COLLECTION OF BRITISH AUTHORS

 TAUCHNITZ EDITION. 

 VOL. 1809. 

 VIXEN BY M. E. BRADDON IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. 

 TAUCHNITZ EDITION. 

VIXEN

A NOVEL

BY

M. E. BRADDON, AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET, " ETC. ETC. 

_COPYRIGHT EDITION_. 

IN THREE VOLUMES. 

VOL. I. 

By the same Author, LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET 2 vols. AURORA FLOYD 2 vols. ELEANOR'S VICTORY 2 vols. JOHN MARCHMONT'S LEGACY 2 vols. HENRY DUNBAR 2 vols. THE DOCTOR'S WIFE 2 vols. ONLY A CLOD 2 vols. SIR JASPER'S TENANT 2 vols. THE LADY'S MILE 2 vols. RUPERT GODWIN 2 vols. DEAD-SEA FRUIT 2 vols. RUN TO EARTH 2 vols. FENTON'S QUEST 2 vols. THE LOVELS OF ARDEN 2 vols. STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS 2 vols. LUCIUS DAVOREN 3 vols. TAKEN AT THE FLOOD 3 vols. LOST FOR LOVE 2 vols. A STRANGE WORLD 2 vols. HOSTAGES TO FORTUNE 2 vols. DEAD MEN'S SHOES 2 vols. JOSHUA HAGGARD'S DAUGHTER 2 vols. WEAVERS AND WEFT 1 vol. IN GREAT WATERS & OTHER TALES 1 vol. AN OPEN VERDICT 3 vols. 

LEIPZIG

BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ

1879. 

_The Right of Translation is reserved_. 

CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 

CHAPTER I. A Pretty Horsebreaker

CHAPTER II. Lady Jane Vawdrey

CHAPTER III. "I Want a Little Serious Talk with You"

CHAPTER IV. Rorie comes of Age

CHAPTER V. Rorie makes a Speech

CHAPTER VI. How She took the News

CHAPTER VII. Rorie has Plans of his own

CHAPTER VIII. Glas ist der Erde Stolz und Glück

CHAPTER IX. A House of Mourning

CHAPTER X. Captain Winstanley

CHAPTER XI. "It shall be Measure for Measure"

CHAPTER XII. "I have no Wrong, where I can claim no Right"

CHAPTER XIII. "He belongs to the Tame-Cat Species"

CHAPTER XIV. "He was worthy to be loved a Lifetime"

CHAPTER XV. Lady Southminster's Ball

CHAPTER XVI. Rorie asks a Question

CHAPTER XVII. Where the Red King was slain

VIXEN. 

CHAPTER I. 

A Pretty Horsebreaker. 

The moon had newly risen, a late October moon, a pale almostimperceptible crescent, above the dark pine spires in the thicketthrough which Roderick Vawdrey came, gun in hand, after a long day'srabbit-shooting. It was not his nearest way home, but he liked thebroad clearing in the pine wood, which had a ghostly look at dusk, andwas so still and lonely that the dart of a squirrel through the fallenleaves was a startling event. Here and there a sturdy young oak thathad been newly stripped of its bark lay among the fern, like the nakedcorpse of a giant. Here and there a tree had been cut down and slungacross the track, ready for barking. The ground was soft and spongy, slippery with damp dead leaves, and inclined in a general way tobogginess; but it was ground that Roderick Vawdrey had known all hislife, and it seemed more natural to him than any other spot upon motherearth. 

On the edge of this thicket there was a broad ditch, with more mud anddead fern in it than water, a ditch strongly suspected of snakes, andbeyond the ditch the fence that enclosed Squire Tempest's domain--anold manor house in the heart of the New Forest. It had been an abbeybefore the Reformation, and was still best known as the Abbey House. 

"I wonder whether I'm too late to catch her, " speculated Roderick, shifting his bag from one shoulder to the other; "she's no end of fun. "

In front of the clearing there was a broad five-barred gate, andbeside the gate a keeper's cottage. The flame of a newly-lighted candleflashed out suddenly upon the autumn dusk, while Roderick stoodlooking at the gate. 

"I'll ask at the lodge, " he said; "I should like to say good-bye to thelittle thing before I go back to Oxford. "

He walked quickly on to the gate. The keeper's children were playing atnothing particular just inside it. 

"Has Miss Tempest gone for her ride this afternoon?" he asked. 

"Ya-ase, " drawled the eldest shock-headed youngster. 

"And not come back yet?"

"Noa. If she doant take care her'll be bogged. "

Roderick hitched his bag on to the top of the gate, and stood at easewaiting. It was late for the little lady of Tempest Manor to be out onher pony; but then it was an understood thing within a radius of tenmiles or so that she was a self-willed young person, and even atfifteen years of age she had a knack of following her own inclinationwith that noble disregard of consequences which characterises theheaven-born ruler. 

Mr. Vawdrey had not waited more than ten minutes when there came thethud of hoofs upon the soft track, a flash of gray in the distance, something flying over those forky branches sprawling across the way, then a half-sweet, half-shrill call, like a bird's, at which thekeeper's children scattered themselves like a brood of scared chickens, and now a rush, and a gray pony shooting suddenly into the air andcoming down on the other side of the gate, as if he were a new kind ofskyrocket. 

"What do you think of that, Rorie?" cried the shrill sweet voice of thegray pony's rider!

"I'm ashamed of you, Vixen, " said Roderick, "you'll come to a bad endsome of these days. "

"I don't care if I do, as long as I get my fling first, " replied Vixen, tossing her tawny mane. 

She was a slim young thing, in a short Lincoln-green habit. She had asmall pale face, brown eyes that sparkled with life and mischief, and arippling mass of reddish-auburn hair falling down her back under acoquettish little felt hat. 

"Hasn't your mamma forbidden jumping, Vixen?" remonstrated Roderick, opening the gate and coming in. 

