV

The first evening in Creeper Cottage was unpleasant. There was ablazing wood fire, the curtains were drawn, the lamp shone rosilythrough its red shade, and when Priscilla stood up her hair dusted theoak beams of the ceiling, it was so low. The background, you see, wasperfectly satisfactory; exactly what a cottage background should be onan autumn night when outside a wet mist is hanging like a grey curtainacross the window panes; and Tussie arriving at nine o'clock to helpconsecrate the new life with Shakespeare felt, as he opened the doorand walked out of the darkness into the rosy, cosy little room, thathe need not after all worry himself with doubts as to the divinegirl's being comfortable. Never did place appear more comfortable. Itdid not occur to him that a lamp with a red shade and the blaze of awood fire will make any place appear comfortable so long as they go onshining, and he looked up at Priscilla--I am afraid he had to look upat her when they were both standing--with the broadest smile ofgenuine pleasure. "It _does_ look jolly, " he said heartily. 

His pleasure was doomed to an immediate wiping out. Priscilla smiled, but with a reservation behind her smile that his sensitive spirit feltat once. She was alone, and there was no sign whatever either of heruncle or of preparations for the reading of Shakespeare. 

"Is anything not quite right?" Tussie asked, his face falling at onceto an anxious pucker. 

Priscilla looked at him and smiled again, but this time the smile wasreal, in her eyes as well as on her lips, dancing in them togetherwith the flickering firelight. "It's rather funny, " she said. "It hasnever happened to me before. What do you think? I'm hungry. "

"Hungry?"

"Hungry. "

Tussie stared, arrested in the unwinding of his comforter. 

"Really hungry. _Dreadfully_ hungry. So hungry that I hateShakespeare. "

"But--"

"I know. You're going to say why not eat? It does seem simple. Butyou've no idea how difficult it really is. I'm afraid my uncle and Ihave rather heaps to learn. We forgot to get a cook. "

"A cook? But I thought--I understood that curtseying maid of yours wasgoing to do all that?"

"So did I. So did he. But she won't. "

Priscilla flushed, for since Tussie left after tea she had hadgrievous surprises, of a kind that made her first indignant and theninclined to wince. Fritzing had not been able to hide from her thatAnnalise had rebelled and refused to cook, and Priscilla had not beenable to follow her immediate impulse and dismiss her. It was at thispoint, when she realized this, that the wincing began. She feltperfectly sick at the thought, flashed upon her for the first time, that she was in the power of a servant. 

"Do you mean to say, " said Tussie in a voice hollow withconsternation, "that you've had no dinner?"

"Dinner? In a cottage? Why of course there was no dinner. There neverwill be any dinner--at night, at least. But the tragic thing is therewas no supper. We didn't think of it till we began to get hungry. Annalise began first. She got hungry at six o'clock, and saidsomething to Fritz--my uncle about it, but he wasn't hungry himselfthen and so he snubbed her. Now he is hungry himself, and he's goneout to see if he can't find a cook. It's very stupid. There's nothingin the house. Annalise ate the bread and things she found. She'supstairs now, crying. " And Priscilla's lips twitched as she looked atTussie's concerned face, and she began to laugh. 

He seized his hat. "I'll go and get you something, " he said, dashingat the door. 

"I can't think what, at this time of the night. The only shop shuts atseven. "

"I'll make them open it. "

"They go to bed at nine. "

"I'll get them out of bed if I have to shie stones at their windowsall night. "

"Don't go without your coat--you'll catch a most frightful cold. "

He put his arm through the door to take it, and vanished in the fog. He did not put on the coat in his agitation, but kept it over his arm. His comforter stayed in Priscilla's parlour, on the chair where he hadflung it. He was in evening dress, and his throat was sore alreadywith the cold that was coming on and that he had caught, as heexpected, running races on the Sunday at Priscilla's children's party. 

Priscilla went back to her seat by the fire, and thought very hardabout things like bread. It would of course be impossible that sheshould have reached this state of famine only because one meal hadbeen missed; but she had eaten nothing all day, --disliked the Baker'sFarm breakfast too much even to look at it, forgotten the Baker's Farmdinner because she was just moving into her cottage, and at tea hadbeen too greatly upset by the unexpected appearance of her father onthe wall to care to eat the bread and butter Annalise brought in. Nowshe was in that state when you tremble and feel cold. She had toldAnnalise, about half-past seven, to bring her the bread left from tea, but Annalise had eaten it. At half-past eight she had told Annalise tobring her the sugar, for she had read somewhere that if you eat enoughsugar it takes away the desire even of the hungriest for other food, but Annalise, who had eaten the sugar as well, said that the HerrGeheimrath must have eaten it. It certainly was not there, and neitherwas the Herr Geheimrath to defend himself; since half-past seven hehad been out looking for a cook, his mind pervaded by the idea that ifonly he could get a cook food would follow in her wake as naturally asflowers follow after rain. Priscilla fretting in her chair that heshould stay away so long saw very clearly that no cook could helpthem. What is the use of a cook in a house where there is nothing tocook? If only Fritzing would come back quickly with a great manyloaves of bread! The door was opened a little way and somebody'sknuckles knocked. She thought it was Tussie, quick and clever as ever, and in a voice full of welcome told him to come in; upon which instepped Robin Morrison very briskly, delighted by the warmth of theinvitation. "Why now this _is_ nice, " said Robin, all smiles. 

Priscilla did not move and did not offer to shake hands, so he stoodon the hearthrug and spread out his own to the blaze, looking down ather with bright, audacious eyes. He thought he had not yet seen her sobeautiful. There was an extraordinary depth and mystery in her look, he thought, as it rested for a moment on his face, and she had neveryet dropped her eyelashes as she now did when her eyes met his. Weknow she was very hungry, and there was no strength in her at all. Not only did her eyelashes drop, but her head as well, and her handshung helplessly, like drooping white flowers, one over each arm of thechair. 

"I came in to ask Mr. Neumann-Schultz if there's anything I can do foryou, " said Robin. 

"Did you? He lives next door. "

"I know. I knocked there first, but he didn't answer so I thought hemust be here. "

Priscilla said nothing. At any other time she would have snubbed Robinand got rid of him. Now she merely sat and drooped. 

"Has he gone out?"

"Yes. "

Her voice was very low, hardly more than a whisper. Those who know thefaintness of hunger at this stage will also know the pathos thatsteals into the voice of the sufferer when he is unwillingly made tospeak; it becomes plaintive, melodious with yearning, the yearning forfood. But if you do not know this, if you have yourself just come fromdinner, if you are half in love and want the other person to be quitein love, if you are full of faith in your own fascinations, you areapt to fall into Robin's error and mistake the nature of the yearning. Tussie in Robin's place would have doubted the evidence of his senses, but then Tussie was very modest. Robin doubted nothing. He saw, heheard, and he thrilled; and underneath his thrilling, which was realenough to make him flush to the roots of his hair, far down underneathit was the swift contemptuous comment, "They're all alike. "

Priscilla shut her eyes. She was listening for the first sound ofTussie's or Fritzing's footfall, the glad sound heralding the approachof something to eat, and wishing Robin would go away. He was kind attimes and obliging, but on the whole a nuisance. It was a great pitythere were so many people in the world who were nuisances and did notknow it. Somebody ought to tell them, --their mothers, or other usefulpersons of that sort. She vaguely decided that the next time she metRobin and was strengthened properly by food she would say a few thingsto him from which recovery would take a long while. 

"Are you--not well?" Robin asked, after a silence during which hiseyes never left her and hers were shut; and even to himself his voicesounded deeper, more intense than usual. 

"Oh yes, " murmured Priscilla with a little sigh. 

"Are you--happy?"

Happy? Can anybody who is supperless, dinnerless, breakfastless, behappy, Priscilla wondered? But the question struck her as funny, andthe vibrating tones in which it was asked struck her as rather funnytoo, and she opened her eyes for a moment to look up at Robin with asmile of amusement--a smile that she could not guess was turned by thehunger within her into something wistful and tremulous. "Yes, " saidPriscilla in that strange pathetic voice, "I--think so. " And after abrief glance at him down went her weary eyelids again. 

The next thing that happened was that Robin, who was trembling, kissed her hand. This she let him do with perfect placidity. EveryGerman woman is used to having her hand kissed. It is kissed onmeeting, it is kissed on parting, it is kissed at a great many oddtimes in between; she holds it up mechanically when she comesacross a male acquaintance; she is never surprised at the ceremony;the only thing that surprises her is if it is left out. Priscillathen simply thought Robin was going. "What a mercy, " she said toherself, glancing at him a moment through her eyelashes. But Robinwas not used to hand-kissing and saw things in a very differentlight. He felt she made no attempt to draw her hand away, he heardher murmuring something inarticulate--it was merely Good-bye--hewas hurled along to his doom; and stooping over her the unfortunateyoung man kissed her hair. 

Priscilla opened her eyes suddenly and very wide. I don't know whatfolly he would have perpetrated next, or what sillinesses were on thetip of his tongue, or what meaning he still chose to read in her look, but an instant afterwards he was brought down for ever from the giddyheights of his illusions: Priscilla boxed his ears. 

I am sorry to have to record it. It is always sweeter if a woman doesnot box ears. The action is shrewish, benighted, mediæval, nay, barbarous; and this box was a very hard one indeed, extraordinarilyhard for so little a hand and so fasting a girl. But we know she hadtwice already been on the verge of doing it; and the pent-up vigour ofwhat the policeman had not got and what the mother in the train hadnot got was added I imagine to what Robin got. Anyhow it wasefficacious. There was an exclamation--I think of surprise, for surelya young man would not have minded the pain?--and he put his hand upquickly to his face. Priscilla got up just as quickly out of her chairand rang the handbell furiously, her eyes on his, her face ablaze. Annalise must have thrown herself down the ladder, for they hardlyseemed to have been standing there an instant face to face, their eyeson a level, he scarlet, she white, both deadly silent, before the maidwas in the room. 

"This person has insulted me, " said Priscilla, turning to her andpointing at Robin. "He never comes here again. Don't let me find youforgetting that, " she added, frowning at the girl; for she rememberedthey had been seen talking eagerly together at the children's treat. 

"I never"--began Robin. 

"Will you go?"

Annalise opened the door for him. He went out, and she shut it behindhim. Then she walked sedately across the room again, looking sidewaysat the Princess, who took no notice of her but stood motionless by thetable gazing straight before her, her lips compressed, her face setin a kind of frozen white rage, and having got into the bathroomAnnalise began to run. She ran out at the back door, in again atFritzing's back door, out at his front door into the street, andcaught up Robin as he was turning down the lane to the vicarage. "Whathave you done?" she asked him breathlessly, in German. 

"Done?" Robin threw back his head and laughed quite loud. 

"Sh--sh, " said Annalise, glancing back fearfully over her shoulder. 

"Done?" said Robin, subduing his bitter mirth. "What do you supposeI've done? I've done what any man would have in my place--encouraged, almost asked to do it. I kissed your young lady, _liebes Fräulein_, and she pretended not to like it. Now isn't that what a sensible girllike you would call absurd?"

But Annalise started back from the hand he held out to her in genuinehorror. "What?" she cried, "What?"

"What? What?" mocked Robin. "Well then, what? Are you all such prudesin Germany? Even you pretending, you little hypocrite?"

"Oh, " cried Annalise hysterically, pushing him away with both herhands, "what have you done? _Elender Junge_, what have you done?"

"I think you must all be mad, " said Robin angrily. "You can't persuademe that nobody ever kisses anybody over in Germany. "

"Oh yes they do--oh yes they do, " cried Annalise, wringing her hands, "but neither there nor anywhere else--in England, anywhere in theworld--do the sons of pastors--the sons of pastors--" She seemed tostruggle for breath, and twisted and untwisted her apron round herhands in a storm of agitation while Robin, utterly astonished, staredat her--"Neither there nor anywhere else do they--the sons ofpastors--kiss--kiss royal princesses. "

It was now Robin's turn to say "What?"

XVI

He went up to Cambridge the next morning. Term had not begun, but hewent; a Robin with all the briskness gone out of him, and if stillwith something of the bird left only of a bird that is moulting. Hisfather was mildly surprised, but applauded the apparent desire forsolitary study. His mother was violently surprised, and tried hardto get at his true reasons. She saw with the piercing eye of arelation--that eye from which hardly anything can ever be hidden--thatsomething had happened and that the something was sobering andunpleasant. She could not imagine what it was, for she did not know hehad been to Creeper Cottage the night before and all the afternoon andat dinner he had talked and behaved as usual. Now he did not talk atall, and his behaviour was limited to a hasty packing of portmanteaus. Determined to question him she called him into the study just beforehe started, and shut the door. 

"I must go mater, " he said, pulling out his watch; he had carefullyavoided her since breakfast though she had laid many traps for him. 

"Robin, I want to tell you that I think you splendid. "

"Splendid? What on earth for? You were telling me a very differentsort of thing a day or two ago. "

"I am sorry now for what I said on Sunday. "

"I don't think a mother ought ever to say she's sorry, " said Robingloomily. 

"Not if she is?"

"She oughtn't to say so. "

"Well dear let us be friends. Don't go away angry with me. I doappreciate you so much for going. You are my own dear boy. " And sheput her hands on his shoulders. 

He took out his watch again. "I say, I must be off. "

"Don't suppose a mother doesn't see and understand. "

"Oh I don't suppose anything. Good-bye mater. "

"I think it so splendid of you to go, to turn your back on temptation, to unwind yourself from that wretched girl's coils. "

"Coils?"

"My Robin"--she stroked his cheek, the same cheek, as it happened, Priscilla had smitten--"my Robin must not throw himself away. I amambitious where you are concerned, my darling. It would have broken myheart for you to have married a nobody--perhaps a worse than nobody. "

Robin, who was staring at her with an indescribable expression on hisface, took her hands off his shoulders. "Look here mater, " hesaid--and he was seized by a desire to laugh terrifically--"there isnothing in the world quite so amusing as the way people will talkwisely of things they don't in the faintest degree understand. Theyseem to feel wise in proportion to their ignorance. I expect you thinkthat's a funny speech for me to make. I can tell you I don't think ithalf as funny as yours was. Good-bye. I shall miss my train you knowif you keep me, and then I'd be exposed again to those--what was theword? ah, yes--coils. Coils!" He burst into loud laughter. "Good-byemater. "

She was staring at him blankly. He hastily brushed her forehead withhis moustache and hurried to the door, his face full of strange mirth. "I say, " he said, putting in his head again, "there's just one thingI'd like to say. "

She made an eager step towards him. "Do say it my darling--say allthat is in your heart. "

"Oh it's not much--it's only God help poor Tuss. " And that was thelast of him. She heard him chuckling all down the passage; but longbefore his fly had reached Ullerton he had left off doing that and wasmoulting again. 

It rained that day in Somersetshire, a steady, hopeless rain thatsoaked many a leaf off the trees before its time and made the yearlook suddenly quite old. From the windows of Creeper Cottage you couldsee the water running in rivulets down the hill into the desertedvillage, and wreaths of mist hanging about the downs beyond. Thedripping tombstone that blocked Priscilla's window grew danker andblacker as the day went by. The fires in the cottage burnt badly, forthe wood had somehow got wet. The oilcloth and the wall-papers lookedvery dismal in the grey daylight. Rain came in underneath the twofront doors and made puddles that nobody wiped away. 

Priscilla had got up very late, after a night spent staring into thedarkness, and then had sent for Fritzing and told him what Robin haddone. The unhappy man's horror will be easily imagined. She was in bedthe night before when he came in, quite cured of her hunger and onlywanting to be alone with her wrath. Fritzing had found no one in theparlour but Tussie clasping an immense biscuit-tin in his arms, with aface so tragic that Fritzing thought something terrible must havehappened. Tussie had returned joyfully, laden with biscuits andsardines, to find the girl standing straight and speechless by thetable, her face rigid, her eyes ablaze. She had not so much as glancedat the biscuits; she had not said a single word; her look rested onhim a moment as though she did not see him and then she went into thenext room and upstairs to bed. He knew she went upstairs to bed for inCreeper Cottage you could hear everything. 

Fritzing coming in a few minutes later without the cook he had hopedto find, was glad enough of Tussie's sardines and biscuits--they wereginger biscuits--and while he ate them, abstractedly and together, Tussie looked on and wondered in spite of his wretchedness what thecombination could possibly taste like. Then, after a late breakfaston the Wednesday morning, Priscilla sent for Fritzing and told himwhat Robin had done. The burdened man, so full already of anxietiesand worries, was shattered by the blow. "I have always held duellingin extreme contempt, " he said when at last he could speak, "but now Ishall certainly fight. "

"Fight? You? Fritzi, I've only told you because I--I feel sounprotected here and you must keep him off if he ever tries to comeagain. But you shall not fight. What, first he is to insult me andthen hurt or kill my Fritzi? Besides, nobody ever fights duels inEngland. "

"That remains to be seen. I shall now go to his house and insult himsteadily for half an hour. At the expiration of that time he willprobably be himself anxious to fight. We might go to France--"

"Oh Fritzi don't be so dreadful. Don't go to him--leave himalone--nobody must ever know--"

"I shall now go and insult him, " repeated Fritzing with aninflexibility that silenced her. 

And she saw him a minute later pass her window under his umbrella, splashing indifferently through all the puddles, battle anddestruction in his face. 

Robin, however, was at Ullerton by the time Fritzing got to thevicarage. He waved the servant aside when she told him he had gone, and insisted on penetrating into the presence of the young man'sfather. He waved Mrs. Morrison aside too when she tried to substituteherself for the vicar, and did at last by his stony persistency getinto the good man's presence. Not until the vicar himself told himthat Robin had gone would Fritzing believe it. "The villain has fled, "he told Priscilla, coming back drenched in body but unquenchable inspirit. "Your chastisement, ma'am, was very effectual. "

"If he's gone, then don't let us think about him any more. "

"Nay, ma'am, I now set out for Cambridge. If I may not meet him fairlyin duel and have my chance of honourably removing him from a worldthat has had enough of him, I would fain in my turn box his ears. "

But Priscilla caught him by both arms. "Why, Fritzi, " she cried, "hemight remove you and not you him--and from a world that hasn't hadnearly enough of you. Fritzi, you cannot leave me. I won't let you go. I wish I had never told you. Don't let us talk of it ever again. It ishateful to me. I--I can't bear it. " And she looked into his face withsomething very like tears in her eyes. 

Of course Fritzing stayed. How could he go away even for one hour, even in search of a cook, when such dreadful things happened? He wasbowed down by the burden of his responsibilities. He went into hissitting-room and spent the morning striding up and down it between thestreet door and the door into the kitchen, --a stride and a half oneway, and a stride and a half back back again, --doing what allevildoers have to do sooner or later, cudgelling his brains for a wayout of life's complications: and every now and then the terriblenessof what had happened to his Princess, his guarded Princess, hisunapproachable one, came over him with a fresh wave of horror and hegroaned aloud. 

In the kitchen sat the Shuttleworth kitchenmaid, a most accomplishedyoung person, listening to the groans and wondering what next. Tussiehad sent her, with fearful threats of what sort of character she wouldget if she refused to go. She had at once given notice, but had beenforced all the same to go, being driven over in a dog-cart in theearly morning rain by a groom who made laboured pleasantries at herexpense. She could cook very well, almost as well as that greatpersonage the Shuttleworth cook, but she could only cook if there werethings to be cooked; and what she found at Creeper Cottage was therest of the ginger biscuits and sardines. Well, I will not linger overthat. Priscilla did get breakfast somehow, the girl, after tryingvainly to strike sparks of helpfulness out of Annalise, going to thestore and ordering what was necessary. Then she washed up, whileAnnalise tripped in and out for the express purpose, so it seemed, ofturning up her nose; then she sat and waited and wondered what next. For a long time she supposed somebody would send for her to come andtalk about luncheon; but nobody did. She heard the ceaselessstridings in the next room, and every now and then the groans. Therain on the kitchen window did not patter more ceaselessly than thefootsteps strode up and down, and the groans got very much on to thegirl's nerves. At last she decided that no person who was groaninglike that would ever want to order luncheon, and she had better go tothe young lady. She went out accordingly and knocked at Priscilla'sdoor. Priscilla was in her chair by the fire, lost in troublousthought. She looked vaguely at the kitchenmaid for a moment, and thenasked her to go away. "I'm busy, " explained Priscilla, whose handswere folded in her lap. 

"Please miss, what do you wish for luncheon?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm the--assistant cook at the 'All, miss. Lady Shuttleworth'sassistant cook. Sir Augustus desired me to cook for you to-day. "

"Then please do it. "

"Yes miss. What do you wish for luncheon?"

"Nothing. "

"Yes miss. And the gentleman--don't he want nothing neither?"

"He'll probably tell you when he does. "

"Yes miss. It's as well to know a little beforehand, ain't it, miss. There's nothing in the--a-hem--'ouse, and I suppose I'd have to buysomething. "

"Please do. "

"Yes miss. Perhaps if you'd tell me what the gentleman likes I couldgo out and get it. "

"But I don't know what he likes. And wouldn't you get wet? Sendsomebody. "

"Yes miss. Who?"

Priscilla gazed at her a moment. "Ah yes--" she said, "I forgot. I'mafraid there isn't anybody. I think you had better ask my uncle whathe wants, and then if you would--I'm very sorry you should have suchbad weather--but if you don't mind, would you go and buy the things?"

"Yes miss. "

The girl went away, and Priscilla began for the first time to considerthe probability of her having in the near future to think of and orderthree meals every day of her life; and not only three meals, but shedimly perceived there would be a multitude of other dreary things tothink of and order, --their linen, for instance, must be washed, andhow did one set about that? And would not Fritzing's buttons presentlycome off and have to be sewn on again? His socks, when they went intoholes, could be thrown out of the window and new ones bought, but evenPriscilla saw that you could not throw a whole coat out of a windowbecause its buttons had come off. There would, then, have to be somemending done for Fritzing, and Annalise would certainly not be the oneto do it. Was the simple life a sordid life as well? Did it only looksimple from outside and far away? And was it, close, mere drudging? Afear came over her that her soul, her precious soul, for whose sakeshe had dared everything, instead of being able to spread its wings inthe light of a glorious clear life was going to be choked out ofexistence by weeds just as completely as at Kunitz. 

The Shuttleworth kitchenmaid meanwhile, who was not hindered at everyturn by a regard for her soul, made her way to Fritzing as she hadbeen told and inquired of him what she should cook for his dinner. Noman likes to be interrupted in his groanings; and Fritzing, who wasnot hungry and was startled by the sudden appearance of a stranger inhis room asking him intimate questions, a person of whose presence inthe cottage he had been unaware, flew at her. "Woman, what have I todo with you?" he cried, stopping in his walk and confronting her withsurprising fierceness. "Is it seemly to burst in on a man like this?Have you no decency? No respect for another's privacy? Begone, Icommand you--begone! Begone!" And he made the same movements with hishands that persons do when they shoo away fowls or other animals inflocks. 

This was too much for the Shuttleworth kitchenmaid. The obligations, she considered, were all on the side of Creeper Cottage, and sheretreated in amazement and anger to the kitchen, put on her hat andmackintosh, and at once departed, regardless of the rain and theconsequences, through two miles of dripping lanes to Symford Hall. What would have happened to her there if she had been discovered byTussie I do not know, but I imagine it would have been something bad. She was saved, however, by his being in bed, clutched by the throat bya violent cold; and there he lay helpless, burning and shivering andthrobbing, the pains of his body increased a hundredfold by thedistraction of his mind about Priscilla. Why, Tussie asked himselfover and over again, had she looked so strange the night before? Whyhad she gone starving to bed? What was she doing to-day? Was thekitchenmaid taking proper care of her? Was she keeping warm and drythis shocking weather? Had she slept comfortably the first night inher little home? Poor Tussie. It is a grievous thing to love any onetoo much; a grievous, wasteful, paralyzing thing; a tumbling of theuniverse out of focus, a bringing of the whole world down to the meanlevel of one desire, a shutting out of wider, more beautiful feelings, a wrapping of one's self in a thick garment of selfishness, outsidewhich all the dear, tender, modest, everyday affections andfriendships, the wholesome, ordinary loves, the precious loves of useand wont, are left to shiver and grow cold. Tussie's mother satoutside growing very cold indeed. Her heart was stricken within her. She, most orderly of women, did not in the least mind, so occupied wasshe with deeper cares, that her household was in rebellion, her cookwho had been with her practically all her life leaving because she hadbeen commanded by Tussie, before he had to fall back on thekitchenmaid, to proceed forthwith to Creeper Cottage and stay thereindefinitely; her kitchenmaid, also a valued functionary, leaving;Bryce, Tussie's servant who took such care of him and was so clever insickness, gone suddenly in his indignation at having to go atall, --all these things no longer mattered. Nor did it matter that thecoming of age festivities were thrown into hopeless confusion byTussie's illness, that the guests must all be telegraphed to and putoff, that the whole village would be aghast at such a disappointment, that all her plans and preparations had been wasted. As the first dayand night of illness dragged slowly past she grew to be nothing butone great ache of yearning over her sick boy, a most soul-rendingyearning to do what she knew was for ever impossible, to put her armsso close round him, so close, so carefully, so tenderly, that nothing, no evil, no pain, could get through that clasp of love to hurt him anymore. 

"Why don't you take better care of your only son?" said the doctorgrimly after he had seen Tussie that evening, who by that time was ina very pitiable condition. 

Lady Shuttleworth stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. 

"It's absurd, you know, to let him get into this state. I've oftenwarned you. He can't be allowed to play ducks and drakes with himselflike other young men. He's got no strength to fall back upon. Iconsider you are directly responsible for this illness. Why do youlet him go out at night this time of year? Why do you let himover-exert himself? I suppose, " said the doctor, who had broughtTussie into the world and was as brutal as he was clever, besidesbeing at that moment extremely angry, "I suppose you want to lose him, eh?"

How could she explain to him what she knew to be true, that the oneperson responsible for Tussie's illness was Priscilla? She thereforeonly stared, wide-eyed and speechless; and indeed her heart was verynearly broken. 

XVII

About three o'clock that afternoon Priscilla saw quite clearly whatshe had dimly perceived in the morning, that if there was to bedomestic peace in Creeper Cottage she must bestir herself. She did notlike bestirring herself; at least, not in such directions. She wouldgo out and help the poor, talk to them, cheer them, nurse their babieseven and stir their porridge, but she had not up to this pointrealized her own needs, and how urgent they could be and howimportunate. It was hunger that cleared her vision. The first time shewas hungry she had been amused. Now when it happened again she wasboth surprised and indignant. "Can one's wretched body _never_ keepquiet?" she thought impatiently, when the first twinges dragged herrelentlessly out of her dejected dreaming by the fire. She rememberedthe cold tremblings of the night before, and felt that that statewould certainly be reached again quite soon if she did not stop it atonce. She rang for Annalise. "Tell the cook I will have some luncheonafter all, " she said. 

"The cook is gone, " said Annalise, whose eyes were more aggressivelyswollen than they had yet been. 

"Gone where?"

"Gone away. Gone for ever. "

"But why?" asked Priscilla, really dismayed. 

"The Herr Geheimrath insulted her. I heard him doing it. No woman ofdecency can permit such a tone. She at once left. There has been nodinner to-day. There will be, I greatly fear, n--o--o--supp--pper. "And Annalise gave a loud sob and covered her face with her apron. 

Then Priscilla saw that if life was to roll along at all it was hershoulder that would have to be put to the wheel. Fritzing's shoulderwas evidently not a popular one among the lower classes. The vision ofher own doing anything with wheels was sufficiently amazing, but shedid not stop to gaze upon it. "Annalise, " she said, getting up quicklyand giving herself a little shake, "fetch me my hat and coat. I'mgoing out. "

Annalise let her apron drop far enough to enable her to point to thedeluge going on out of doors. "Not in this weather?" she faltered, images of garments soaked in mud and needing much drying and brushingtroubling her. 

"Get me the things, " said Priscilla. 

"Your Grand Ducal Highness will be wet through. "

"Get me the things. And don't cry quite so much. Crying really is themost shocking waste of time. "

Annalise withdrew, and Priscilla went round to Fritzing. It was thefirst time she had been round to him. He was sitting at his table, hishead in his hands, staring at the furnisher's bill, and he started tosee her coming in unexpectedly through the kitchen, and shut the billhastily in a drawer. 

"Fritzi, have you had anything to eat to-day?"

"Certainly. I had an excellent breakfast. "

"Nothing since?"

"I have not yet felt the need. "

"You know the cook Lady Shuttleworth sent has gone again?"

"What, that woman who burst in upon me was Lady Shuttleworth's cook?"

"Yes. And you frightened her so she ran home. "

"Ma'am, she overstepped the limits of my patience. "

"Dear Fritzi, I often wonder where exactly the limits of your patienceare. With me they have withdrawn into infinite space--I've never beenable to reach them. But every one else seems to have a knack--well, somebody must cook. You tell me Annalise won't. Perhaps she reallycan't. Anyhow I cannot mention it to her, because it would be toohorrible to have her flatly refusing to do something I told her to doand yet not be able to send her away. But somebody must cook, and I'mgoing out to get the somebody. Hush"--she put up her hand as he openedhis mouth to speak--"I know it's raining. I know I'll get wet. Don'tlet us waste time protesting. I'm going. "

Fritzing was conscience-stricken. "Ma'am, " he said, "you must forgiveme for unwittingly bringing this bother upon you. Had I had time forreflection I would not have been so sharp. But the woman burst uponme. I knew not who she was. Sooner than offend her I would have cutout my tongue, could I have foreseen you would yourself go in searchin the rain of a substitute. Permit me to seek another. "

"No, no--you have no luck with cooks, " said Priscilla smiling. "I'mgoing. Why I feel more cheerful already--just getting out of thatchair makes me feel better. "

"Were you not cheerful before?" inquired Fritzing anxiously. 

"Not very, " admitted Priscilla. "But then neither were you. Don'tsuppose I didn't see you with your head in your hands when I came in. Cheerful people never seize their heads in that way. Now Fritzi I knowwhat's worrying you--it's that absurd affair last night. I've left offthinking about it. I'm going to be very happy again, and so must yoube. We won't let one mad young man turn all our beautiful life sour, will we?"

He bent down and kissed her hand. "Permit me to accompany you atleast, " he begged. "I cannot endure--"

But she shook her head; and as she presently walked through the rainholding Fritzing's umbrella, --none had been bought to replace hers, broken on the journey--getting muddier and more draggled everyminute, she felt that now indeed she had got down to elementaryconditions, climbed right down out of the clouds to the place wherelife lies unvarnished and uncomfortable, where Necessity spends hertime forcing you to do all the things you don't like, where the wholeworld seems hungry and muddy and wet. It was an extraordinaryexperience for her, this slopping through the mud with soaking shoes, no prospect of a meal, and a heart that insisted on sinking in spiteof her attempts to persuade herself that the situation was amusing. Itdid not amuse her. It might have amused somebody else, --the GrandDuke, for instance, if he could have watched her now (from, say, aGothic window, himself dry and fed and taken care of), being punishedso naturally and inevitably by the weapons Providence never allows torust, those weapons that save parents and guardians so much personalexertion if only they will let things take their course, those sharp, swift consequences that attend the actions of the impetuous. I might, indeed, if this were a sermon and there were a congregation unable toget away, expatiate on the habit these weapons have of smiting withequal fury the just and the unjust; how you only need to be a littlefoolish, quite a little foolish, under conditions that seem to forceit upon you, and down they come, sure and relentless, and you aresmitten with a thoroughness that leaves you lame for years; howmotives are nothing, circumstances are nothing; how the motives mayhave been aflame with goodness, the circumstances such that any othercourse was impossible; how all these things don't matter in theleast, --you are and shall be smitten. But this is not a sermon. I haveno congregation. And why should I preach to a reader who meanwhile hasskipped?

It comforted Priscilla to find that almost the whole village wanted tocome and cook for her, or as the women put it "do" for her. Theircooking powers were strictly limited, and they proposed to make up forthis by doing for her very completely in other ways; they would scrub, sweep, clean windows, wash, --anything and everything they would do. Would they also sew buttons on her uncle's clothes? Priscilla askedanxiously. And they were ready to sew buttons all over Fritzing ifbuttons would make him happy. This eagerness was very gratifying, butit was embarrassing as well. The extremely aged and the extremelyyoung were the only ones that refrained from offering their services. Some of the girls were excluded as too weedy; some of the mothersbecause their babies were too new; some of the wives because theirhusbands were too exacting; but when Priscilla counted up the namesshe had written down she found there were twenty-five. For a momentshe was staggered. Then she rose to the occasion and got out of thedifficulty with what she thought great skill, arranging, as it wasimpossible to disappoint twenty-four of these, that they should takeit in turn, each coming for one day until all had had a day and thenbeginning again with the first one. It seemed a brilliant plan. Lifeat Creeper Cottage promised to be very varied. She gathered themtogether in the village shop to talk it over. She asked them if theythought ten shillings a day and food would be enough. She asked ithesitatingly, afraid lest she were making them an impossibly frugaloffer. She was relieved at the cry of assent; but it was followedafter a moment by murmurs from the married women, when they had hadtime to reflect, that it was unfair to pay the raw young ones at thesame rate as themselves. Priscilla however turned a deaf ear to theirmurmurings. "The girls may not, " she said, raising her hand to imposesilence, "be able to get through as much as you do in a day, butthey'll be just as tired when evening comes. Certainly I shall givethem the same wages. " She made them draw lots as to who should begin, and took the winner home with her then and there; she too, though theday was far spent, was to have her ten shillings. "What, have youforgotten your New Testaments?" Priscilla cried, when more murmursgreeted this announcement. "Don't you remember the people who came atthe eleventh hour to labour in the vineyard and got just the same asthe others? Why should I try to improve on parables?" And there wassomething about Priscilla, an air, an authority, that twisted thewomen of Symford into any shape of agreement she chose. Thetwenty-four went their several ways. The twenty-fifth ran home to puton a clean apron, and got back to the shop in time to carry the eggsand butter and bread Priscilla had bought. "I forgot to bring anymoney, " said Priscilla when the postmistress--it was she who kept thevillage shop--told her how much it came to. "Does it matter?"