"Yes, that she has, sir, " said the old groom, riding up at a jog-troton his thickset brown cob. "It's quite against Mrs. Tempest's orders, and it's a great responsibility to go out with Miss Violet. She will doit. "

"You mean the pony will do it, Bates, " cried Vixen. "I don't jump. Howcan I help it if papa has given me a jumping pony? If I didn't letTitmouse take a gate when he was in the humour, he'd kick like oldboots, and pitch me a cropper. It's an instinct of self-preservationthat makes me let him jump. And as for poor dear, pretty little mamma, "continued Vixen, addressing herself to Roderick, and changing her toneto one of patronising tenderness, "if she had her way, I should bebrought up in a little box wrapped in jeweller's wool, to keep me safe. But you see I take after papa, Rorie; and it comes as natural to me tofly over gates as it does to you to get ploughed for smalls. There, Bates, " jumping off the pony, "you may take Titmouse home, and I'llcome presently and give him some apples, for he has been a dear, darling, precious treasure of a ponykins. "

She emphasised this commendation with a kiss on Titmouse's gray nose, and handed the bridle to Bates. 

"I'm going to walk home with Mr. Vawdrey, " she said. 

"But, Vixen, I can't, really, " said Roderick; "I'm due at home at thismoment, only I couldn't leave without saying good-bye to little Vix. "

"And you're over due at Oxford, too, aren't you?" cried Vixen, laughing; "you're always due somewhere--never in the right place. Butwhether you are due or not, you're coming up to the stables with me togive Titmouse his apples, and then you're coming to dine with us onyour last night at home. I insist upon it; papa insists; mammainsists--we all insist. "

"My mother will be as angry as----"

"Old boots!" interjected Vixen. "That's the best comparison I know. "

"Awfully vulgar for a young lady. "

"You taught it me. How can I help being vulgar when I associate withyou? You should hear Miss McCroke preach at me sermons so long"--hereVixen extended her arms to the utmost--"and I'm afraid they'd make asmuch impression on Titmouse as they do upon me. But she's a dear oldthing, and I love her immensely. "

This was Vixen's usual way, making up for all shortcomings with theabundance of her love. The heart was always atoning for the errors ofthe head. 

"I wouldn't be Miss McCroke for anything. She must have a bad time ofit with you. "

"She has, " assented Vixen, with a remorseful sigh; "I fear I'm bringingher sandy hairs with sorrow to the grave. That hair of hers never couldbe gray, you know, it's too self-opinionated in its sandiness. Now comealong, Rorie, do. Titmouse will be stamping about his box like a maniacif he doesn't get those apples. "

She gave a little tug with both her small doeskin-covered hands atRoderick's arm. He was still standing by the gate irresolute, inclination drawing him to the Abbey House, duty calling him home toBriarwood, five miles off, where his widowed mother was expecting hisreturn. 

"My last night at home, Vix, " he said remonstrantly; "I really ought todine with my mother. "

"Of course you ought, and that's the very reason why you'll dine withus. So 'kim over, now, ' as Bates says to the horses; I don't know whatthere is for dinner, " she added confidentially, "but I feel sure it'ssomething nice. Dinner is papa's particular vanity, you know. He's veryweak about dinner. "

"Not so weak as he is about you, Vixen. "

"Do you really think papa is as fond of me as he is of his dinner?"

"I'm sure of it!"

"Then he must be very fond of me, " exclaimed Vixen, with conviction. "Now, are you coming?"

Who could resist those little soft hands in doeskin? Certainly notRorie. He resigned himself to the endurance of his mother's anger inthe future as a price to be paid for the indulgence of his inclinationin the present, gave Vixen his arm, and turned his face towards theAbbey House. 

They walked through shrubberies that would have seemed a pathlesswilderness to a stranger, but every turn in which was familiar to thesetwo. The ground was undulating, and vast thickets of rhododendron andazalea rose high above them, or sank in green valleys below their path. Here and there a group of tall firs towered skyward above the darkentanglement of shrubs, or a great beech spread its wide limbs over thehollows; here and there a pool of water reflected the pale moonshine. 

The house lay low, sheltered and shut in by those rhododendronthickets, a long, rambling pile of building, which had been added to, and altered, and taken away from, and added to again, like thatwell-known puzzle in mental arithmetic which used to amuse us in ourchildhood. It was all gables, and chimney-stacks, and odd angles, andivy-mantled wall, and richly-mullioned windows, or quaint littlediamond-paned lattices, peeping like a watchful eye from under theshadow of a jutting cornice. The stables had been added in QueenElizabeth's time, after the monks had been routed from their snugquarters, and the Abbey had been bestowed upon one of the Tudorfavourites. These Elizabethan stables formed the four sides of aquadrangle, stone-paved, with an old marble basin in the centre--abasin which the Vicar pronounced to be an early Saxon font, but whichSquire Tempest refused to have removed from the place it had occupiedever since the stables were built. There were curious carvings upon thesix sides, but so covered with mosses and lichens that nobody couldtell what they meant; and the Squire forbade any scraping process byofficious antiquarians, which might lead to somebody's forcibleappropriation of the ancient basin. 

The Squire was not so modern in his ideas as to set up his owngasometer, so the stables were lighted by lanterns, with an oil-lampfixed here and there against the wall. Into this dim uncertain lightcame Roderick and Vixen, through the deep stone archway which openedfrom the shrubbery into the stable-yard, and which was solid enough forthe gate of a fortified town. 

Titmouse's stable was lighted better then the rest. The door stoodopen, and there was Titmouse, with the neat little quilted doeskinsaddle still on his back, waiting to be fed and petted by his youngmistress. It was a pretty picture, the old low-ceiled stable, with itswide stalls and roomy loose-boxes and carpet of plaited straw, goldenagainst the deep brown of the woodwork. 

Vixen ran into the box, and took off Titmouse's bridle, he holding downhis head, like a child submitting to be undressed. Then, with manyvigorous tugs at straps and buckles, and a good deal of screwing up ofher rosy lips in the course of the effort, Vixen took off her pony'ssaddle. 

"I like to do everything I can for him, " she explained, as Roriewatched her with an amused smile; "I'd wisp him down if they'd let me. "

She left the leather panel on Titmouse's back, hung up saddle andbridle, and skipped off to a corn-chest to hunt for apples. Of theseshe brought half-a-dozen or so in the skirt of her habit, and then, swinging herself lightly into a comfortable corner of the manger, beganto carry out her system of reward for good conduct, with much coquetryon her part and Titmouse's, Rorie watching it all from the empty stalladjoining, his folded inns resting on the top of the partition. He saidnot another word about his mother, or the duty that called him home toBriarwood, but stood and watched this pretty horsebreaker in a dreamycontentment. 

What was Violet Tempest, otherwise Vixen, like, this October evening, just three months before her fifteenth birthday? She made a lovelypicture in this dim light, as she sat in the corner of the old manger, holding a rosy-cheeked apple at a tantalising distance from Titmouse'snose: yet she was perhaps not altogether lovely. She was brilliantrather than absolutely beautiful. The white skin was powdered withfreckles. The rippling hair was too warm an auburn to escape anoccasional unfriendly remark from captious critics; but it was not redhair for all that. The eyes were brownest of the brown, large, bright, and full of expression. The mouth was a thought too wide, but it was alovely mouth notwithstanding. The lips were full and firmlymoulded--lips that could mean anything, from melting tenderness tosternest resolve. Such lips, a little parted to show the whitest, evenest teeth in Hampshire, seemed to Rorie lovely enough to please themost critical connoisseur of feminine beauty. The nose was short andstraight, but had a trick of tilting itself upward with a littleimpatient jerk that made it seem _retroussé;_ the chin was round andfull and dimpled; the throat was full and round also, a white columnsupporting the tawny head, and indicated that Vixen was meant to be apowerful woman, and not one of those ethereal nymphs who lendthemselves most readily to the decorative art of a court milliner. 

"I'm afraid Violet will be a dreadfully large creature, " Mrs. Tempestmurmured plaintively, as the girl grew and flourished; that ladyherself being ethereal, and considering her own appearance a strictlycorrect standard of beauty. How could it be otherwise, when she hadbeen known before her marriage as "the pretty Miss Calthorpe?"

"This is very nice, you know, Vixen, " said Roderick critically, asTitmouse made a greedy snap at an apple, and was repulsed with a gentlepat on his nose, "but it can't go on for ever. What'll you do when youare grown up?"

"Have a horse instead of a pony, " answered Vixen unhesitatingly. 

"And will that be all the difference?"

"I don't see what other difference there can be. I shall always lovepapa, I shall always love hunting, I shall always love mamma--as muchas she'll let me. I shall always have a corner in my heart for deal oldCrokey; and, perhaps, " looking at him mischievously, "even an oddcorner for you. What difference can a few more birthdays make in me? Ishall be too big for Titmouse, that's the only misfortune; but I shallalways keep him for my pet, and I'll have a basket-carriage and drivehim when I go to see my poor people. Sitting behind a pony is an awfulbore when one's natural place is on his back, but I'd sooner endure itthan let Titmouse fancy himself superannuated. "

"But when you're grown up you'll have to come out, Vixen. You'll beobliged to go to London for a season, and be presented, and go to noend of balls, and ride in the Row, and make a grand marriage, and havea page all to yourself in the _Court Journal_. "

"Catch me--going to London!" exclaimed Vixen, ignoring the latter partof the sentence. "Papa hates London, and so do I. And as to riding inRotten Row, _je voudrais bien me voir faisant cela_, " added Vixen, whose study of the French language chiefly resulted in the endeavour totranslate English slang into that tongue. "No, when I grow up I shalltake papa the tour of Europe. We'll see all those places I'm worriedabout at lessons--Marathon, Egypt, Naples, the Peloponnesus, _tout letremblement_--and I shall say to each of them, 'Oh, this is you, is it?What a nuisance you've been to me on the map. ' We shall go up MountVesuvius, and the Pyramids, and do all sorts of wild things; and by thetime I come home I shall have forgotten the whole of my education. "

"If Miss McCroke could hear you!"

"She does, often. You can't imagine the wild things I say to her. But Ilove her--fondly. "

A great bell clanged out with a vigorous peal, that seemed to shake theold stable. 

"There's the first bell. I must run and dress. Come to the drawing-roomand see mamma. "

"But, Vixen, how can I sit down to dinner in such a costume, "remonstrated Rorie, looking down at his brown shooting-suit, leathergaiters, and tremendous boots--boots which, instead of being beautifiedwith blacking, were suppled with tallow; "I can't do it, really. "

"Nonsense, " cried Vixen, "what does it matter? Papa seldom dresses fordinner. I believe he considers it a sacrifice to mamma's sense ofpropriety when he washes his hands after coming in from the home farm. And you are only a boy--I beg pardon--an undergraduate. So come along. "

"But upon my word, Vixen, I feel too much ashamed of myself. "

"I've asked you to dinner, and you've accepted, " cried Vixen, pullinghim out of the stable by the lapel of his shooting-jacket. 

He seemed to relish that mode of locomotion, for he allowed himself tobe pulled all the way to the hall-door, and into the glow of the greatbeech-wood fire; a ruddy light which shone upon many a sporting trophy, and reflected itself on many a gleaming pike and cuirass, belonging todays of old, when gentlemanly sport for the most part meant man-hunting. 

It was a fine old vaulted hall, a place to love and remember lovinglywhen far away. The walls were all of darkly bright oak panelling, savewhere here and there a square of tapestry hung before a door, or apainted window let in the moonlight. At one end there was a greatarched fireplace, the arch surmounted with Squire Tempest's armorialbearings, roughly cut in freestone. A mailed figure of the usual stumpybuild, in helm and hauberk, stood on each side of the hearth; a largethree-cornered chair covered with stamped and gilded leather was drawnup to the fireside, the Squire's favourite seat on an autumn or winterafternoon. The chair was empty now, but, stretched at full lengthbefore the blazing logs, lay the Squire's chosen companion, Nip, apowerful liver-coloured pointer; and beside him in equally luxuriousrest, reclined Argus, Vixen's mastiff. There was a story about Vixenand the mastiff, involving the only incident in that young lady's lifethe recollection whereof could make her blush. 