"Oh don't mention it, Miss Neumann-Schultz, " was the pleasant answerof that genteel and trustful lady; and she suggested that Priscillashould take with her a well-recommended leg of mutton she had thatday for sale as well. Priscilla shuddered at the sight of it anddetermined never to eat legs of mutton again. The bacon, too, piled upon the counter, revolted her. The only things that looked as decentraw as when they were cooked were eggs; and on eggs she decided sheand Fritzing would in future live. She broke off a piece of the crustof the bread Mrs. Vickerton was wrapping up and ate it, putting greatpressure on herself to do it carelessly, with a becoming indifference. 

"It's good bread, " said Mrs. Vickerton, doing up her parcel. 

"Where in the world do you get it from?" asked Priscillaenthusiastically. "The man must be a genius. "

"The carrier brings it every day, " said Mrs. Vickerton, pleased andtouched by such appreciation. "It's a Minehead baker's. "

"He ought to be given an order, if ever man ought. "

"An order? For you regular, Miss Neumann-Schultz?"

"No, no, --the sort you pin on your breast, " said Priscilla. 

"Ho, " smiled Mrs. Vickerton vaguely, who did not follow; she was sogenteel that she could never have enough of aspirates. And Priscilla, giving the parcel to her breathless new help, hurried back to CreeperCottage. 

Now this help, or char-girl--you could not call her a charwoman shewas manifestly still so very young--was that Emma who had been obligedto tell the vicar's wife about Priscilla's children's treat and whodid not punctually return books. I will not go so far as to say thatnot to return books punctually is sinful, though deep down in my soulI think it is, but anyhow it is a symptom of moral slackness. Emma wasquite good so long as she was left alone. She could walk quitestraight so long as there were no stones in the way and nobody to pullher aside. If there were stones, she instantly stumbled; if somebodypulled, she instantly went. She was weak, amiable, well-intentioned. She had a widowed father who was unpleasant and who sometimes beat heron Saturday nights, and on Sunday mornings sometimes, if the fumes ofthe Cock and Hens still hung about him, threw things at her before shewent to church. A widowed father in Emma's class is an ill being tolive with. The vicar did his best to comfort her. Mrs. Morrison talkedof the commandments and of honouring one's father and mother and ofhow the less there was to honour the greater the glory of doing it;and Emma was so amiable that she actually did manage to honour him sixdays out of the seven. At the same time she could not help thinking itwould be nice to go away to a place where he wasn't. They wereextremely poor; almost the poorest family in the village, and thevision of possessing ten shillings of her very own was a dizzy one. She had a sweetheart, and she had sent him word by a younger sister ofthe good fortune that had befallen her and begged him to come up toCreeper Cottage that evening and help her carry the precious wagessafely home; and at nine o'clock when her work was done she presentedherself all blushes and smiles before Priscilla and shyly asked herfor them. 

Priscilla was alone in her parlour reading. She referred her, as herhabit was, to Fritzing; but Fritzing had gone out for a little air, the rain having cleared off, and when the girl told her so Priscillabade her come round in the morning and fetch the money. 

Emma's face fell so woefully at this--was not her John at that momentall expectant round the corner?--that Priscilla smiled and got up tosee if she could find some money herself. In the first drawer sheopened in Fritzing's sitting-room was a pocket-book, and in thispocket-book Fritzing's last five-pound note. There was nothing elseexcept the furnisher's bill. She pushed that on one side withoutlooking at it; what did bills matter? Bills never yet had mattered toPriscilla. She pushed it on one side and searched for silver, butfound none. "Perhaps you can change this?" she said, holding out thenote. 

"The shop's shut now, miss, " said Laura, gazing with round eyes at themighty sum. 

"Well then take it, and bring me the change in the morning. "

Emma took it with trembling fingers--she had not in her life touchedso much money--and ran out into the darkness to where her John waswaiting. Symford never saw either of them again. Priscilla never sawher change. Emma went to perdition. Priscilla went back to her chairby the fire. She was under the distinct and comfortable impressionthat she had been the means of making the girl happy. "How easy it is, making people happy, " thought Priscilla placidly, the sweetest smileon her charming mouth. 

XVIII

Bad luck, it will be seen, dogged the footsteps of Priscilla. Neverindeed for a single hour after she entered Creeper Cottage did thegloomy lady cease from her attentions. The place was pervaded by herthick and evil atmosphere. Fritzing could not go out for an airingwithout something of far-reaching consequence happening while he wasaway. It was of course Bad Luck that made the one girl in Symford whowas easily swayed by passing winds of temptation draw the lot that putthe five-pound note into her hands; if she had come to the cottagejust one day later, or if the rain had gone on just half an hourlonger and kept Fritzing indoors, she would, I have no doubt whatever, be still in Symford practising every feeble virtue either on herfather or on her John, by this time probably her very own John. As itwas she was a thief, a lost soul, a banished face for ever from theways of grace. 

Thus are we all the sport of circumstance. Thus was all Symford thesport of Priscilla. Fritzing knew nothing of his loss. He had not toldPriscilla a word of his money difficulties, his idea being to keepevery cloud from her life as long and as completely as possible. Besides, how idle to talk of these things to some one who could in noway help him with counsel or suggestions. He had put the money in hisdrawer, and the thought that it was still unchanged and safe comfortedhim a little in the watches of the sleepless nights. 

Nothing particular happened on the Thursday morning, except that thesecond of the twenty-five kept on breaking things, and Priscilla whowas helping Fritzing arrange the books he had ordered from Londonremarked at the fifth terrific smash, a smash so terrific as to causeCreeper Cottage to tremble all over, that more crockery had better bebought. 

"Yes, " said Fritzing, glancing swiftly at her with almost a guiltyglance. 

He felt very keenly his want of resourcefulness in this matter ofgetting the money over from Germany, but he clung to the hope that afew more wakeful nights would clear his brain and show him the way;and meanwhile there was always the five-pound note in the drawer. 

"And Fritzi, I shall have to get some clothes soon, " Priscilla wenton, dusting the books as he handed them to her. 

"Clothes, ma'am?" repeated Fritzing, straightening himself to stare ather. 

"Those things you bought for me in Gerstein--they're delicious, they're curiosities, but they're not clothes. I mean always to keepthem. I'll have them put in a glass case, and they shall always benear me when we're happy again. "

"Happy again, ma'am?"

"Settled again, I mean, " quickly amended Priscilla. 

She dusted in silence for a little, and began to put the books she haddusted in the shelves. "I'd better write to Paris, " she saidpresently. 

Fritzing jumped. "Paris, ma'am?"

"They've got my measurements. This dress can't stand much more. It'sthe one I've worn all the time. The soaking it got yesterday was verybad for it. You don't see such things, but if you did you'd probablyget a tremendous shock. "

"Ma'am, if you write to Paris you must give your own name, which ofcourse is impossible. They will send nothing to an unknown customer inEngland called Neumann-Schultz. "

"Oh but we'd send the money with the order. That's quite easy, isn'tit?"

"Perfectly easy, " said Fritzing in an oddly exasperated voice; at onceadding, still more snappily, "Might I request your Grand DucalHighness to have the goodness not to put my Æschylus--a most valuableedition--head downwards on the shelf? It is a manner of treating booksoften to be observed in housemaids and similar ignorants. But you, ma'am, have been trained by me I trust in other and more reverent waysof handling what is left to us of the mighty spirits of the past. "

"I'm sorry, " said Priscilla, hastily turning the Æschylus right sideup again; and by launching forth into a long and extremely bitterdissertation on the various ways persons of no intellectualconscience have of ill-treating books, he got rid of some of hisagitation and fixed her attention for the time on questions lessfraught with complications than clothes from Paris. 

About half-past two they were still sitting over the eggs and breadand butter that Priscilla ordered three times a day and that Fritzingate with unquestioning obedience, when the Shuttleworth victoriastopped in front of the cottage and Lady Shuttleworth got out. Fritzing, polite man, hastened to meet her, pushing aside the footmanand offering his arm. She looked at him vaguely, and asked if hisniece were at home. 

"Certainly, " said Fritzing, leading her into Priscilla's parlour. "Shall I inquire if she will receive you?"

"Do, " said Lady Shuttleworth, taking no apparent notice of the oddwording of this question. "Tussie isn't well, " she said the momentPriscilla appeared, fixing her eyes on her face but looking as thoughshe hardly saw her, as though she saw past her, through her, tosomething beyond, while she said a lesson learned by rote. 

"Isn't he? Oh I'm sorry, " said Priscilla. 

"He caught cold last Sunday at your treat. He oughtn't to have runthose races with the boys. He can't--stand--much. "

Priscilla looked at her questioningly. The old lady's face was quiteset and calm, but there had been a queer catch in her voice at thelast words. 

"Why does he do such things, then?" asked Priscilla, feeling vaguelydistressed. 

"Ah yes, my dear--why? That is a question for you to answer, is itnot?"

"For me?"

"On Tuesday night, " continued Lady Shuttleworth, "he was ill when heleft home to come here. He would come. It was a terrible night for adelicate boy to go out. And he didn't stay here, I understand. He wentout to buy something after closing time, and stood a long while tryingto wake the people up. "

"Yes, " said Priscilla, feeling guilty, "I--that was my fault. He wentfor me. "

"Yes my dear. Since then he has been ill. I've come to ask you ifyou'll drive back with me and see if--if you cannot persuade him thatyou are happy. He seems to be much--troubled. "

"Troubled?"

"He seems to be afraid you are not happy. You know, " she added with alittle quavering smile, "Tussie is very kind. He is very unselfish. Hetakes everybody's burdens on his shoulders. He seems to be quitehaunted by the idea that your life here is unendurably uncomfortable, and it worries him dreadfully that he can't get to you to set thingsstraight. I think if he were to see you, and you were very cheerful, and--and smiled, my dear, it might help to get him over this. "

"Get him over this?" echoed Priscilla. "Is he so ill?"

Lady Shuttleworth looked at her and said nothing. 

"Of course I'll come, " said Priscilla, hastily ringing the bell. 

"But you must not look unhappy, " said Lady Shuttleworth, laying herhand on the girl's arm, "that would make matters ten times worse. Youmust promise to be as gay as possible. "

"Yes, yes--I'll be gay, " promised Priscilla, while her heart became aslead within her at the thought that she was the cause of poor Tussie'ssufferings. But was she really, she asked herself during the drive?What had she done but accept help eagerly offered? Surely it was veryinnocent to do that? It was what she had been doing all her life, andpeople had been delighted when she let them be kind to her, andcertainly had not got ill immediately afterwards. Were you never tolet anybody do anything for you lest while they were doing it theyshould get wet feet and things, and then their colds would be uponyour head? She was very sorry Tussie should be ill, dreadfully sorry. He was so kind and good that it was impossible not to like him. Shedid like him. She liked him quite as well as most young men and muchbetter than many. "I'm afraid you are very unhappy, " she said suddenlyto Lady Shuttleworth, struck by the look on her face as she leanedback, silent, in her corner. 

"I do feel rather at my wits' end, " said Lady Shuttleworth. "Forinstance, I'm wondering whether what I'm doing now isn't a greatmistake. "

"What you are doing now?"

"Taking you to see Tussie. "

"Oh but I promise to be cheerful. I'll tell him how comfortable weare. He'll see I look well taken care of. "

"But for all that I'm afraid he may--he may--"

"Why, we're going to be tremendously taken care of. Even he will seethat. Only think--I've engaged twenty-five cooks. "

"Twenty-five cooks?" echoed Lady Shuttleworth, staring in spite of hersorrows. "But isn't my kitchenmaid--?"

"Oh she left us almost at once. She couldn't stand my uncle. He israther difficult to stand at first. You have to know him quite a longwhile before you can begin to like him. And I don't think kitchenmaidsever would begin. "

"But my dear, twenty-five cooks?"

And Priscilla explained how and why she had come by them; and thoughLady Shuttleworth, remembering the order till now prevailing in thevillage and the lowness of the wages, could not help thinking thathere was a girl more potent for mischief than any girl she had evermet, yet a feeble gleam of amusement did, as she listened, slantacross the inky blackness of her soul. 

Tussie was sitting up in bed with a great many pillows behind him, finding immense difficulty in breathing, when his mother, her bonnetoff and every trace of having been out removed, came in and said MissNeumann-Schultz was downstairs. 

"Downstairs? Here? In this house?" gasped Tussie, his eyes round withwonder and joy. 

"Yes. She--called. Would you like her to come up and see you?"

"Oh mother!"

Lady Shuttleworth hurried out. How could she bear this, she thought, stumbling a little as though she did not see very well. She wentdownstairs with the sound of that Oh mother throbbing in her ears. 

Tussie's temperature, high already, went up by leaps during the fewminutes of waiting. He gave feverish directions to the nurse about acomfortable chair being put exactly in the right place, about hispillows being smoothed, his medicine bottles hidden, and was veryanxious that the flannel garment he was made to wear when ill, agarment his mother called a nightingale--not after the bird but thelady--and that was the bluest flannel garment ever seen, should bearranged neatly over his narrow chest. 

The nurse looked disapproving. She did not like her patients to behappy. Perhaps she was right. It is always better, I believe, to becautious and careful, to husband your strength, to be deadly prudentand deadly dull. As you would poison, so should you avoid doing whatthe poet calls living too much in your large hours. The truly prudentnever have large hours; nor should you, if you want to be comfortable. And you get your reward, I am told, in living longer; in having, thatis, a few more of those years that cluster round the end, during whichyou are fed and carried and washed by persons who generally grumble. Who wants to be a flame, doomed to be blown out by the same gust ofwind that has first fanned it to its very brightest? If you are not aflame you cannot, of course, be blown out. Gusts no longer shake you. Tempests pass you by untouched. And if besides you have the additionaladvantage of being extremely smug, extremely thick-skinned, you shallgo on living till ninety, and not during the whole of that time bestirred by so much as a single draught. 

Priscilla came up determined to be so cheerful that she began to smilealmost before she got to the door. "I've come to tell you howsplendidly we're getting on at the cottage, " she said taking Tussie'slean hot hand, the shell of her smile remaining but the heart andsubstance gone out of it, he looked so pitiful and strange. 

"Really? Really?" choked Tussie, putting the other lean hot hand overhers and burning all the coolness out of it. 

The nurse looked still more disapproving. She had not heard SirAugustus had a _fiancée_, and even if he had this was no time forphilandering. She too had noticed the voice in which he had said Ohmother, and she saw by his eyes that his temperature had gone up. Whowas this shabby young lady? She felt sure that no one so shabby couldbe his _fiancée_, and she could only conclude that Lady Shuttleworthmust be mad. 

"Nurse, I'm going to stay here a little, " said Lady Shuttleworth. "I'll call you when I want you. "

"I think, madam, Sir Augustus ought not--" began the nurse. 

"No, no, he shall not. Go and have forty winks, nurse. "

And the nurse had to go; people generally did when Lady Shuttleworthsent them. 

"Sit down--no don't--stay a moment like this, " said Tussie, his breathcoming in little jerks, --"unless you are tired? Did you walk?"

"I'm afraid you are very ill, " said Priscilla, leaving her hand in hisand looking down at him with a face that all her efforts could notinduce to smile. 

"Oh I'll be all right soon. How good of you to come. You've not beenhungry since?"

"No, no, " said Priscilla, stroking his hands with her free hand andgiving them soothing pats as one would to a sick child. 

"Really not? I've thought of that ever since. I've never got your facethat night out of my head. What had happened? While I was away--whathad happened?"

"Nothing--nothing had happened, " said Priscilla hastily. "I was tired. I had a mood. I get them, you know. I get angry easily. Then I liketo be alone till I'm sorry. "

"But what had made you angry? Had I--?"

"No, never. You have never been anything but good and kind. You'vebeen our protecting spirit since we came here. "

Tussie laughed shrilly, and immediately was seized by a coughing fit. Lady Shuttleworth stood at the foot of the bed watching him with aface from which happiness seemed to have fled for ever. Priscilla grewmore and more wretched, caught, obliged to stand there, distractedlystroking his hands in her utter inability to think of anything else todo. 

"A nice protecting spirit, " gasped Tussie derisively, when he couldspeak. "Look at me here, tied down to this bed for heaven knows howlong, and not able to do a thing for you. "

"But there's nothing now to do. We're quite comfortable. We arereally. Do, do believe it. "

"Are you only comfortable, or are you happy as well?"

"Oh, we're _very_ happy, " said Priscilla with all the emphasis shecould get into her voice; and again she tried, quite unsuccessfully, to wrench her mouth into a smile. 

"Then, if you're happy, why do you look so miserable?"