The dog, apparently coiled in deepest slumber, heard the lightfootsteps on the hall floor, pricked up his tawny ears, sprang to hisfeet, and bounded over to his young mistress, whom he nearly knockeddown in the warmth of his welcome. Nip, the pointer, blinked at theintruders, yawned desperately, stretched himself a trifle longer, andrelapsed into slumber. 

"How fond that brute is of you, " said Rorie; "but it's no wonder, whenone considers what you did for him. "

"If you say another word I shall hate you, " cried Vixen savagely. 

"Well, but you know when a fellow fights another fellow's battles, theother fellow's bound to be fond of him; and when a young lady pitchesinto a bird-boy with her riding-whip to save a mastiff pup fromill-usage, that mastiff pup is bound----"

"Mamma, " cried Vixen, flinging aside a tapestry _portière_, andbouncing into the drawing-room, "here's Roderick, and he's come todinner, and you must excuse his shooting-dress, please. I'm sure pawill. "

"Certainly, my dear Violet, " replied a gentle, _traînante_ voice fromthe fire-lit dimness near the velvet-curtained hearth. "Of course I amalways glad to see Mr. Vawdrey when your papa asks him. Where did youmeet the Squire, Roderick?"

"Upon my word, Mrs. Tempest, " faltered Rorie, coming slowly forwardinto the ruddy glow, "I feel quite awfully ashamed of myself; I've beenrabbit-shooting, and I'm a most horrid object. It wasn't the Squireasked me to stay. It was Vixen. "

Vixen made a ferocious grimace at him--he could just see her distortedcountenance in the fire-light--and further expressed her aggravation bya smart crack of her whip. 

"Violet, my love, you have such startling ways, " exclaimed Mrs. Tempest, with a long-suffering air. "Really, Miss McCroke, you ought totry and correct her of those startling ways. "

On this Roderick became aware of a stout figure in a tartan dress, knitting industriously on the side of the hearth opposite Mrs. Tempest's sofa. He could just see the flash of those active needles, and could just hear Miss McCroke murmur placidly that she had correctedViolet, and that it was no use. 

Rorie remembered that plaid poplin dress when he was at Eton. It was aroyal Stuart, too brilliant to be forgotten. He used to wonder whetherit would ever wear out, or whether it was not made of someindestructible tissue, like asbestos--a fabric that neither time norfire could destroy. 

"It was Rorie's last night, you see, mamma, " apologised Vixen, "and Iknew you and papa would like him to come, and that you wouldn't mindhis shooting-clothes a bit, though they do make him look like theunder-keeper, except that the under-keeper's better looking than Rorie, and has finished growing his whiskers, instead of living in theexpectation of them. "

And with this Parthian shot, Vixen made a pirouette on her neat littlemorocco-shod toes, and whisked herself out of the room; leavingRoderick Vawdrey to make the best of his existence for the next twentyminutes with the two women he always found it most difficult to get onwith, Mrs. Tempest and Miss McCroke. 

The logs broke into a crackling blaze just at this moment, and lightedup that luxurious hearth and the two figures beside it. 

It was the prettiest thing imaginable in the way of a drawing-room, that spacious low-ceiled chamber in the Abbey House. 

The oak panelling was painted white, a barbarity on the part of thosemodern Goths the West End decorators, but a charming background forquaint Venetian mirrors, hanging shelves of curious old china, daintylittle groups of richly-bound duodecimos, brackets, bronzes, freshestflowers in majolica jars; water-colour sketches by Hunt, Prout, Cattermole, and Edward Duncan; sage-green silk curtains; black and goldfurniture, and all the latest prettinesses of the new Jacobean school. The mixture of real medievalism and modern quaintness was delightful. One hardly knew where the rococo began or the mediaeval left off. Thegood old square fireplace, with its projecting canopy, and columns inwhite and coloured marbles, was as old as the days of Inigo Jones; butthe painted tiles, with their designs from the Iliad and Odyssey afterDante Rossetti, were the newest thing from Minton's factory. 

Even Rorie felt that the room was pretty, though he did above allthings abhor to be trapped in it, as he found himself this Octoberevening. 

"There's a great lot of rubbish in it, " he used to say of Mrs. Tempest's drawing-room, "but it's rather nice altogether. "

Mrs. Tempest, at five-and-thirty, still retained the good looks whichhad distinguished Miss Calthorpe at nineteen. She was small and slim, with a delicate complexion. She had large soft eyes of a limpidinnocent azure, regular features, rosebud lips, hands after Velasquez, and an unexceptionable taste in dress, the selection of which formedone of the most onerous occupations of her life. To attire herselfbecomingly, and to give the Squire the dinners he best liked, in anorder of succession so dexterously arranged as never to provokesatiety, were Mrs. Tempest's cardinal duties. In the intervals of herlife she read modern poetry, unobjectionable French novels, andreviews. She did a little high-art needle-work, played Mendelssohn'sLieder, sang three French _chansons_ which her husband liked, slept, and drank orange pekoe. In the consumption of this last article Mrs. Tempest was as bad as a dram-drinker. She declared her inability tosupport life without that gentle stimulant, and required to be wound upat various hours of her languid day with a dose of her favouritebeverage. 

"I think I'll take a cup of tea, " was Mrs. Tempest's inevitable remarkat every crisis of her existence. 

"And so you are going back to Oxford, Roderick?" the lady began with alanguid kindness. 

Mrs. Tempest had never been known to be unkind to anyone. She regardedall her fellow-creatures with a gentle tolerance. They were there, anecessary element of the universe, and she bore with them. But she hadnever attached herself particularly to anybody except the Squire. Himshe adored. He took all the trouble of life off her hands, and gave herall good things. She had been poor, and he had made her rich; nobody, and he had elevated her into somebody. She loved him with a caninefidelity, and felt towards him as a dog feels towards his master--thatin him this round world begins and ends. 

"Yes, " assented Rorie, with a sigh, "I'm going up to-morrow. "

"Why up?" inquired Miss McCroke, without lifting her eyes from herneedles. "It isn't up on the map. "

"I hope you are going to get a grand degree, " continued Mrs. Tempest, in that soft conciliatory voice of hers; "Senior Wrangler, orsomething. "

"That's the other shop, " exclaimed Rorie; "they grow that sort oftimber at Cambridge. However, I hope to pull myself through somehow orother this time, for my mother's sake. She attaches a good deal ofimportance to it, though for my own part I can't see what good it cando me. It won't make me farm my own land better, or ride straighter tohounds, or do my duty better to my tenants. "

"Education, " said Miss McCroke sententiously, "is always a good, and wecannot too highly estimate its influence upon----"

"Oh yes, I know, " answered Rorie quickly, for he knew that when thefloodgates of Miss McCroke's eloquence were once loosened the tide ranstrong, "when house and lands are gone and spent a man may turn usherin an academy, and earn fifty pounds a year and his laundress's bill bygrinding Caesar's Commentaries into small boys. But I shouldn't lay ina stock of learning with that view. When my house and lands are goneI'll go after them--emigrate, and go into the lumber trade in Canada. "

"What a dreadful idea, " said Mrs. Tempest; "but you are not going tolose house and lands, Roderick--such a nice place as Briarwood. "

"To my mind it's rather a commonplace hole, " answered the young mancarelessly, "but the land is some of the best in the county. "

It must be nearly seven by this time, he thought. He was gettingthrough this period of probation better than he had expected. Mrs. Tempest gave a little stifled yawn behind her huge black fan, uponwhich Cupids and Graces, lightly sketched in French gray, were depicteddancing in the airiest attitudes, after Boucher. Roderick would haveliked to yawn in concert, but at this juncture a sudden ray of lightflashed upon him and showed him a way of escape. 

"I think I'll go to the gentleman's room, and make myself decent beforethe second bell rings, " he said. 

"Do, " assented Mrs. Tempest, with another yawn; and the young man fled. 

He had only time to scramble through a hurried toilet, and was stillfeeling very doubtful as to the parting of his short crisp hair, whenthe gong boomed out its friendly summons. The gentleman's room openedfrom the hall, and Rorie heard the Squire's loud and jovial voiceuplifted as he raised the tapestry curtain. 

Mr. Tempest was standing in front of the log fire, pulling Vixen'sauburn hair. The girl had put on a picturesque brown velvet frock. Ascarlet sash was tied loosely round her willowy waist, and a scarletribbon held back the rippling masses of her bright hair. 

"A study in red and brown, " thought Rorie, as the fire-glow lit up thepicture of the Squire in his hunting-dress, and the girl in her warmvelvet gown. 

"Such a run, Rorie, " cried the Squire; "we dawdled about among thefurze from twelve till four doing nothing, and just as it was gettingdark started a stag up on the high ground this side of Pickett's Post, and ran him nearly into Ringwood. Go in and fetch my wife, Rorie. Oh, here she is"--as the _portière_ was lifted by a white hand, alla-glitter with diamonds--"you must excuse me sitting down in pinkto-day, Pamela; I only got in as the gong began to sound, and I'm ashungry as the proverbial hunter. "

"You know I always think you handsomest in your scarlet coat, Edward, "replied the submissive wife, "but I hope you're not very muddy. "

"I won't answer for myself; but I haven't been actually up to my neckin a bog. "

Rorie offered his arm to Mrs. Tempest, and they all went in to dinner, the squire still playing with his daughter's hair, and Miss McCrokesolemnly bringing up the rear. 

The dining-room at the Abbey House was the ancient refectory, largeenough for a mess-room; so, when there were no visitors, the Tempestsdined in the library--a handsome square room, in which old familyportraits looked down from the oak panelling above the bookcases, andwhere the literary element was not obtrusively conspicuous. You feltthat it was a room quite as well adapted for conviviality as for study. There was a cottage piano in a snug corner by the fireplace. TheSquire's capacious arm-chair stood on the other side of the hearth, Mrs. Tempest's low chair and gipsy table facing it. The old oak buffetopposite the chimney-piece was a splendid specimen of Elizabethancarving, and made a rich background for the Squire's racing-cups, and apair of Oliver Cromwell tankards, plain and unornamental as thatillustrious Roundhead himself. 

It was a delightful room on a chill October evening like this: the logsroaring up the wide chimney, a pair of bronze candelabra lightingbuffet and table, Mrs. Tempest smiling pleasantly at her unbiddenguest, and the squire stooping, red-faced and plethoric, over hismulligatawny; while Vixen, who was at an age when dinner is a secondaryconsideration, was amusing herself with the dogs, gentlemanly animals, too wellbred to be importunate in their demands for an occasionaltid-bit, and content to lie in superb attitudes, looking up at theeaters patiently, with supplication in their great pathetic brown eyes. 

"Rorie is going up to-morrow--not in a balloon, but to MagdalenCollege, Oxford--so, as this was his last night, I made him come todinner, " explained Vixen presently. "I hope I didn't do wrong. "

"Rorie knows he's always welcome. Have some more of that mulligatawny, my lad, it's uncommonly good. "

Rorie declined the mulligatawny, being at this moment deeply engaged inwatching Vixen and the dogs. Nip, the liver-coloured pointer, wasperforming his celebrated statue feat. With his forelegs stifflyextended, and his head proudly poised, he simulated a dog of marble;and if it had not been for the occasional bumping of his tail upon thePersian carpet, in an irresistible wag of self-approbation, thesimulation would have been perfect. 

"Look, papa! isn't it beautiful? I went out of the room the other day, while Nip was doing the statue, after I'd told him not to move a paw, and I stayed away quite five minutes, and then stole quietly back; andthere he was, lying as still as if he'd been carved out of stone. Wasn't that fidelity?"