He was gazing up into her face with eyes whose piercing brightnesswould have frightened the nurse. There was no shyness now aboutTussie. There never is about persons whose temperature is 102. 

"Miserable?" repeated Priscilla. She tried to smile; looked helplesslyat Lady Shuttleworth; looked down again at Tussie; and stammering"Because you are so ill and it's all my fault, " to her horror, to herboundless indignation at herself, two tears, big and not to be hidden, rolled down her face and dropped on to Tussie's and her clasped hands. 

Tussie struggled to sit up straight. "Look, mother, look--" he cried, gasping, "my beautiful one--my dear and lovely one--my darling--she'scrying--I've made her cry--now never tell me I'm not a bruteagain--see, see what I've done!"

"Oh"--murmured Priscilla, in great distress and amazement. Was thepoor dear delirious? And she tried to get her hands away. 

But Tussie would not let them go. He held them in a clutch that seemedlike hot iron in both his, and dragging himself nearer to them coveredthem with wild kisses. 

Lady Shuttleworth was appalled. "Tussie, " she said in a very evenvoice, "you must let Miss Neumann-Schultz go now. You must be quietagain now. Let her go, dear. Perhaps she'll--come again. "

"Oh mother, leave me alone, " cried Tussie, lying right across hispillows, his face on Priscilla's hands. "What do you know of thesethings? This is my darling--this is my wife--dream of my spirit--starof my soul--"

"Never in this world!" cried Lady Shuttleworth, coming round to thehead of the bed as quickly as her shaking limbs would take her. 

"Yes, yes, come here if you like, mother--come close--listen while Itell her how I love her. I don't care who hears. Why should I? If Iweren't ill I'd care. I'd be tongue-tied--I'd have gone on beingtongue-tied for ever. Oh I bless being ill, I bless being ill--I cansay anything, anything--"

"Tussie, don't say it, " entreated his mother. "The less you say nowthe more grateful you'll be later on. Let her go. "

"Listen to her!" cried Tussie, interrupting his kissing of her handsto look up at Priscilla and smile with a sort of pitying wonder, "Letyou go? Does one let one's life go? One's hope of salvation go? One'slittle precious minute of perfect happiness go? When I'm well again Ishall be just as dull and stupid as ever, just such a shy fool, notable to speak--"

"But it's a gracious state"--stammered poor Priscilla. 

"Loving you? Loving you?"

"No, no--not being able to speak. It's always best--"

"It isn't. It's best to be true to one's self, to show honestly whatone feels, as I am now--as I am now--" And he fell to kissing herhands again. 

"Tussie, this isn't being honest, " said Lady Shuttleworth sternly, "it's being feverish. "

"Listen to her! Was ever a man interrupted like this in the act ofasking a girl to marry him?"

"Tussie!" cried Lady Shuttleworth. 

"Ethel, will you marry me? Because I love you so? It's an absurdreason--the most magnificently absurd reason, but I know there's noother why you should--"

Priscilla was shaken and stricken as she had never yet been; shakenwith pity, stricken with remorse. She looked down at him in dismaywhile he kissed her hands with desperate, overwhelming love. What wasshe to do? Lady Shuttleworth tried to draw her away. What was she todo? If Tussie was overwhelmed with love, she was overwhelmed withpity. 

"Ethel--Ethel--" gasped Tussie, kissing her hands, looking up at her, kissing them again. 

Pity overcame her, engulfed her. She bent her head down to his andlaid her cheek an instant on the absurd flannel nightingale, tenderly, apologetically. 

"Ethel--Ethel, " choked Tussie, "will you marry me?"

"Dear Tussie, " she whispered in a shaky whisper, "I promise to answeryou when you are well. Not yet. Not now. Get quite well, and then ifyou still want an answer I promise to give you one. Now let me go. "

"Ethel, " implored Tussie, looking at her with a wild entreaty in hiseyes, "will you kiss me? Just once--to help me to live--"

And in her desire to comfort him she stooped down again and did kisshim, soberly, almost gingerly, on the forehead. 

He let her hands slide away from between his and lay back on hispillows in a state for the moment of absolute beatitude. He shut hiseyes, and did not move while she crept softly out of the room. 

"What have you done?" asked Lady Shuttleworth trembling, when theywere safely in the passage and the door shut behind them. 

"I can't think--I can't think, " groaned Priscilla, wringing her hands. And, leaning against the balusters, then and there in that mostpublic situation she began very bitterly to cry. 

XIX

Priscilla went home dazed. All her suitors hitherto had approached herceremoniously, timidly, through the Grand Duke; and we know they hadnot approached very near. But here was one, timid enough in health, who was positively reckless under circumstances that made most peoplemeek. He had proposed to her arrayed in a blue flannel nightingale, and Priscilla felt that headlong self-effacement could go no further. "He must have a great soul, " she said to herself over and over againduring the drive home, "a great, _great_ soul. " And it seemed oflittle use wiping her tears away, so many fresh ones immediately tooktheir place. 

She ached over Tussie and Tussie's mother. What had she done? She feltshe had done wrong; yet how, except by just existing? and she did feelshe couldn't help doing that. Certainly she had made two kind heartsextremely miserable, --one was miserable now, and the other didn't yetknow how miserable it was going to be. She ought to have known, sheought to have thought, she ought to have foreseen. She of all personsin the world ought to have been careful with young men who believedher to be of their own class. Contrition and woe took possession ofPriscilla's soul. She knew it was true that she could not helpexisting, but she knew besides, far back in a remote and seldominvestigated corner of her mind, a corner on which she did not care toturn the light of careful criticism, that she ought not to be existingin Symford. It was because she was there, out of her proper sphere, ina place she had no business to be in at all, that these strange andheart-wringing scenes with young men occurred. And Fritzing wouldnotice her red eyes and ask what had happened; and here within twodays was a second story to be told of a young man unintentionallyhurried to his doom. Would Fritzing be angry? She never knewbeforehand. Would he, only remembering she was grand ducal, regard itas an insult and want to fight Tussie? The vision of poor Tussie, weak, fevered, embedded in pillows, swathed in flannel, receivingbloodthirsty messages of defiance from Fritzing upset her into moretears. Fritzing, she felt at that moment, was a trial. He burdened herwith his gigantic efforts to keep her from burdens. He burdened herwith his inflated notions of how burdenless she ought to be. He wasadmirable, unselfish, devoted; but she felt it was possible to be tooadmirable, too unselfish, too devoted. In a word Priscilla's mindwas in a state of upheaval, and the only ray of light she sawanywhere--and never was ray more watery--was that Tussie, for themoment at least, was content. The attitude of his mother, on theother hand, was distressing and disturbing. There had been no more Mydears and other kind ways. She had watched her crying on the stairs instony silence, had gone down with her to the door in stony silence, and just at the last had said in an unmistakably stony voice, "Allthis is very cruel. "

Priscilla was overwhelmed by the difficulties of life. The world wastoo much with her, she felt, a very great deal too much. She sent theShuttleworth carriage away at the entrance to the village and went into sit with Mrs. Jones a little, so that her eyes might lose theirredness before she faced Fritzing; and Mrs. Jones was so glad to seeher, so full of praises of her unselfish goodness in coming in, thatonce again Priscilla was forced to be ashamed of herself and ofeverything she did. 

"I'm not unselfish, and I'm not good, " she said, smoothing the oldlady's coverlet. 

Mrs. Jones chuckled faintly. "Pretty dear, " was her only comment. 

"I don't think I'm pretty and I know I'm not a dear, " said Priscilla, quite vexed. 

"Ain't you then, deary, " murmured Mrs. Jones soothingly. 

Priscilla saw it was no use arguing, and taking up the Bible thatalways lay on the table by the bed began to read aloud. She read andread till both were quieted, --Mrs. Jones into an evidently sweetsleep, she herself into peace. Then she left off and sat for some timewatching the old lady, the open Bible in-her lap, her soul filledwith calm words and consolations, wondering what it could be likebeing so near death. Must it not be beautiful, thought Priscilla, toslip away so quietly in that sunny room, with no sound to break thepeace but the ticking of the clock that marked off the last minutes, and outside the occasional footstep of a passer-by still hurrying onlife's business? Wonderful to have done with everything, to have itall behind one, settled, lived through, endured. The troublous joysas well as the pains, all finished; the griefs and the stinginghappinesses, all alike lived down; and now evening, and sleep. In thefew days Priscilla had known her the old lady had drawn visibly nearerdeath. Lying there on the pillow, so little and light that she hardlypressed it down at all, she looked very near it indeed. And how kindDeath was, rubbing away the traces of what must have been a sordidexistence, set about years back with the usual coarse pleasures andselfish hopes, --how kind Death was, letting all there was of spiritshine out so sweetly at the end. There was an enlarged photograph ofMrs. Jones and her husband over the fireplace, a photograph taken fortheir silver wedding; she must have been about forty-five; how kindDeath was, thought Priscilla, looking from the picture to the figureon the bed. She sighed a little, and got up. Life lay before her, anendless ladder up each of whose steep rungs she would have to clamber;in every sort of weather she would have to clamber, getting morebattered, more blistered with every rung. . . . She looked wistfully atthe figure on the bed, and sighed a little. Then she crept out, andsoftly shut the door. 

She walked home lost in thought. As she was going up the hill to hercottage Fritzing suddenly emerged from it and indulged in movements sostrange and complicated that they looked like nothing less than adesperate dancing on the doorstep. Priscilla walked faster, staring inastonishment. He made strange gestures, his face was pale, his hairrubbed up into a kind of infuriated mop. 

"Why, what in the world--" began the amazed Priscilla, as soon as shewas near enough. 

"Ma'am, I've been robbed, " shouted Fritzing; and all Symford mighthave heard if it had happened to be listening. 

"Robbed?" repeated Priscilla. "What of?"

"Of all my money, ma'am. Of all I had--of all we had--to live on. "

"Nonsense, Fritzi, " said Priscilla; but she did turn a little paler. "Don't let us stand out here, " she added; and she got him in and shutthe street door. 

He would have left it open and would have shouted his woes throughit as through a trumpet down the street, oblivious of all thingsunder heaven but his misfortune. He tore open the drawer of thewriting-table. "In this drawer--in the pocket-book you see in thisdrawer--in this now empty pocket-book, did I leave it. It was thereyesterday. It was there last night. Now it is gone. Miscreants fromwithout have visited us. Or perhaps, viler still, miscreants fromwithin. A miscreant, I do believe, capable of anything--Annalise--"

"Fritzi, I took a five-pound note out of that last night, if that'swhat you miss. "

"You, ma'am?"

"To pay the girl who worked here her wages. You weren't here. Icouldn't find anything smaller. "

"_Gott sei Dank! Gott sei Dank_!" cried Fritzing, going back to Germanin his joy. "Oh ma'am, if you had told me earlier you would havespared me great anguish. Have you the change?"

"Didn't she bring it?"

"Bring it, ma'am?"

"I gave it to her last night to change. She was to bring it round thismorning. Didn't she?"

Fritzing stared aghast. Then he disappeared into the kitchen. In amoment he was back again. "She has not been here, " he said, in a voicepacked once more with torment. 

"Perhaps she has forgotten. "

"Ma'am, how came you--"

"Now you're going to scold me. "

"No, no--but how is it possible that you should have trusted--"

"Fritzi, you _are_ going to scold me, and I'm so tired. What else hasbeen taken? You said all your money--"

He snatched up his hat. "Nothing else, ma'am, nothing else. I will goand seek the girl. " And he clapped it down over his eyes as he alwaysdid in moments of great mental stress. 

"What a fuss, " thought Priscilla wearily. Aloud she said, "The girlhere to-day will tell you where she lives. Of course she hasforgotten, or not been able to change it yet. " And she left him, andwent out to get into her own half of the house. 

Yes, Fritzi really was a trial. Why such a fuss and such big wordsabout five pounds? If it were lost and the girl afraid to come and sayso, it didn't matter much; anyhow nothing like so much as having one'speace upset. How foolish to be so agitated and talk of having beenrobbed of everything. Fritzing's mind, she feared, that large, enlightened mind on whose breadth and serenity she had gazedadmiringly ever since she could remember gazing at all, was shrinkingto dimensions that would presently exactly match the dimensions ofCreeper Cottage. She went upstairs disheartened and tired, anddropping down full length on her sofa desired Annalise to wash herface. 

"Your Grand Ducal Highness has been weeping, " said Annalise, whiskingthe sponge in and out of corners with a skill surprising in one whohad only practised the process during the last ten days. 

Priscilla opened her eyes to stare at her in frankest surprise, fornever yet had Annalise dared make a remark unrequested. Annalise, bybeginning to wash them, forced her to shut them again. 

Priscilla then opened her mouth to tell her what she thought of her. Immediately Annalise's swift sponge stopped it up. 

"Your Grand Ducal Highness, " said Annalise, washing Priscilla's mouthwith a thoroughness and an amount of water suggestive of its nothaving been washed for months, "told me only yesterday that weepingwas a terrible--_schreckliche_--waste of time. Therefore, since yourGrand Ducal Highness knows that and yet herself weeps, it is easy tosee that there exists a reason for weeping which makes weepinginevitable. "

"Will you--" began Priscilla, only to be stopped instantly by theready sponge. 

"Your Grand Ducal Highness is unhappy. 'Tis not to be wondered at. Trust a faithful servant, one whose life-blood is at your Grand DucalHighness's disposal, and tell her if it is not then true that the HerrGeheimrath has decoyed you from your home and your GrossherzoglicherHerr Papa?"

"Will you--"

Again the pouncing sponge. 

"My heart bleeds--indeed it bleeds--to think of the Herr Papa'ssufferings, his fears, his anxieties. It is a picture on which Icannot calmly look. Day and night--for at night I lie sleepless on mybed--I am inquiring of myself what it can be, the spell that the HerrGeheimrath has cast over your Grand Ducal--"

"Will you--"

Again the pouncing sponge; but this time Priscilla caught the girl'shand, and holding it at arm's length sat up. "Are you mad?" she asked, looking at Annalise as though she saw her for the first time. 

Annalise dropped the sponge and clasped her hands. "Not mad, " shesaid, "only very, very devoted. "

"No. Mad. Give me a towel. "

Priscilla was so angry that she did not dare say more. If she had saida part even of what she wanted to say all would have been over betweenherself and Annalise; so she dried her face in silence, declining toallow it to be touched. "You can go, " she said, glancing at the door, her face pale with suppressed wrath but also, it must be confessed, very clean; and when she was alone she dropped once again on to thesofa and buried her head in the cushion. How dared Annalise? How daredshe? How dared she? Priscilla asked herself over and over again, wincing, furious. Why had she not thought of this, known that shewould be in the power of any servant they chose to bring? Surely therewas no limit, positively none, to what the girl might do or say? Howwas she going to bear her about her, endure the sight and sound ofthat veiled impertinence? She buried her head very deep in thecushion, vainly striving to blot out the world and Annalise in itsfeathers, but even there there was no peace, for suddenly a greatnoise of doors going and legs striding penetrated through itsstuffiness and she heard Fritzing's voice very loud and near--allsounds in Creeper Cottage were loud and near--ordering Annalise to askher Grand Ducal Highness to descend. 

"I won't, " thought Priscilla, burying her head deeper. "That poor Emmahas lost the note and he's going to fuss. I won't descend. "

Then came Annalise's tap at her door. Priscilla did not answer. Annalise tapped again. Priscilla did not answer, but turning her headface upwards composed herself to an appearance of sleep. 

Annalise tapped a third time. "The Herr Geheimrath wishes to speak toyour Grand Ducal Highness, " she called through the door; and after apause opened it and peeped in. "Her Grand Ducal Highness sleeps, " sheinformed Fritzing down the stairs, her nose at the angle in the air italways took when she spoke to him. 

"Then wake her! Wake her!" cried Fritzing. 

"Is it possible something has happened?" thought Annalise joyfully, her eyes gleaming as she willingly flew back to Priscilla'sdoor, --anything, anything, she thought, sooner than the life she wasleading. 

Priscilla heard Fritzing's order and sat up at once, surprised at suchan unprecedented indifference to her comfort. Her heart began to beatfaster; a swift fear that Kunitz was at her heels seized her; shejumped up and ran out. 

Fritzing was standing at the foot of the stairs. 

"Come down, ma'am, " he said; "I must speak to you at once. "

"What's the matter?" asked Priscilla, getting down the steep littlestairs as quickly as was possible without tumbling. 

"Hateful English tongue, " thought Annalise, to whom the habit thePrincess and Fritzing had got into of talking English together was aconstant annoyance and disappointment. 

Fritzing preceded Priscilla into her parlour, and when she was in heshut the door behind her. Then he leaned his hands on the table tosteady himself and confronted her with a twitching face. Priscillalooked at him appalled. Was the Grand Duke round the corner?Lingering, perhaps, among the very tombs just outside her window?"What is it?" she asked faintly. 

"Ma'am, the five pounds has disappeared for ever. "

"Really Fritzi, you are too absurd about that wretched five pounds, "cried Priscilla, blazing into anger. 