"Nonsense!" cried the Squire. "How do you know that Nip didn't wind youas you opened the door, and get himself into position? What are these?"as the old silver _entrée_ dishes came round. "Stewed eels? You neverforget my tastes, Pamela. "

"Stewed eels, sir; _sole maître d'hôtel_, " said the butler, in theusual suppressed and deferential tone. 

Rorie helped himself automatically, and went on looking at Vixen. 

Her praises of Nip had kindled jealous fires in the breast of Argus, her own particular favourite; and the blunt black muzzle had beenthrust vehemently under her velvet sleeve. 

"Argus is angry. " said Rorie. 

"He's a dear old foolish thing to be jealous, " answered Vixen, "when heknows I'd go through fire and water for him. "

"Or even fight a big boy, " cried the Squire, throwing himself back inhis chair with the unctuous laughter of a man who is dining well, andknows it. 

Vixen blushed rosiest red at the allusion. 

"Papa, you oughtn't to say such things, " she cried; "I was a little bitof a child then. "

"Yes, and flew at a great boy of fourteen and licked him, " exclaimedthe Squire, rapturously. "You know the story, don't you, Rorie?"

Rorie had heard it twenty times, but looked the picture of ignorantexpectancy. 

"You know how Vixen came by Argus? What, you don't? Well, I'll tellyou. This little yellow-haired lass of mine was barely nine years old, and she was riding through the village on her pony, with young Stubbsbehind her on the sorrel mare--and, you know, to her dying day, thatsorrel would never let anyone dismount her quietly. Now what does Vixenspy but a lubberly lad and a lot of small children ill-using a mastiffpup. They'd tied a tin-kettle to the brute's tail, and were doing theirbest to drown him. There's a pond just beyond Mrs. Farley's cottage, you know, and into that pond they'd pelted the puppy, and wouldn't lethim get out of it. As fast as the poor little brute scrambled up themuddy bank they drove him back into the water. "

"Papa darling, " pleaded Vixen despairingly, "Rorie has heard it all athousand times before. Haven't you now, Rorie?"

"It's as new to me as to-morrow's _Times_, " said Roderick witheffrontery. 

"Vixen was off the pony before you could say 'Jack Robinson. ' She flewinto the midst of the dirty little ragamuffins, seized the biggestruffian by the collar, and trundled him backwards into the pond. Thenshe laid about her right and left with her whip till the wretchesscampered off, leaving Vixen and the puppy masters of the situation;and by this time the sorrel mare had allowed Stubbs to get off her, andStubbs rushed to the rescue. The young ringleader had been too muchsurprised by his ducking to pull himself together again before this, but he came up to time now, and had it out with Stubbs, while thesorrel was doing as much damage as she conveniently could to Mrs. Farley's palings. 'Don't quite kill him, please, Stubbs, ' cried Vixen, 'although he richly deserves it;' and then she took the muddy littlebeast up in her arms and ran home, leaving her pony to fate and Stubbs. Stubbs told me the whole story, with tears in his eyes. 'Who'd ha'thought, Squire, the little lady would ha' been such a game 'un?' saidStubbs. "

"It's very horrid of you, papa, to tell such silly old stories, "remonstrated Vixen. "That was nearly seven years ago, and Dr. Dewsnaptold us the other day that everybody undergoes a complete changeof--what is it?--all the tissues--in seven years. I'm not the sameVixen that pushed the boy into the pond. There's not a bit of her leftin me. "

And so the dinner went on and ended, with a good deal of distraction, caused by the dogs, and a mild little remark now and then from Mrs. Tempest, or an occasional wise interjection from Miss McCroke, who in amanner represented the Goddess of Wisdom in this somewhat frivolousfamily, and came in with a corrective and severely rational observationwhen the talk was drifting towards idiocy. 

The filberts, bloomy purple grapes, and ruddy pippins, and yellowWilliam pears had gone their rounds--all home produce--and had beenadmired and praised, and the Squire's full voice was mellowing afterhis second glass of port, when the butler came in with a letter on asalver, and carried it, with muffled footfall and solemn visage, as ofone who entrusted with the delivery of a death-warrant, straight toRoderick Vawdrey. 

The young man looked at it as if he had encountered an unexpectedvisitor of the adder tribe. 

"My mother, " he faltered. 

It was a large and handsome letter with a big red seal. 

"May I?" asked Rorie, with a troubled visage, and having received hishost and hostess's assent, broke the seal. 

"Dear Roderick, --Is it quite kind of you to absent yourself on thisyour last night at home? I feel very sure that this will find you atthe Abbey House, and I send the brougham at a venture. Be good enoughto come home at once. The Dovedales arrived at Ashbourne quiteunexpectedly this afternoon, and are dining with me on purpose to seeyou before you go back to Oxford. If your own good feeling did not urgeyou to spend this last evening with me, I wonder that Mr. And Mrs. Tempest were not kind enough to suggest to you which way your dutylay. --Yours anxiously, "JANE VAWDREY. "

Roderick crumpled the letter with an angry look. That fling at theTempests hit him hard. Why was it that his mother was always so readyto find fault with these chosen friends of his?

"Anything wrong, Rorie?" asked the Squire. 

"Nothing; except that the Dovedales are dining with my mother; and I'mto go home directly. "

"If you please, ma'am, Master Vawdrey's servant has come for him, " saidVixen, mimicking the style of announcement at a juvenile party. "It'squite too bad, Rorie, " she went on, "I had made up my mind to beat youat pyramids. However I daresay you're very glad to have the chance ofseeing your pretty cousin before you leave Hampshire. "

But Rorie shook his head dolefully, made his adieux, and departed. 

CHAPTER II. 

Lady Jane Vawdrey. 

"It is not dogs only that are jealous!" thought Roderick, as he wenthome in the brougham, with all the windows down, and the cool nightbreeze blowing his cigar smoke away into the forest, to mix with themist wreaths that were curling up from the soft ground. It was anoffence of the highest grade to smoke in his mother's carriage; butRorie was in an evil temper just now, and found a kind of bitterpleasure in disobedience. 