"But it was all we had. "

"All we--?"

"Ma'am, it was positively our last penny. "

"I--don't understand. "

He made her understand. With paper and pencil, with the bills and hisown calculations, he made her understand. His hands shook, but hewent through with it item by item, through everything they had spentfrom the moment they left Kunitz. They were in such a corner, sotightly jammed, that all efforts to hide it and pretend there was nocorner seemed to him folly. He now saw that such efforts always hadbeen folly, and that he ought to have seen to it that her mind on thisimportant point was from the first perfectly clear; then nothing wouldhave happened. "You have had the misfortune, ma'am, to choose a foolfor your protector in this adventure, " he said bitterly, pushing thepapers from him as though he loathed the sight of them. 

Priscilla sat dumfoundered. She was looking quite straight for thefirst time at certain pitiless aspects of life. For the first time shewas face to face with the sternness, the hardness, the relentlessnessof everything that has to do with money so soon as one has not gotany. It seemed almost incredible to her that she who had given solavishly to anybody and everybody, who had been so glad to give, whohad thought of money when she thought of it at all as a thing to bepassed on, as a thing that soiled one unless it was passed on, butthat, passed on, became strangely glorified and powerful for good--itseemed incredible that she should be in need of it herself, and unableto think of a single person who would give her some. And what a littleshe needed: just to tide them over the next week or two till they hadgot theirs from home; yet even that little, the merest nothingcompared to what she had flung about in the village, was asunattainable as though it had been a fortune. "Can we--can we notborrow?" she said at last. 

"Yes ma'am, we can and we must. I will proceed this evening to SymfordHall and borrow of Augustus. "

"No, " said Priscilla; so suddenly and so energetically that Fritzingstarted. 

"No, ma'am?" he repeated, astonished. "Why, he is the very person. Infact he is our only hope. He must and shall help us. "

"No, " repeated Priscilla, still more energetically. 

"Pray ma'am, " said Fritzing, shrugging his shoulders, "are thesewomen's whims--I never comprehended them rightly and doubt if I evershall--are they to be allowed to lead us even in dangerous crises? Tolead us to certain shipwreck, ma'am? The alternatives in this case arethree. Permit me to point them out. Either we return to Kunitz--"

"Oh, " shivered Priscilla, shrinking as from a blow. 

"Or, after a brief period of starvation and other violent discomfort, we are cast into gaol for debt--"

"Oh?" shivered Priscilla, in tones of terrified inquiry. 

"Or, I borrow of Augustus. "

"No, " said Priscilla, just as energetically as before. 

"Augustus is wealthy. Augustus is willing. Ma'am, I would stake mysoul that he is willing. "

"You shall not borrow of him, " said Priscilla. "He--he's too ill. "

"Well then, ma'am, " said Fritzing with a gesture of extremeexasperation, "since you cannot be allowed to be cast into gaol thereremains but Kunitz. Like the dogs of the Scriptures we will return--"

"Why not borrow of the vicar?" interrupted Priscilla. "Surely he wouldbe glad to help any one in difficulties?"

"Of the vicar? What, of the father of the young man who insulted yourGrand Ducal Highness and whom I propose to kill in duel my firstleisure moment? Ma'am, there are depths of infamy to which even adesperate man will not descend. "

Priscilla dug holes in the tablecloth with the point of the pencil. "Ican't conceive, " she said, "why you gave Annalise all that money. So_much_. "

"Why, ma'am, she refused, unless I did, to prepare your Grand DucalHighness's tea. "

"Oh Fritzi!" Priscilla looked up at him, shaking her head and smilingthrough all her troubles. Was ever so much love and so much follyunited in one wise old man? Was ever, for that matter, so expensive atea?

"I admit I permitted the immediate, the passing, moment to blot outthe future from my clearer vision on that occasion. "

"On that occasion? Oh Fritzi. What about all the other occasions?When you gave me all I asked for--for the poor people, for my party. You must have suffered tortures of anxiety. And all by yourself. OhFritzi. It was dear of you--perfectly, wonderfully, dear. But youought to have been different with me from the beginning--treated meexactly as you would have treated a real niece--"

"Ma'am, " cried Fritzing, jumping up, "this is waste of time. Our caseis very urgent. Money must be obtained. You must allow me to judge inthis matter, however ill I have acquitted myself up to now. I shallstart at once for Symford Hall and obtain a loan of Augustus. "

Priscilla pushed back her chair and got up too. "My dear Fritzi, please leave that unfortunate young man out of the question, " shesaid, flushing. "How can you worry a person who is ill in bed withsuch things?"

"His mother is not ill in bed and will do quite as well. I amcertainly going. "

"You are not going. I won't have you ask his mother. I--forbid you todo anything of the sort. Oh Fritzi, " she added in despair, for he hadpicked up the hat and stick he had flung down on coming in and wasevidently not going to take the least notice of her commands--"ohFritzi, you can't ask Tussie for money. It would kill him to know wewere in difficulties. "

"Kill him, ma'am? Why should it kill him?" shouted Fritzing, exasperated by such a picture of softness. 

"It wouldn't only kill him--it would be simply too dreadful besides, "said Priscilla, greatly distressed. "Why, he asked me thisafternoon--wasn't going to tell you, but you force me to--he asked methis very afternoon to marry him, and the dreadful part is that I'mafraid he thinks--he hopes--that I'm going to. "

XX

The only inhabitant of Creeper Cottage who slept that night wasAnnalise. Priscilla spent it walking up and down her bedroom, andFritzing on the other side of the wall spent it walking up and downhis. They could hear each other doing it; it was a melancholy sound. Once Priscilla was seized with laughter--a not very genial mirth, butstill laughter--and had to fling herself on her bed and bury her facein the pillows lest Fritzing should hear so blood-curdling a noise. Itwas when their steps had fallen steadily together for several turnsand the church clock, just as she was noticing this, had struck three. Not for this, to tramp up and down their rooms all night, not for thishad they left Kunitz. The thought of all they had dreamed life inCreeper Cottage was going to be, of all they had never doubted it wasgoing to be, of peaceful nights passed in wholesome slumber, of daysladen with fruitful works, of evenings with the poets, came into herhead and made this tormented marching suddenly seem intensely droll. She laughed into her pillow till the tears rolled down her face, andthe pains she had to take to keep all sounds from reaching Fritzingonly made her laugh more. 

It was a windy night, and the wind sighed round the cottage andrattled the casements and rose every now and then to a howl verydreary to hear. While Priscilla was laughing a great gust shook thehouse, and involuntarily she raised her head to listen. It died away, and her head dropped back on to her arms again, but the laughter wasgone. She lay solemn enough, listening to Fritzing's creakings, andthought of the past day and of the days to come till her soul grewcold. Surely she was a sort of poisonous weed, fatal to every oneabout her? Fritzing, Tussie, the poor girl Emma--oh, it could not betrue about Emma. She had lost the money, and was trying to gathercourage to come and say so; or she had simply not been able to changeit yet. Fritzing had jumped to the conclusion, because nothing hadbeen heard of her all day at home, that she had run away with it. Priscilla twisted herself about uneasily. It was not the loss of thefive pounds that made her twist, bad though that loss was in theirutter poverty; it was the thought that if Emma had really run awayshe, by her careless folly, had driven the girl to ruin. And thenTussie. How dreadful that was. At three in the morning, with thewailing wind rising and falling and the room black with the inkyblackness of a moonless October night, the Tussie complication seemedto be gigantic, of a quite appalling size, threatening to choke her, to crush all the spring and youth out of her. If Tussie got well shewas going to break his heart; if Tussie died it would be her fault. No one but herself was responsible for his illness, her own selfish, hateful self. Yes, she was a poisonous weed; a baleful, fatal thing, not fit for great undertakings, not fit for a noble life, too foolishto depart successfully from the lines laid down for her by otherpeople; wickedly careless; shamefully shortsighted; spoiling, ruining, everything she touched. Priscilla writhed. Nobody likes being forcedto recognize that they are poisonous weeds. Even to be a plain weed isgrievous to one's vanity, but to be a weed and poisonous as well is avery desperate thing to be. She passed a dreadful night. It was theworst she could remember. 

And the evening too--how bad it had been; though contrary to herexpectations Fritzing showed no desire to fight Tussie. He was not sounreasonable as she had supposed; and besides, he was too completelybeaten down by the ever-increasing weight and number of hisresponsibilities to do anything in regard to that unfortunate youthbut be sorry for him. More than once that evening he looked atPriscilla in silent wonder at the amount of trouble one young womancould give. How necessary, he thought, and how wise was that plan atwhich he used in his ignorance to rail, of setting an elderly femalelike the Disthal to control the actions and dog the footsteps of thePriscillas of this world. He hated the Disthal and all women like her, women with mountainous bodies and minimal brains--bodies self-indulgedinto shapelessness, brains neglected into disappearance; but thenobler and simpler and the more generous the girl the more did sheneed some such mixture of fleshliness and cunning constantly with her. It seemed absurd, and it seemed all wrong; yet surely it was so. Hepondered over it long in dejected musings, the fighting tendency goneout of him completely for the time, so dark was his spirit with theshadows of the future. 

They had borrowed the wages--it was a dreadful moment--for that day'scook from Annalise. For their food they decided to run up a bill atthe store; but every day each fresh cook would have to be paid, andevery day her wages would have to be lent by Annalise. Annalise lentsuperbly; with an air as of giving freely, with joy. All she requiredwas the Princess's signature to a memorandum drawn up by herself bywhich she was promised the money back, doubled, within three months. Priscilla read this, flushed to her hair, signed, and ordered her outof the room. Annalise, who was beginning to enjoy herself, wentupstairs singing. In the parlour Priscilla broke the pen she hadsigned with into quite small pieces and flung them on to the fire, --auseless demonstration, but then she was a quick-tempered young lady. In the attic Annalise sat down and wrote a letter breathing loftysentiments to the Countess Disthal in Kunitz, telling her she could nolonger keep silence in the face of a royal parent's anxieties and shewas willing to reveal the address of the Princess Priscilla and sostaunch the bleeding of a noble heart if the Grand Duke would forwardher or forward to her parents on her behalf the sum of twenty thousandmarks. Gladly would she render this service, which was at the sametime her duty, for nothing, if she had not the future to consider andan infirm father. Meanwhile she gave the Symford post-office as anaddress, assuring the Countess that it was at least fifty miles fromthe Princess's present hiding-place, the address of which would onlybe sent on the conditions named. Then, immensely proud of hercleverness, she trotted down to the post-office, bought stamps, andput the letter herself in the box. 

That evening she sang in the kitchen, she sang in the bath-room, shesang in the attic and on the stairs to the attic. What she sang, persistently, over and over again, and loudest outside Fritzing'sdoor, was a German song about how beautiful it is at evening when thebells ring one to rest, and the refrain at the end of each verse wasding-dong twice repeated. Priscilla rang her own bell, unable toendure it, but Annalise did not consider this to be one of those thatare beautiful and did not answer it till it had been rung three times. 

"Do not sing, " said Priscilla, when she appeared. 

"Your Grand Ducal Highness objects?"

Priscilla turned red. "I'll give no reasons, " she said icily. "Do notsing. "

"Yet it is a sign of a light heart. Your Grand Ducal Highness did notlike to see me weep--she should the more like to hear me rejoice. "

"You can go. "

"My heart to-night is light, because I am the means of being of useto your Grand Ducal Highness, of showing my devotion, of being ofservice. "

"Do me the service of being quiet. "

Annalise curtseyed and withdrew, and spent the rest of the eveningbursting into spasmodic and immediately interrupted song, --breakingoff after a few bars with a cough of remembrance and apology. Whenthis happened Fritzing and Priscilla looked at each other with graveand meditative eyes; they knew how completely they were in her power. 

Fritzing wrote that night to the friend in London who had engaged therooms for him at Baker's Farm, and asked him to lend him fifty poundsfor a week, --preferably three hundred (this would cover thefurnisher's bill), but if he could lend neither five would do. Thefriend, a teacher of German, could as easily have lent the threehundred as the five, so poor was he, so fit an object for a loanhimself; but long before his letter explaining this in words eloquentof regret (for he was a loyal friend) reached Fritzing, many thingshad happened to that bewildered man to whom so many things hadhappened already, and caused him to forget both his friend and hisrequest. 

This, then, was how the afternoon and evening of Thursday werepassed; and on Friday morning, quite unstrung by their sleeplessnight, Priscilla and Fritzing were proposing to go up together onto the moor, there to seek width and freshness, be blown upon bymoist winds, and forget for a little the crushing narrowness andperplexities of Creeper Cottage, when Mrs. Morrison walked in. Sheopened the door first and then, when half of her was inside, knockedwith her knuckles, which were the only things to knock with onPriscilla's simple door. 

Priscilla was standing by the fire dressed to go out, waiting forFritzing, and she stared at this apparition in great and unconcealedsurprise. What business, said Priscilla's look more plainly than anywords, what business had people to walk into other people's cottagesin such a manner? She stood quite still, and scrutinized Mrs. Morrisonwith the questioning expression she used to find so effective inKunitz days when confronted by a person inclined to forget which, exactly, was his proper place. But Mrs. Morrison knew nothing ofKunitz, and the look lost half its potency without its impressivebackground. Besides, the lady was not one to notice things so slightas looks; to keep her in her proper place you would have neededsledge-hammers. She came in without thinking it necessary to wait tobe asked to, nodded something that might perhaps have represented agreeting and of which Priscilla took no notice, and her face was theface of somebody who is angry. 

"How wearing for the vicar, " thought Priscilla, "to have a wife whois angry at ten o'clock in the morning. "

"I've come in the interests--" began Mrs. Morrison, whose voice wasquite as angry as her face. 

"I'm just going out, " said Priscilla. 

"--Of religion and morality. "

"Are they distinct?" asked Priscilla, drawing on her gloves. 

"You can imagine that nothing would make me pay you a visit but thestrongest sense of the duty I owe to my position in the parish. "

"Why should I imagine it?"

"Of course I expect impertinence. "

"I'm afraid you've come here to be rude. "

"I shall not be daunted by anything you may say from doing my duty. "

"Will you please do it, then, and get it over?"

"The duties of a clergyman's wife are often very disagreeable. "

"Probably you've got hold of a perfectly wrong idea of what yoursreally are. "

"It is a new experience for me to be told so by a girl of your age. "

"I am not telling you. I only suggest. "

"I was prepared for rudeness. "

"Then why did you come?"

"How long are you going to stay in this parish?"

"You don't expect me to answer that?"

"You've not been in it a fortnight, and you have done more harm thanmost people in a lifetime. "

"I'm afraid you exaggerate. "

"You have taught it to drink. "

"I gave a dying old woman what she most longed for. "

"You've taught it to break the Sabbath. "

"I made a great many little children very happy. "

"You have ruined the habits of thrift we have been at such pains toteach and encourage for twenty-five years. "

"I helped the poor when they asked me to. "

"And now what I want to know is, what has become of the Hancock girl?"

"Pray who, exactly, is the Hancock girl?"

"That unfortunate creature who worked here for you on Wednesday. "

Priscilla's face changed. "Emma?" she asked. 

"Emma. At this hour the day before yesterday she was as good a girl asany in the village. She was good, and dutiful, and honest. Now what isshe and where is she?"

"Has she--isn't she in her home?"

"She never went home. "

"Then she did lose the money?"

"Lose it? She has stolen it. Do you not see you have deliberately madea thief out of an honest girl?"

Priscilla gazed in dismay at the avenging vicar's wife. It was truethen, and she had the fatal gift of spoiling all she touched. 

"And worse than that--you have brought a good girl to ruin. He'llnever marry her now. "

"He?"

"Do you not know the person she was engaged to has gone with her?"

"I don't know anything. "

"They walked from here to Ullerton and went to London. Her father cameround to us yesterday after your uncle had been to him makinginquiries, and it is all as clear as day. Till your uncle told him, hedid not know about the money, and had been too--not well enough thatday to notice Emma's not having come home. Your uncle's visit soberedhim. We telegraphed to the police. They've been traced to London. That's all. Except, " and she glared at Priscilla with all the wrath ofa prophet whose denunciations have been justified, "except that onemore life is ruined. "

"I'm very sorry--very, very sorry, " said Priscilla, so earnestly, soabjectly even, that her eyes filled with tears. "I see now howthoughtless it was of me. "

"Thoughtless!"

"It was inexcusably thoughtless. "

"Thoughtless!" cried Mrs. Morrison again. 

"If you like, it was criminally thoughtless. "

"Thoughtless!" cried Mrs. Morrison a third time. 

"But it wasn't more than thoughtless. I'd give anything to be able toset it right. I am most truly grieved. But isn't it a little hard tomake me responsible?"

Mrs. Morrison stared at her as one who eyes some strange new monster. "How amazingly selfish you are, " she said at last, in tones almost ofawe. 

"Selfish?" faltered Priscilla, who began to wonder what she was not. 

"In the face of such total ruin, such utter shipwreck, to be thinkingof what is hard on you. You! Why, here you are with a safe skin, freefrom the bitter anxieties and temptations poor people have to fightwith, with so much time unoccupied that you fill it up with mischief, with more money than you know what to do with"--Priscilla pressed herhands together--"sheltered, free from every care"--Priscilla openedher lips but shut them again--"and there is that miserable Emma, hopeless, branded, for ever an outcast because of you, --only becauseof you, and you think of yourself and talk of its being hard. "

Priscilla looked at Mrs. Morrison, opened her mouth to say something, shut it, opened it again, and remarked very lamely that the heartalone knows its own bitterness. 

"Psha, " said Mrs. Morrison, greatly incensed at having the Scriptures, her own speciality, quoted at her. "I'd like to know what bitternessyours has known, unless it's the bitterness of a bad conscience. NowI've come here to-day"--she raised her voice to a note of warning--"togive you a chance. To make you think, by pointing out the path youare treading. You are young, and it is my duty to let no young persongo downhill without one warning word. You have brought much evil onour village--why you, a stranger, should be bent on making us allunhappy I can't imagine. You hypocritically try to pretend that whatplain people call evil is really good. But your last action, forcingEmma Hancock to be a thief and worse, even you cannot possibly defend. You have much on your conscience--far, far more than I should care tohave on mine. How wicked to give all that money to Mrs. Jones. Don'tyou see you are tempting people who know she is defenceless to stealit from her? Perhaps even murder her? I saved her from that--you didnot reckon with me, you see. Take my advice--leave Symford, and goback to where you came from"--Priscilla started--"and get something todo that will keep you fully occupied. If you don't, you'll be layingup a wretched, perhaps a degraded future for yourself. Don'tsuppose, "--her voice grew very loud--"don't suppose we are fools hereand are not all of us aware of the way you have tried to lure youngmen on"--Priscilla started again--"in the hope, of course, of gettingone of them to marry you. But your intentions have been frustratedluckily, in the one case by Providence flinging your victim on a bedof sickness and in the other by your having altogether mistaken thesort of young fellow you were dealing with. "

Mrs. Morrison paused for breath. This last part of her speech had beenmade with an ever accumulating rage. Priscilla stood looking at her, her eyebrows drawn down very level over her eyes. 

"My son is much too steady and conscientious, besides being too muchaccustomed to first-rate society, to stoop to anything so vulgar--"

"As myself?" inquired Priscilla. 

"As a love-affair with the first stray girl he picks up. "

"Do you mean me?"

"He saw through your intentions, laughed at them, and calmly returnedto his studies at Cambridge. "

"I boxed his ears. "

"What?"

"I boxed his ears. "

"You?"

"I boxed his ears. That's why he went. He didn't go calmly. It wasn'this studies. "

"How dare you box--oh, this is too horrible--and you stand there andtell me so to my face?"

"I'm afraid I must. The tone of your remarks positively demands it. Your son's conduct positively demanded that I should box his ears. SoI did. "

"Of all the shameless--"

"I'm afraid you're becoming like him--altogether impossible. "

"You first lure him on, and then--oh, it is shameful!"

"Have you finished what you came for?"

"You are the most brazen--"

"Hush. Do be careful. Suppose my uncle were to hear you? If you'vefinished won't you go?"

"Go? I shall not go till I have said my say. I shall send the vicar toyou about Robin--such conduct is so--so infamous that I can't--Ican't--I can't--"

"I'm sorry if it has distressed you. "

"Distressed me? You are the most--"

"Really I think we've done, haven't we?" said Priscilla hurriedly, dreadfully afraid lest Fritzing should come in and hear her beingcalled names. 

"To think that you dared--to think that my--my noble boy--"

"He wasn't very noble. Mothers don't ever really know their sons, Ithink. "

"Shameless girl!" cried Mrs. Morrison, so loud, so completely besideherself, that Priscilla hastily rang her bell, certain that Fritzingmust hear and would plunge in to her rescue; and of all things she hadlearned to dread Fritzing's plunging to her rescue. "Open the door forthis lady, " she said to Annalise, who appeared with a marvellouspromptitude; and as Mrs. Morrison still stood her ground and refusedto see either Annalise or the door Priscilla ended the interview bywalking out herself, with great dignity, into the bathroom. 

XXI

And now I have come to a part of my story that I would much rather notwrite. Always my inclination if left alone is to sit in the sun andsing of things like crocuses, of nothing less fresh and clean thancrocuses. The engaging sprightliness of crocuses; their dear littlesmell, not to be smelled except by the privileged few; their luminoustransparency--I am thinking of the white and the purple; their kindway of not keeping hearts sick for Spring waiting longer than they canjust bear; how pleasant to sit with a friend in the sun, a friend wholike myself likes to babble of green fields, and talk together aboutall things flowery. But Priscilla's story has taken such a hold on me, it seemed when first I heard it to be so full of lessons, that I feelbound to set it down from beginning to end for the use and warning ofall persons, princesses and others, who think that by searching, bygoing far afield, they will find happiness, and do not see that it islying all the while at their feet. They do not see it because it is soclose. It is so close that there is a danger of its being trodden onor kicked away. And it is shy, and waits to be picked up. Priscilla, we know, went very far afield in search of hers, and havingundertaken to tell of what befell her I must not now, only because Iwould rather, suppress any portion of the story. Besides, it is aportion vital to the catastrophe. 

In Minehead, then, there lived at this time a murderer. He had notbeen found out yet and he was not a murderer by profession, for he wasa bricklayer; but in his heart he was, and that is just as bad. He hadhad a varied career into the details of which I do not propose to go, had come three or four years before to live in the West of Englandbecause it was so far from all the other places he had lived in, hadgot work in Minehead, settled there respectably, married, and was afriend of that carrier who brought the bread and other parcels everyday to the Symford store. At this time he was in money difficultiesand his wife, of whom he was fond, was in an expensive state ofhealth. The accounts of Priscilla's generosity and wealth had reachedMinehead as I said some time ago, and had got even into the localpapers. The carrier was the chief transmitter of news, for he saw Mrs. Vickerton every day and she was a woman who loved to talk; but thoseof the Shuttleworth servants who were often in Minehead on diverserrands ratified and added to all he said, and embellished the talebesides with what was to them the most interesting part, theunmistakable signs their Augustus showed of intending to marry theyoung woman. This did not interest the murderer. Sir Augustus and thelady he meant to marry were outside his sphere altogether; too wellprotected, too powerful. What he liked to hear about was the moneyPriscilla had scattered among the cottagers, how much each woman hadgot, whether it had been spent or not, whether she had a husband, orgrown-up children; and best of all he liked to hear about the moneyMrs. Jones had got. All the village, and therefore Mrs. Vickerton andthe carrier, knew of it, knew even the exact spot beneath the bolsterwhere it was kept, knew it was kept there for safety from thedepredations of the vicar's wife, knew the vicar's wife had taken awayPriscilla's first present. The carrier knew too of Mrs. Jones's age, her weakness, her nearness to death. He remarked that such a sumwasn't of much use to an old woman certain to die in a few days, andthat it might just as well not be hers at all for all the spending itgot. The murderer, whose reputation in Minehead was so immaculate thatnot a single fly had ever dared blow on it, said kindly that no doubtjust to have it in her possession was cheering and that one should notgrudge the old their little bits of comfort; and he walked over toSymford that night, and getting there about one o'clock murdered Mrs. Jones. I will not enter into details. I believe it was quite simple. He was back by six next morning with the five pounds in his pocket, and his wife that day had meat for dinner. 

That is all I shall say about the murderer, except that he was neverfound out; and nothing shall induce me to dwell upon the murder. Butwhat about the effect it had on Priscilla? Well, it absolutely crushedher. 

The day before, after Mrs. Morrison's visit, she had been wretchedenough, spending most of it walking very fast, as driven spirits do, with Fritzing for miles across the bleak and blowy moor, by turnscontrite and rebellious, one moment ready to admit she was a miserablesinner, the next indignantly repudiating Mrs. Morrison's and her ownconscience's accusations, her soul much beaten and bent by winds ofmisgiving but still on its feet, still defiant, still shelteringitself when it could behind plain common sense which whispered atintervals that all that had happened was only bad luck. They walkedmiles that day; often in silence, sometimes in gusty talk--talk gustywith the swift changes of Priscilla's mood scudding across the leadenbackground of Fritzing's steadier despair--and they got back tired, hungry, their clothes splashed with mud, their minds no nearer lightthan when they started. She had, I say, been wretched enough; but whatwas this wretchedness to that which followed? In her ignorance shethought it the worst day she had ever had, the most tormented; andwhen she went to bed she sought comfort in its very badness by tellingherself that it was over and could never come again. It could not. ButTime is prolific of surprises; and on Saturday morning Symford wokewith a shudder to the murder of Mrs. Jones. 

Now such a thing as this had not happened in that part ofSomersetshire within the memory of living man, and though Symfordshuddered it was also proud and pleased. The mixed feeling of horror, pleasure, and pride was a thrilling one. It felt itself at once raisedto a position of lurid conspicuousness in the county, its name wouldbe in every mouth, the papers, perhaps even the London papers, wouldtalk about it. At all times, in spite of the care and guidance it hadhad from the clergy and gentry, the account of a murder gave Symfordmore pure pleasure than any other form of entertainment; and now herewas one, not at second-hand, not to be viewed through the coolingmedium of print and pictures, but in its midst, before its eyes, atits very doors. Mrs. Jones went up strangely in its estimation. Thegeneral feeling was that it was an honour to have known her. Nobodyworked that day. The school was deserted. Dinners were not cooked. Babies shrieked uncomforted. All Symford was gathered in groupsoutside Mrs. Jones's cottage, and as the day wore on and the newsspread, visitors from the neighbouring villages, from Minehead andfrom Ullerton, arrived with sandwiches and swelled them. 

Priscilla saw these groups from her windows. The fatal cottage was atthe foot of the hill in full view both of her bedroom and her parlour. Only by sitting in the bathroom would she be able to get away from it. When the news was brought her, breathlessly, pallidly, by Annalise inthe early morning with her hot water, she refused to believe it. Annalise knew no English and must have got hold of a horrible wrongtale. The old lady was dead no doubt, had died quietly in her sleep ashad been expected, but what folly was all this about a murder? Yet shesat up in bed and felt rather cold as she looked at Annalise, forAnnalise was very pallid. And then at last she had to believe it. Annalise had had it told her from beginning to end, with the help ofsigns, by the charwoman. She had learned more English in those fewcrimson minutes than in the whole of the time she had been in England. The charwoman had begun her demonstration by slowly drawing her fingeracross her throat from one ear to the other, and Annalise repeated theaction for Priscilla's clearer comprehension. How Priscilla got upthat day and dressed she never knew. Once at least during the processshe stumbled back on to the bed and lay with her face on her arms, shaken by a most desperate weeping. That fatal charity; those fatalfive-pound notes. Annalise, panic-stricken lest she who possessed somany should be the next victim, poured out the tale of the missingmoney, of the plain motive for the murder, with a convincingness, anaked truth, that stabbed Priscilla to the heart with each clinchingword. 

"They say the old woman must have cried out--must have been awakened, or the man would have taken the money without--"

"Oh don't--oh leave me--" moaned Priscilla. 

She did not go downstairs that day. Every time Annalise tried to comein she sent her away. When she was talked to of food, she felt sick. Once she began to pace about the room, but the sight of those eagerblack knots of people down the street, of policemen and otherimportant and official-looking persons going in and out of thecottage, drove her back to her bed and its sheltering, world-deadeningpillow. Indeed the waters of life had gone over her head and swallowedher up in hopeless blackness. She acknowledged herself wrong. She gavein utterly. Every word Mrs. Morrison--a dreadful woman, yet dreadfulas she was still a thousand times better than herself--every word shehad said, every one of those bitter words at which she had been soindignant the morning before, was true, was justified. That dayPriscilla tore the last shreds of self-satisfaction from her soul andsat staring at it with horrified eyes as at a thing wholly repulsive, dangerous, blighting. What was to become of her, and of poor Fritzing, dragged down by her to an equal misery? About one o'clock she heardMrs. Morrison's voice below, in altercation apparently with him. Atthis time she was crying again; bitter, burning tears; those scorchingtears that follow in the wake of destroyed illusions, that drop, hotand withering, on to the fragments of what was once the guiding gloryof an ideal. She was brought so low, was so humbled, so uncertain ofherself, that she felt it would bring her peace if she might go downto Mrs. Morrison and acknowledge all her vileness; tell her how wrongshe had been, ask her forgiveness for her rudeness, beg her for pity, for help, for counsel. She needed some kind older woman, --oh sheneeded some kind older woman to hold out cool hands of wisdom and showher the way. But then she would have to make a complete confession ofeverything she had done, and how would Mrs. Morrison or any otherdecent woman look upon her flight from her father's home? Would theynot turn away shuddering from what she now saw was a hideousselfishness and ingratitude? The altercation going on below roserapidly in heat. Just at the end it grew so heated that even throughthe pillow Priscilla could hear its flaming conclusion. 

"Man, I tell you your niece is to all intents and purposes amurderess, a double murderess, " cried Mrs. Morrison. "Not only has shethe woman's murder to answer for, but the ruined soul of the murdereras well. "

Upon which there was a loud shout of "Hence! Hence!" and a greatslamming of the street door. 

For some time after this Priscilla heard fevered walking about in herparlour and sounds as of many and muffled imprecations; then, whenthey had grown a little more intermittent, careful footsteps came upher stairs, footsteps so careful, so determined not to disturb, thatthe stairs cracked and wheezed more than they had ever yet been knownto do. Arrived at the top they paused outside her door, and Priscilla, checking her sobs, could hear how Fritzing stood there wrestling withhis body's determination to breathe too loud. He stood there listeningfor what seemed to her an eternity. She almost screamed at last as theminutes passed and she knew he was still there, motionless, listening. After a long while he went away again with the same anxious care tomake no noise, and she, with a movement of utter abandonment to woe, turned over and cried herself sick. 

Till evening she lay there alone, and then the steps came up again, accompanied this time by the tinkle of china and spoons. Priscilla wassitting at the window looking on to the churchyard, staring into thedark with its swaying branches and few faint stars, and when she heardhim outside the door listening again in anxious silence she got up andopened it. 

Fritzing held a plate of food in one hand and a glass of milk in theother. The expression on his face was absurdly like that of a motheryearning over a sick child. "_Mein liebes Kind_--_mein liebes Kind_, "he stammered when she came out, so woebegone, so crushed, so utterlyunlike any Priscilla of any one of her moods that he had ever seenbefore. Her eyes were red, her eyelids heavy with tears, her face waspinched and narrower, the corners of her mouth had a most piteousdroop, her very hair, pushed back off her forehead, seemed sad, andhung in spiritless masses about her neck and ears. "_Mein liebesKind_, " stammered poor Fritzing; and his hand shook so that he upsetsome of the milk. 

Priscilla leaned against the door-post. She was feeling sick andgiddy. "How dreadful this is, " she murmured, looking at him withweary, woeful eyes. 

"No, no--all will be well, " said Fritzing, striving to be brisk. "Drink some milk, ma'am. "

"Oh, I have been wicked. "

"Wicked?"

Fritzing hastily put the plate and glass down on the floor, andcatching up the hand hanging limply by her side passionately kissedit. "You are the noblest woman on earth, " he said. 

"Oh, " said Priscilla, turning away her head and shutting her eyes forvery weariness of such futile phrases. 

"Ma'am, you are. I would swear it. But you are also a child, and soyou are ready at the first reverse to suppose you have done withhappiness for ever. Who knows, " said Fritzing with a great show ofbright belief in his own prophecy, the while his heart was a stone, "who knows but what you are now on the very threshold of it?"

"Oh, " murmured Priscilla, too beaten to do anything but droop herhead. 

"It is insisting on the commonplace to remind you, ma'am, that thedarkest hour comes before dawn. Yet it is a well-known naturalphenomenon. "

Priscilla leaned her head against the door-post. She stood theremotionless, her hands hanging by her side, her eyes shut, her mouthslightly open, the very picture of one who has given up. 

"Drink some milk, ma'am. At least endeavour to. "

She took no heed of him. 

"For God's sake, ma'am, do not approach these slight misadventures inso tragic a spirit. You have done nothing wrong whatever. I know youaccuse yourself. It is madness to do so. I, who have so often scoldedyou, who have never spared the lash of my tongue when in past years Isaw fair reason to apply it, I tell you now with the same reliablecandour that your actions in this village and the motives thatprompted them have been in each single case of a stainless nobility. "

She took no heed of him. 

He stooped down and picked up the glass. "Drink some milk, ma'am. Afew mouthfuls, perhaps even one, will help to clear the muddied visionof your mind. I cannot understand, " he went on, half despairing, halfexasperated, "what reasons you can possibly have for refusing to drinksome milk. It is a feat most easily accomplished. "

She did not move. 

"Do you perchance imagine that a starved and badly treated body canever harbour that most precious gift of the gods, a clear, sane mind?"

She did not move. 