The carriage bowled swiftly along the straight, well-made road, butRorie hated riding in a brougham. The soft padded confinement galledhim. 

"Why couldn't she send me my dog-cart?" he asked himself indignantly. 

Briarwood was a large white house in a small park. It stood on muchhigher ground than the Abbey House, and was altogether different fromthat good old relic of a bygone civilisation. Briarwood was distinctlymodern. Its decorations savoured of the Regency: its furniture wasold-fashioned, without being antique. The classic stiffness andstraightness of the First French Empire distinguished the gilded chairsand tables in the drawing-room. There were statues by Chantrey andCanova in the spacious lofty hall; portraits by Lawrence and Romney inthe dining-room; a historical picture by Copley over the elephantinemahogany sideboard; a Greek sarcophagus for wines under it. 

At its best, the Briarwood house was commonplace; but to the mind ofLady Jane Vawdrey, the gardens and hot-houses made amends. She was aprofound horticulturist, and spent half her income on orchids and rarenewly-imported flowers, and by this means she had made Briarwood one ofthe show places of the neighbourhood. 

"A woman must be distinguished for something, or she is no better thanher scullery-maid, " said Lady Jane to her son, excusing herself forthese extravagances. "I have no talent for music, painting, or poetry, so I devote myself to orchids; and perhaps my orchids turn out betterthan many people's music and poetry. "

Lady Jane was not a pleasant-tempered woman, and enjoyed the privilegeof being more feared than liked; a privilege of which she makes themost, and which secured her immunity from many annoyances to whichgood-natured people are subject. She did good to her poor neighbours, in her own cold set way, but the poor people about Briarwood did notsend to her for wine and brandy as if she kept a public-house, and wasbenefited by their liberal patronage; the curate at the little Gothicchurch, down in the tiny village in a hollow of the wooded hills, didnot appeal to Lady Jane in his necessities for church or parish. Shesubscribed handsomely to all orthodox well-established charities, butwas not prone to accidental benevolence. Nobody ever disappointed herwhen she gave a dinner, or omitted the duty-call afterwards; but shehad no unceremonious gatherings, no gossipy kettle-drums, nohastily-arranged picnics or garden parties. When people in theneighbourhood wanted to take their friends to see the orchids, theywrote to Lady Jane first, and made it quite a state affair; and on anappointed afternoon, the lady of Briarwood received them, richly cladin a dark velvet gown and a point-lace cap, as if she had just walkedout of an old picture, and there were three or four gardeners inattendance to open doors, and cut specimen blossoms for the guests. 

"She's a splendid woman, admirable in every way, " said Roderick to anOxford chum, with whom he had been discussing Lady Jane's virtues; "butif a fellow could have a voice in the matter, she's not the mother Ishould have chosen for myself. "

Ambition was the leading characteristic of Lady Jane's mind. As a girl, she had been ambitious lor herself, and that ambition had beendisappointed; as a woman, her ambition transferred itself to her son. She was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Lodway, a nobleman who hadbeen considerably overweighted in the handicap of life, having ninechildren, seats in three counties, a huge old house in St. James'sSquare, and a small income--his three estates consisting of some of thebarrenest and most unprofitable land in Great Britain. Of Lord Lodway'snine children, five were daughters, and of these Lady Jane was theeldest and the handsomest. Even in her nursery she had a very distinctnotion that, for her, marriage meant promotion. She used to play atbeing married at St. George's, Hanover Square, and would never consentto have the ceremony performed by lees than two bishops; even thoughthe part of one hierarch had to be represented by the nurseryhearth-broom. In due course Lady Jane Umleigh made her début insociety, in all the bloom and freshness of her stately Saxon beauty. She was admired and talked about, and acknowledged as one of the bellesof that season; her portrait was engraved in the Book of Beauty, andher ball programmes were always filled with the very best names; but atthe end of the season, Lady Lodway went back to the Yorkshire Woldswith a biting sense of failure and mortification. Her handsome daughterhad not sent her arrow home to the gold. She had not received a singleoffer worth talking about. 

"Don't you think you could consent to be married by one bishop and adean, Jenny, if the Marquis comes to the scratch soon after thetwelfth?" asked Lady Jane's youngest brother derisively. 

He had been made to do bishop in those play-weddings of Lady Jane's, very often when the function went against the grain. 

The Marquis thus familiarly spoken about was Lord Strishfogel, therichest nobleman in Ireland, and a great sea-rover, famous for hissteam yachts, and his importance generally. He had admired Lady Jane'sstatuesque beauty, and had been more particular in his attentions thanthe rest of her satellites, who for the most part merely worshipped herbecause it was the right thing to do. Lord Strishfogel had promised tocome to Heron's Nest, Lord Lodway's place in the Wolds, for thegrouse-shooting; but instead of keeping his promise, this erratic youngpeer went off to the Golden Horn, to race his yacht against the vesselof a great Turkish official. This was Lady Jane Umleigh's firstdisappointment. She had liked Lord Strishfogel just well enough tofancy herself deeply in love with him, and she was unconscious of theinfluence his rank and wealth had exercised upon her feelings. She hadthought of herself so often as the Marchioness of Strishfogel, had socompletely projected her mind into that brilliant future, that todescend from this giddy height to the insignificance of unweddedgirlhood was as sharp a fall as if she had worn a crown and lost it. 

Her second season began, and Lord Strishfogel was still a rover; He wasin the South Seas by this time, writing a book, and enjoying halcyondays among the friendly natives, swimming like a dolphin in thosesummery seas, and indulging in harmless flirtations with duskyprincesses, whose chief attire was made of shells and flowers, andwhose untutored dancing was more vigorous than refined. At the end ofthat second season, Jane Umleigh had serious thoughts of turningphilanthropist, and taking a shipload of destitute young women toAustralia. Anything would be better than this sense of a wasted lifeand ignominious failure. 