He looked at her in silence for a moment, then put down the glass. "This is all my fault, " he said slowly. "The whole responsibility forthis unhappiness is on my shoulders, and I frankly confess it is aburden so grievous that I know not how to bear it. "

He paused, but she took no notice. 

"Ma'am, I have loved you. "

She took no notice. 

"And the property of love, I have observed, is often to mangle andkill the soul of its object. "

She might have been asleep. 

"Ma'am, I have brought you to a sorry pass. I was old, and you wereyoung. I experienced, you ignorant. I deliberate, you impulsive. I aman, you a woman. Instead of restraining you, guiding you, shieldingyou from yourself, I was most vile, and fired you with desires forfreedom that under the peculiar circumstances were wicked, set a ballrolling that I might have foreseen could never afterwards be stopped, put thoughts into your head that never without me would have enteredit, embarked you on an enterprise in which the happiness of your wholelife was doomed to shipwreck. "

She stirred a little, and sighed a faint protest. 

"This is very terrible to me--of a crushing, killing weight. Let itnot also have to be said that I mangled your very soul, dimmed yourreason, impaired the sweet sanity, the nice adjustment of what I knowwas once a fair and balanced mind. "

She raised her head slowly and looked at him. "What?" she said. "Doyou think--do you think I'm going mad?"

"I think it very likely, ma'am, " said Fritzing with conviction. 

A startled expression crept into her eyes. 

"So much morbid introspection, " he went on, "followed by hours ofweeping and fasting, if indulged in long enough will certainly havethat result. A person who fasts a sufficient length of time invariablyparts piecemeal with valuable portions of his wits. "

She stretched out her hand. 

He mistook the action and bent down and kissed it. 

"No, " said Priscilla, "I want the milk. "

He snatched it up and gave it to her, watching her drink with all therelief, the thankfulness of a mother whose child's sickness takes aturn for the better. When she had finished she gave him back theglass. "Fritzi, " she said, looking at him with eyes wide open now anddark with anxious questioning, "we won't reproach ourselves then if wecan help it--"

"Certainly not, ma'am--a most futile thing to do. "

"I'll try to believe what you say about me, if you promise to believewhat I say about you. "

"Ma'am, I'll believe anything if only you will be reasonable. "

"You've been everything to me--that's what I want to say. Always, eversince I can remember. "

"And you, ma'am? What have you not been to me?"

"And there's nothing, nothing you can blame yourself for. "

"Ma'am--"

"You've been too good, too unselfish, and I've dragged you down. "

"Ma'am--"

"Well, we won't begin again. But tell me one thing--and tell me thetruth--oh Fritzi tell me the truth as you value your soul--do youanywhere see the least light on our future? Do you anywhere see even abit, a smallest bit of hope?"

He took her hand again and kissed it; then lifted his head and lookedat her very solemnly. "No, ma'am, " he said with the decision of anunshakable conviction, "upon my immortal soul I do not see a shred. "

XXII

Let the reader now picture Priscilla coming downstairs the nextmorning, a golden Sunday morning full of Sabbath calm, and a Priscillaleaden-eyed and leaden-souled, her shabby garments worn out to asymbol of her worn out zeals, her face the face of one who hasforgotten peace, her eyes the eyes of one at strife with the future, of one for ever asking "What next?" and shrinking with a shuddering"Oh please not that, " from the bald reply. 

Out of doors Nature wore her mildest, most beneficent aspect. She veryevidently cared nothing for the squalid tragedies of human fate. Herhills were bathed in gentle light. Her sunshine lay warm along thecottage fronts. In the gardens her hopeful bees, cheated into thoughtsof summer, droned round the pale mauves and purples of what was leftof starworts. The grass in the churchyard sparkled with the fairy filmof gossamers. Sparrows chirped. Robins whistled. And humanity gave thelast touch to the picture by ringing the church bells melodiously toprayer. 

Without doubt it was a day of blessing, supposing any one could befound willing to be blest. Let the reader, then, imagine this outwardserenity, this divine calmness, this fair and light-flooded world, and within the musty walls of Creeper Cottage Priscilla coming down tobreakfast, despair in her eyes and heart. 

They breakfasted late; so late that it was done to the accompaniment, strangely purified and beautified by the intervening church walls andgraveyard, of Mrs. Morrison's organ playing and the chanting of thevillage choir. Their door stood wide open, for the street was empty. Everybody was in church. The service was, as Mrs. Morrison afterwardsremarked, unusually well attended. The voluntaries she played that daywere Dead Marches, and the vicar preached a conscience-shatteringsermon upon the text "Lord, who is it?"

He thought that Mrs. Jones's murderer must be one of his parishioners. It was a painful thought, but it had to be faced. He had lived so longshut out from gossip, so deaf to the ever-clicking tongue of rumour, that he had forgotten how far even small scraps can travel, and thatthe news of Mrs. Jones's bolster being a hiding-place for her moneyshould have spread beyond the village never occurred to him. He wasmoved on this occasion as much as a man who has long ago given upbeing moved can be, for he had had a really dreadful two days withMrs. Morrison, dating from the moment she came in with the news of theboxing of their only son's ears. He had, as the reader will havegathered, nothing of it having been recorded, refused to visit andreprimand Priscilla for this. He had found excuses for her. He hadsided with her against his son. He had been as wholly, maddeninglyobstinate as the extremely good sometimes are. Then came Mrs. Jones'smurder. He was greatly shaken, but still refused to call uponPriscilla in connection with it, and pooh-poohed the notion of herbeing responsible for the crime as definitely as an aged saint ofhabitually grave speech can be expected to pooh-pooh at all. He saidshe was not responsible. He said, when his wife with all the emphasisapparently inseparable from the conversation of those who feelstrongly, told him that he owed it to himself, to his parish, to hiscountry, to go and accuse her, that he owed no man anything but tolove one another. There was nothing to be done with the vicar. Stillthese scenes had not left him scathless, and it was a vicar moved tothe utmost limits of his capacity in that direction who went into thepulpit that day repeating the question "Who is it?" so insistently, soappealingly, with such searching glances along the rows of faces inthe pews, that the congregation, shuffling and uncomfortable, lookedfurtively at each other with an ever growing suspicion and dislike. The vicar as he went on waxing warmer, more insistent, observed atleast a dozen persons with guilt on every feature. It darted out likea toad from the hiding-place of some private ooze at the bottom ofeach soul into one face after the other; and there was a certain youthwho grew so visibly in guilt, who had so many beads of an obviouslyguilty perspiration on his forehead, and eyes so guiltily startingfrom their sockets, that only by a violent effort of self-controlcould the vicar stop himself from pointing at him and shouting outthen and there "Thou art the man!"

Meanwhile the real murderer had hired a waggonette and was taking hiswife for a pleasant country drive. 

It was to pacify Fritzing that Priscilla came down to breakfast. Leftto herself she would by preference never have breakfasted again. Sheeven drank more milk to please him; but though it might please him, noamount of milk could wash out the utter blackness of her spirit. He, seeing her droop behind the jug, seeing her gazing drearily at nothingin particular, jumped up and took a book from the shelves and withoutmore ado began to read aloud. "It is better, ma'am, " he explainedbriefly, glancing at her over his spectacles, "than that you shouldgive yourself over to gloom. "

Priscilla turned vague eyes on to him. "How can I help gloom?" sheasked. 

"Yes, yes, that may be. But nobody should be gloomy at breakfast. Theentire day is very apt, in consequence, to be curdled. "

"It will be curdled anyhow, " said Priscilla, her head sinking on toher chest. 

"Ma'am, listen to this. "

And with a piece of bread and butter in one hand, from which he tookoccasional hurried bites, and the other raised in appropriate varyinggesticulation, Fritzing read portions of the Persae of Æschylus toher, first in Greek for the joy of his own ear and then translating itinto English for the edification of hers. He, at least, was off afterthe first line, sailing golden seas remote and glorious, places wherewords were lovely and deeds heroic, places most beautiful and brave, most admirably, most restfully unlike Creeper Cottage. He rolled outthe sentences, turning them on his tongue, savouring them, reluctantto let them go. She sat looking at him, wondering how he couldpossibly even for an instant forget the actual and the present. 

"'Xerxes went forth, Xerxes perished, Xerxes mismanaged all things inthe depths of the sea--'" declaimed Fritzing. 

"He must have been like us, " murmured Priscilla. 

"'O for Darius the scatheless, the protector! No woman ever mournedfor deed of his--'"

"What a nice man, " sighed Priscilla. "'O for Darius!'"

"Ma'am, if you interrupt how can I read? And it is a most beautifulpassage. "

"But we do want a Darius badly, " moaned Priscilla. 

"'The ships went forth, the grey-faced ships, like to each other asbird is to bird, the ships and all they carried perished, the shipsperished by the hand of the Greeks. The king, 'tis said, escapes, buthardly, by the plains of Thrace and the toilsome ways, and behind himhe leaves his first-fruits--sailors unburied on the shores of Salamis. Then grieve, sting yourselves to grief, make heaven echo, howl likedogs for the horror, for they are battered together by the terriblewaters, they are shredded to pieces by the voiceless children of thePure. The house has no master--'"

"Fritzi, I wish you'd leave off, " implored Priscilla. "It's quite asgloomy as anything I was thinking. "

"But ma'am the difference is that it is also beautiful, whereas thegloom at present enveloping us is mere squalor. 'The voicelesschildren of the Pure--' how is that, ma'am, for beauty?"

"I don't even know what it means, " sighed Priscilla. 

"Ma'am, it is an extremely beautiful manner of alluding to fish. "

"I don't care, " said Priscilla. 

"Ma'am, is it possible that the blight of passing and outwardcircumstance has penetrated to and settled upon what should always beof a sublime inaccessibility, your soul?"

"I don't care about the fish, " repeated Priscilla listlessly. Thenwith a sudden movement she pushed back her chair and jumped up. "Oh, "she cried, beating her hands together, "don't talk to me of fish whenI can't see an inch--oh not a single inch into the future!"

Fritzing looked at her, his finger on the page. Half of him was stillat the bottom of classic seas with the battered and shredded sailors. How much rather would he have stayed there, have gone on readingÆschylus a little, have taken her with him for a brief space ofserenity into that moist refuge from the harassed present, haveforgotten at least for one morning the necessity, the dreariness ofbeing forced to face things, to talk over, to decide. Besides, whatcould he decide? The unhappy man had no idea. Nor had Priscilla. Tostay in Symford seemed impossible, but to leave it seemed still moreso. And sooner than go back disgraced to Kunitz and fling herself atpaternal feet which would in all probability immediately spurn her, Priscilla felt she would die. But how could she stay in Symford, surrounded by angry neighbours, next door to Tussie, with Robin comingback for vacations, with Mrs. Morrison hating her, with LadyShuttleworth hating her, with Emma's father hating her, with the bloodof Mrs. Jones on her head? Could one live peacefully in such anaccursed place? Yet how could they go away? Even if they were able tocompose their nerves sufficiently to make new plans they could not gobecause they were in debt. 

"Fritzi, " cried Priscilla with more passion than she had ever put intospeech before, "life's too much for me--I tell you life's too much forme!" And with a gesture of her arms as though she would sweep it allback, keep it from surging over her, from choking her, she ran outinto the street to get into her own room and be alone, pulling thedoor to behind her for fear he should follow and want to explain andcomfort, leaving him with his Æschylus in which, happening to glancesighing, he, enviable man, at once became again absorbed, and runningblindly, headlong, as he runs who is surrounded and accompanied by aswarm of deadly insects which he vainly tries to out-distance, she ranstraight into somebody coming from the opposite direction, ran fulltilt, was almost knocked off her feet, and looking up with theimpatient anguish of him who is asked to endure his last straw herlips fell apart in an utter and boundless amazement; for the personshe had run against was that Prince--the last of the series, distinguished from the rest by his having quenched the Grand Duke'sirrelevant effervescence by the simple expedient of saying Bosh--whohad so earnestly desired to marry her. 

XXIII

"Hullo, " said the Prince, who spoke admirable English. 

Priscilla could only stare. 

His instinct was to repeat the exclamation which he felt representedhis feelings very exactly, for her appearance--clothes, expression, everything--astonished him, but he doubted whether it would well bearrepeating. "Is this where you are staying?" he inquired instead. 

"Yes, " said Priscilla. 

"May I come in?"

"Yes, " said Priscilla. 

He followed her into her parlour. He looked at her critically as shewalked slowly before him, from head to foot he looked at hercritically; at every inch of the shabby serge gown, at the little headwith its badly arranged hair, at the little heel that caught in anunmended bit of braid, at the little shoe with its bow of frayedribbon, and he smiled broadly behind his moustache. But when sheturned round he was perfectly solemn. 

"I suppose, " said the Prince, putting his hands in his pockets andgazing about the room with an appearance of cheerful interest, "thisis what one calls a snug little place. "

Priscilla stood silent. She felt as though she had been shakenabruptly out of sleep. Her face even now after the soul-rending timeshe had been having, in spite of the shadows beneath the eyes, thedroop at the corners of the mouth, in spite, too, it must be said ofthe flagrantly cottage fashion in which Annalise had done her hair, seemed to the Prince so extremely beautiful, so absolutely the face ofhis dearest, best desires, so limpid, apart from all grace ofcolouring and happy circumstance of feature, with the light of a sweetand noble nature, so manifestly the outward expression of anindwelling lovely soul, that his eyes, after one glance round theroom, fixed themselves upon it and never were able to leave it again. 

For a minute or two she stood silent, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to shake off the feeling that she was being called back to lifeout of a dream. It had not been a dream, she kept telling herself--badthough it was it had not been a dream but the reality; and this mandropped suddenly in to the middle of it from another world, he was thedream, part of the dream she had rebelled against and run away from afortnight before. 

Then she looked at him, and she knew she was putting off her soul withnonsense. Never was anybody less like a dream than the Prince; neverwas anybody more squarely, more certainly real. And he was of her ownkind, of her own world. He and she were equals. They could talktogether plainly, baldly, a talk ungarnished and unretarded bydeferences on the one side and on the other a kindness apt to becomeexcessive in its anxiety not to appear to condescend. The feeling thatonce more after what seemed an eternity she was with an equal was of asingular refreshment. During those few moments in which they stoodsilent, facing each other, in spite of her efforts to keep it out, inspite of really conscientious efforts, a great calm came in and spreadover her spirit. Yet she had no reason to feel calm she thought, struggling. Was there not rather cause for an infinity of shame? Whathad he come for? He of all people. The scandalously jilted, theaffronted, the run away from. Was it because she had been looking solong at Fritzing that this man seemed so nicely groomed? Or at Tussie, that he seemed so well put together? Or at Robin, that he seemed somodest? Was it because people's eyes--Mrs. Morrison's, LadyShuttleworth's--had been so angry lately whenever they rested on herthat his seemed so very kind? No; she did remember thinking them that, even being struck by them, when she saw him first in Kunitz. A dullred crept into her face when she remembered that day and whatfollowed. "It isn't very snug, " she said at last, trying to hide by acareful coldness of speech all the strange things she was feeling. "When it rains there are puddles by the door. The door, you see, opensinto the street. "

"I see, " said the Prince. 

There was a silence. 

"I don't suppose you really do, " said Priscilla, full of strangefeelings. 

"My dear cousin?"

"I don't know if you've come to laugh at me?"

"Do I look as if I had?"

"I dare say you think--because you've not been through ityourself--that it--it's rather ridiculous. "

"My dear cousin, " protested the Prince. 

Her lips quivered. She had gone through much, and she had lived fortwo days only on milk. 

"Do you wipe the puddles up, or does old Fritzing?"

"You see you _have_ come to laugh. "

"I hope you'll believe that I've not. Must I be gloomy?"

"How do you know Fritzing's here?"

"Why everybody knows that. "

"Everybody?" There was an astonished pause. "How do you know we'rehere--here, in Creeper Cottage?"

"Creeper Cottage is it? I didn't know it had a name. Do you have somany earwigs?"

"How did you know we were in Symford?"

"Why everybody knows that. "

Priscilla was silent. Again she felt she was being awakened from adream. 

"I've met quite a lot of interesting people since I saw you last, " hesaid. "At least, they interested me because they all knew you. "

"Knew me?"

"Knew you and that old scound--the excellent Fritzing. There's anextremely pleasant policeman, for instance, in Kunitz--"

"Oh, " said Priscilla, starting and turning red. She could not think ofthat policeman without crisping her fingers. 

"He and I are intimate friends. And there's a most intelligentperson--really a most helpful, obliging person--who came with you fromDover to Ullerton. "

"With us?"

"I found the conversation, too, of the ostler at the Ullerton Arms ofimmense interest. "

"But what--"

"And last night I slept at Baker's Farm, and spent a very pleasantevening with Mrs. Pearce. "

"But why--"

"She's an instructive woman. Her weakest point, I should say, is herjunkets. "

"I wonder why you bother to talk like this--to be sarcastic. "

"About the junkets? Didn't you think they were bad?"

"Do you suppose it's worth while to--to kick somebody who's down? Andso low down? So completely got to the bottom?"

"Kick? On my soul I assure you that the very last thing I want to dois to kick you. "

"Then why do you do it?"

"I don't do it. Do you know what I've come for?"

"Is my father round the corner?"

"Nobody's round the corner. I've muzzled your father. I've come quiteby myself. And do you know why?"

"No, " said Priscilla, shortly, defiantly; adding before he couldspeak, "I can't imagine. " And adding to that, again before he couldspeak, "Unless it's for the fun of hunting down a defenceless quarry. "

"I say, that's rather picturesque, " said the Prince with everyappearance of being struck. 

Priscilla blushed. In spite of herself every word they said to eachother made her feel more natural, farther away from self-torment andsordid fears, nearer to that healthy state of mind, swamped out of herlately, when petulance comes more easily than meekness. The merepresence of the Prince seemed to set things right, to raise her againin her own esteem. There was undoubtedly something wholesome about theman, something everyday and reassuring, something dependable and sane. The first smile for I don't know how long came and cheered the cornersof her mouth. "I'm afraid I've grown magniloquent since--since--"

"Since you ran away?"

She nodded. "Fritzing, you know, is most persistently picturesque. Ithink it's catching. But he's wonderful, " she added quickly, --"mostwonderful in patience and goodness. "

"Oh everybody knows he's wonderful. Where is the great man?"

"In the next room. Do you want him?"

"Good Lord, no. You've not told me what you suppose I've come for. "

"I did. I told you I couldn't imagine. "

"It's for a most saintly, really nice reason. Guess. "

"I can't guess. "

"Oh but try. "

Priscilla to her extreme disgust felt herself turning very red. "Isuppose to spy out the nakedness of the land, " she said severely. 

"Now you're picturesque again. You must have been reading a tremendouslot lately. Of course you would, with that learned old fossil about. No my dear, I've come simply to see if you are happy. "

She looked at him, and her flush slowly died away. 

"Simply to convince myself that you are happy. "

Her eyes filling with tears she thought it more expedient to fix themon the table-cloth. She did fix them on it, and the golden fringe ofeyelashes that he very rightly thought so beautiful lay in long duskycurves on her serious face. "It's extraordinarily nice of you if--ifit's true, " she said. 

"But it is true. And if you are, if you tell me you are and I'm ableto believe it, I bow myself out, dear cousin, and shall devote anyenergies I have left after doing that to going on muzzling yourfather. He shall not, I promise you, in any way disturb you. Haven'tI kept him well in hand up to this?"

She raised her eyes to his. "Was it you keeping him so quiet?"

"It was, my dear. He was very restive. You've no notion of all thethings he wanted to do. It wanted a pretty strong hand, and a lightone too, I can tell you. But I was determined you should have yourhead. That woman Disthal--"

Priscilla started. 

"You don't like her?" inquired the Prince sympathetically. 

"No. "

"I was afraid you couldn't. But I didn't know how to manage that part. She's in London. "

Priscilla started again. "I thought--I thought she was in bed, " shesaid. 

"She was, but she got out again. Your--departure cured her. "

"Didn't you tell me nobody was round the corner?"

"Well, you don't call London round the corner? I wouldn't let her comeany nearer to you. She's waiting there quite quietly. "

"What is she waiting for?" asked Priscilla quickly. 

"Come now, she's your lady in waiting you know. It seems naturalenough she should wait, don't it?"

"No, " said Priscilla, knitting her eyebrows. 

"Don't frown. She had to come too. She's brought some of your womenand a whole lot"--he glanced at the blue serge suit and put his handup to his moustache--"a whole lot of clothes. "

"Clothes?" A wave of colour flooded her face. She could not help it atthe moment any more than a starving man can help looking eager whenfood is set before him. "Oh, " she said, "I hope they're the ones I wasexpecting from Paris?"

"I should think it very likely. There seem to be a great many. I neversaw so many boxes for one little cousin. "

Priscilla made a sudden movement with her hands. "You can't think, "she said, "how tired I am of this dress. "

"Yes I can, " the Prince assured her. 

"I've worn it every day. "

"You must have. "

"Every single day since the day I--I--"

"The day you ran away from me. "

She blushed. "I didn't run away from you. At least, not exactly. Youwere only the last straw. "

"A nice thing for a man to be. "

"I ran because--because--oh, it's a long story, and I'm afraid a veryfoolish one. "

A gleam came into the Prince's eyes. He took a step nearer her, butimmediately thinking better of it took it back again. "Perhaps, " hesaid pleasantly, "only the beginning was foolish, and you'll settledown after a bit and get quite fond of Creeper Cottage. "

She looked at him startled. 

"You see my dear it was rather tremendous what you did. You must havebeen most fearfully sick of things at Kunitz. I can well understandit. You couldn't be expected to like me all at once. And if I had tohave that Disthal woman at my heels wherever I went I'd shoot myself. What you've done is much braver really than shooting one's self. Butthe question is do you like it as much as you thought you would?"

Priscilla gave him a swift look, and said nothing. 

"If you don't, there's the Disthal waiting for you with all thosecharming frocks, and all you've got to do is to put them on and gohome. "

"But I can't go home. How can I? I am disgraced. My father would neverlet me in. "

"Oh I'd arrange all that. I don't think you'd find him angry if youfollowed my advice very carefully. On the other hand, if you likethis and want to stay on there's nothing more to be said. I'll saygood-bye, and promise you shall be left in peace. You shall be left tobe happy entirely in your own way. "

Priscilla was silent. 

"You don't--look happy, " he said, scrutinizing her face. 

She was silent. 

"You've got very thin. How did you manage that in such a littlewhile?"

"We've muddled things rather, " she said with an ashamed sort of smile. "On the days when I was hungry there wasn't anything to eat, and thenwhen there were things I wasn't hungry. "

The Prince looked puzzled. "Didn't that old scamp--I mean didn't theexcellent Fritzing bring enough money?"

"He thought he did, but it wasn't enough. "

"Is it all gone?"

"We're in debt. "

Again he put his hand up to his moustache. "Well I'll see to all that, of course, " he said gravely. "And when that has been set right you'resure you'll like staying on here?"

She summoned all her courage, and looked at him for an instantstraight in the face. "No, " she said. 

"No?"

"No. "

There was another silence. He was standing on the hearthrug, she onthe other side of the table; but the room was so small that by puttingout his hand he could have touched her. A queer expression was in hiseyes as he looked at her, an expression entirely at variance with hiscalm and good-natured talk, the exceedingly anxious expression of aman who knows his whole happiness is quivering in the balance. She didnot see it, for she preferred to look at the table-cloth. 

"Dreadful things have happened here, " she said in a low voice. 

"What sort?"

"Horrid sorts. Appalling sorts. "

"Tell me. "

"I couldn't bear to. "

"But I think I know. "

She looked at him astonished. 

"Mrs. Pearce--"

"She told you?"

"What she knew she told me. Perhaps there's something she doesn'tknow. "

Priscilla remembered Robin, and blushed. 

"Yes, she told me about that, " said the Prince nodding. 

"About what?" asked Priscilla, startled. 

"About the squire intending to marry you. "

"Oh, " said Priscilla. 

"It seems hard on him, don't it? Has it struck you that such thingsare likely to occur pretty often to Miss Maria-Theresa EthelNeumann-Schultz?"

"I'm afraid you really have come only to laugh, " said Priscilla, herlips quivering. 

"I swear it's only to see if you are happy. "

"Well, see then. " And throwing back her head with a great defiance shelooked at him while her eyes filled with tears; and though theypresently brimmed over, and began to drop down pitifully one by one, she would not flinch but went on looking. 

"I see, " said the Prince quietly. "And I'm convinced. Of course, then, I shall suggest your leaving this. "

"I want to. "

"And putting yourself in the care of the Disthal. "

Priscilla winced. 

"Only her temporary care. Quite temporary. And letting her take youback to Kunitz. "

Priscilla winced again. 

"Only temporarily, " said the Prince. 

"But my father would never--"

"Yes my dear, he will. He'll be delighted to see you. He'll rejoice. "

"Rejoice?"

"I assure you he will. You've only got to do what I tell you. "

"Shall you--come too?"

"If you'll let me. "

"But then--but then--"

"Then what, my dear?"

She looked at him, and her face changed slowly from white to red andred to white again. Fritzing's words crossed her mind--"If you marryhim you will be undoubtedly eternally lost, " and her very soul criedout that they were folly. Why should she be eternally lost? Whatcobwebs were these, cobwebs of an old brain preoccupied with shadows, dusty things to be swept away at the first touch of Nature's vigorousbroom? Indeed she thought it far more likely that she would beeternally found. But she was ashamed of herself, ashamed of all shehad done, ashamed of the disgraceful way she had treated this man, terribly disillusioned, terribly out of conceit with herself, and shestood there changing colour, hanging her head, humbled, penitent, every shred of the dignity she had been trained to gone, simplysomebody who has been very silly and is very sorry. 

The Prince put out his hand. 

She pretended not to see it. 

The Prince came round the table. "You know, " he said, "our engagementhasn't been broken off yet?"

Her instinct was to edge away, but she would not stoop to edging. "Wasit ever made?" she asked, not able to induce her voice to rise above awhisper. 

"Practically. "

There was another silence. 

"Why, then--" began Priscilla, for the silence had come to be morethrobbing, more intolerably expressive than any speech. 

"Yes?" encouraged the Prince, coming very close. 

She turned her head slowly. "Why, then--" said Priscilla again, herface breaking into a smile, half touched, half mischievous, whollyadorable. 

"I think so too, " said the Prince; and he shut her mouth with a kiss. 

 * * * * *

"And now, " said the Prince some time afterwards, "let us go to thatold sinner Fritzing. "

Priscilla hung back, reluctant to deal this final blow to the heartthat had endured so many. "He'll be terribly shocked, " she said. 

But the Prince declared it had to be done; and hand in hand they wentout into the street, and opening Fritzing's door stood before him. 

He was still absorbed in his Æschylus, had been sitting absorbed inthe deeds of the dead and departed, of the long dead Xerxes, the longdead Darius, the very fish, voiceless but voracious, long since asdead as the most shredded of the sailors, --he had been sittingabsorbed in these various corpses all the while that in the next room, on the other side of a few inches of plaster and paper, so close youwould have thought his heart must have burned within him, so close youwould have thought he must be scorched, the living present had beenpulsing and glowing, beating against the bright bars of the future, stirring up into alertness a whole row of little red-headed souls tillthen asleep, souls with golden eyelashes, souls eager to come and beprinces and princesses of--I had almost revealed the mighty nation'sname. A shadow fell across his book, and looking up he saw the twostanding before him hand in hand. 

Priscilla caught her breath: what white anguish was going to flashinto his face when he grasped the situation? Judge then of heramazement, her hesitation whether to be pleased or vexed, to laugh orcry, when, grasping it, he leaped to his feet and in tones of a mostlimitless, a most unutterable relief, shouted three times running"_Gott sei Dank_!"

CONCLUSION

So that was the end of Priscilla's fortnight, --according to the wayyou look at it glorious or inglorious. I shall not say which I thinkit was; whether it is better to marry a prince, become in course oftime a queen, be at the head of a great nation, be surfeited withhonour, wealth, power and magnificence till the day when Death withcalm, indifferent fingers strips everything away and leaves you atlast to the meek simplicity of a shroud; or whether toilsome paths, stern resistances, buffetings bravely taken, battles fought inch byinch, an ideal desperately clung to even though in clinging you areslain, is not rather the part to be chosen of him whose soul would sitattired with stars. Anyhow the goddess laughed, the goddess who hadleft Priscilla in the lurch, when she heard the end of the adventure;and her unpleasant sister, having nothing more to do in CreeperCottage, gathered up her rags and grinned too as she left it. At leasther claws had lacerated much over-tender flesh during her stay; andthough the Prince had interrupted the operation and forced her for themoment to inactivity, she was not dissatisfied with what had beenaccomplished. 

Priscilla, it will readily be imagined, made no farewell calls. Shedisappeared from Symford as suddenly as she had appeared; and Mrs. Morrison, coming into Creeper Cottage on Monday afternoon to unloadher conscience yet more, found only a pleasant gentleman, a strangerof mellifluous manners, writing out cheques. She had ten minutes talkwith him, and went home very sad and wise. Indeed from that day, herspirit being the spirit of the true snob, the hectorer of the humble, the devout groveller in the courtyards of the great, she was amuch-changed woman. Even her hair felt it, and settled down uncheckedto greyness. She no longer cared to put on a pink tulle bow in theafternoons, which may or may not be a sign of grace. She ceased tosuppose that she was pretty. When the accounts of Priscilla's weddingfilled all the papers she became so ill that she had to go to bed andbe nursed. Sometimes to the vicar's mild surprise she hesitated beforeexpressing an opinion. Once at least she of her own accord saidshe had been wrong. And although she never told any one of theconversation with the gentleman writing cheques, when Robin came homefor Christmas and looked at her he knew at once what she knew. 

As for Lady Shuttleworth, she got a letter from Priscilla; quite along one, enclosing a little one for Tussie to be given him if andwhen his mother thought expedient. Lady Shuttleworth was not surprisedby what she read. She had suspected it from the moment Priscilla roseup the day she called on her at Baker's Farm and dismissed her. Tillher marriage with the late Sir Augustus she had been lady-in-waitingto one of the English princesses, and she could not be mistaken onsuch points. She knew the sort of thing too well. But she neverforgave Priscilla. How could she? Was the day of Tussie's coming ofage, that dreadful day when he was nearest death, a day a mother couldever forget? It had all been most wanton, most cruel. We know she wasfull of the milk of human kindness: on the subject of Priscilla it wasunmixed gall. 

As for Tussie, --well, you cannot have omelettes without breaking eggs, and Tussie on this occasion was the eggs. It is a painful part toplay. He found it exquisitely painful, and vainly sought comfort inthe consolation that it had been Priscilla's omelette. The consolationproved empty, and for a long while he suffered every sort of tormentknown to the sensitive. But he got over it. People do. They will getover anything if you give them time, and he being young had plenty ofit. He lived it down as one lives down every sorrow and every joy; andwhen in the fulness of time, after a series of years in which he wentabout listlessly in a soft felt hat and an unsatisfactory collar, hemarried, it was to Priscilla's capital that he went for his honeymoon. She, hearing he was there, sent for them both and was kind. 

As for Annalise, she never got her twenty thousand marks. On thecontrary, the vindictive Grand Duke caused her to be prosecuted forblackmailing, and she would undoubtedly have languished in prison ifPriscilla had not interfered and sent her back to her parents. LikeMrs. Morrison, she is chastened. She does not turn up her nose somuch. She does not sing. Indeed her songs ceased from the moment shecaught sight through a crack in the kitchen door of the Prince's broadshoulders filling up Fritzing's sitting-room. From that momentAnnalise swooned from one depth of respect and awe to the other. Shebecame breathlessly willing, meek to vanishing point. But Priscillacould not forget all she had made her suffer; and the Prince, who hadthought of everything, suddenly producing her head woman from somerecess in Baker's Farm, where she too had spent the night, Annalisewas superseded, her further bitter fate being to be left behindat Creeper Cottage in the charge of the gentleman with thecheque-book--who as it chanced was a faddist in food and would allownothing more comforting than dried fruits and nuts to darken thedoors--till he should have leisure to pack her up and send her home. 

As for Emma, she was hunted out by that detective who travelled downinto Somersetshire with the fugitives and who had already been souseful to the Prince; and Priscilla, desperately anxious to makeamends wherever she could, took her into her own household, watchingover her herself, seeing to it that no word of what she had done wasever blown about among the crowd of idle tongues, and she ended, Ibelieve, by marrying a lacquey, --one of those splendid persons withwhite silk calves who were so precious in the sight of Annalise. Indeed I am not sure that it was not the very lacquey Annalise hadloved most and had intended to marry herself. In this story at least, the claims of poetic justice shall be strictly attended to; andAnnalise had sniffed outrageously at Emma. 

As for the Countess Disthal, she married the doctor and was sorry everafterwards; but her sorrow was as nothing compared with his. 

As for Fritzing, he is _Hofbibliothekar_ of the Prince's father'scourt library; a court more brilliant than and a library vastlyinferior to the one he had fled from at Kunitz. He keeps much in hisrooms, and communes almost exclusively with the dead. He finds thedead alone truly satisfactory. Priscilla loves him still and willalways love him, but she is very busy and has little time to think. She does not let him give her children lessons; instead he plays withthem, and grows old and patient apace. 

And now having finished my story, there is nothing left for me todo but stand aside and watch Priscilla and her husband walkinghand-in-hand farther and farther away from me up a path which Isuppose is the path of glory, into something apparently golden androsy, something very glowing and full of promise, that turns out oncloser scrutiny to be their future. It certainly seems radiant enoughto the superficial observer. Even I, who have looked into her souland known its hungers, am a little dazzled. Let it not however beimagined that a person who has been truthful so long as myself isgoing to lapse into easy lies at the last, and pretend that she wasuninterruptedly satisfied and happy for the rest of her days. She wasnot; but then who is?