She was in this frame of mind when Mr. Vawdrey came to Heron's Nest forthe shooting. He was a commoner, but his family was one of the oldestin Hampshire, and he had lately distinguished himself by some ratherclever speeches in the House of Commons. His estate was worth fifteenthousand a year, and he was altogether a man of some mark. Above all, he was handsome, manly, and a gentleman to the marrow of his bones, andhe was the first man who ever fell over head and ears in love with JaneUmleigh. 

The charms that had repelled more frivolous admirers attracted JohnVawdrey. That proud calm beauty of Lady Jane's seemed to his mind theperfection of womanly grace. Here was a wife for a man to adore uponhis knees, a wife to be proud of, a wife to rule her vassals like aqueen, and to lead him, John Vawdrey, on to greatness. 

He was romantic, chivalrous, aspiring, and Lady Jane Umleigh was thefirst woman he had met who embodied the heroine of his youthful dreams. He proposed and was refused, and went away despairing. It would havebeen a good match, undoubtedly--a truth which Lord and Lady Lodwayurged with some iteration upon their daughter--but it would have been aterrible descent from the ideal marriage which Lady Jane had set up inher own mind, as the proper prize for so fair a runner in life's race. She had imagined herself a marchioness, with a vast territory ofmountain, vale, and lake, and an influence in the sister island secondonly to that of royalty, She could not descend all at once to beholdherself the wife of a plain country gentleman, whose proudest privilegeit was to write M. P. After his name. 

The Earl and Countess were urgent, for they had another daughter readyfor the matrimonial market, and were inclined to regard Lady Jane as an"old shopkeeper, " but they knew their eldest daughter's temper, and didnot press the matter too warmly. 

Another season, Lady Jane's fourth, and Lady Sophia's first, began andended. Lady Sophia was piquant and witty, with a snub nose and aplayful disposition. She was a first-rate horsewoman, an exquisitewaltzer, good at croquet, archery, billiards, and all games requiringaccuracy of eye and aim, and Lady Sophia brought down her bird in asingle season. She went home to Heron's Nest a duchess in embryo. TheDuke of Dovedale, a bulky, middle-aged nobleman, with a passion forfieldsports and high farming, had seen Lady Sophia riding a dangeroushorse in Rotten Row, and had been so charmed by her management of thebrute, as to become from that hour her slave. A pretty girl, with sucha seat in her saddle, and such a light hand for a horse's mouth, wasthe next best thing to a goddess. Before the season was over the Dukehad proposed, and had been graciously accepted by the young lady, whofelt an inward glow of pride at having done so much better than thefamily beauty. 

"Can I ever forget how that girl Jane has snubbed me?" said Lady Sophiato her favourite brother. "And to think that I shall be sitting inermine robes in the House of Lords, while she is peeping through thenasty iron fretwork in the Ladies' Gallery to catch a glimpse of thetop of her husband's head in the House of Commons. "

This splendid engagement of Lady Sophia's turned the tide for thefaithful John Vawdrey. Lady Jane met her rejected lover at Trouville, and was so gracious to him that he ventured to renew his suit, and, tohis delighted surprise, was accepted. Anything was better than standingout in the cold while the ducal engagement was absorbing everybody'sthoughts and conversation. Lady Sophia had boasted, in that playful wayof hers, of having her beauty-sister for chief bridesmaid; and thebeauty-sister had made up her mind that this thing should not be. Perhaps she would have married a worse man than John Vawdrey to escapesuch infamy. 

And John Vawdrey was by no means disagreeable to her; nay, it bad beenpride, and not any disinclination for the man himself that had biddenher reject him. He was clever, distinguished, and he loved her with aromantic devotion which flattered and pleased her. Yes, she would marryJohn Vawdrey. 

Everybody was delighted at this concession, the lady's parents andbelongings most especially so. Here were two daughters disposed of; andif the beauty had made the inferior match, it was only one of thosecapricious turns of fortune that are more to be expected than thecommon order of things. 

So there was a double marriage the following spring at St. George's, and Lady Jane's childish desire was gratified. There were two bishopsat the ceremony. True that one was only colonial, and hardly rankedhigher than the nursery hearth brush. 

Fate was not altogether unkind to Lady Jane. Her humble marriage wasmuch happier than her sister's loftier union. The Duke, who had been sogood-natured as a lover, proved stupid and somewhat tiresome as ahusband. He gave his mind to hunting and farming, and cared for nothingelse. His chief conversation was about cattle and manure, guano andcomposts, the famous white Chillingham oxen, or the last thing instrawberry roans. He spent a small fortune that would have been largefor a small man--in the attempt to acclimatise strange animals in hispark in the Midlands. Sophia, Duchess of Dovedale, had seven countryseats, and no home. Her children were puny and feeble. They sickened inthe feudal Scotch castle, they languished in the BuckinghamshireEden--a freestone palace set among the woods that overhang the valleyof the Thames. No breezes that blow could waft strength or vitality tothose feeble lungs. At thirty the Duchess of Dovedale had lost all herbabies, save one frail sapling, a girl of two years old, who promisedto have a somewhat better constitution than her perished brothers andsisters. On this small paragon the Duchess concentrated her cares andhopes. She gave up hunting--much to the disgust of that Nimrod, herhusband--in order to superintend her nursery. From the mostpleasure-loving of matrons, she became the most domestic. Lady MabelAshbourne was to grow up the perfection of health, wisdom, and beauty, under the mother's loving care. She would have a great fortune, forthere was a considerable portion of the Duke's property which he wasfree to bequeath to his daughter. He had coal-pits in the North, and atin-mine in the West. He had a house at Kensington which he had builtfor himself, a model Queen Anne mansion, with every article offurniture made on the strictest aesthetic principles, and not ananachronism from the garrets to the cellars. You might have expected tomeet Marlborough on the stairs, and to find Addison reading in thelibrary. The Scottish castle and the Buckinghamshire Paradise would gowith the title; but the Duke, delighted with the easy-going sport ofthe New Forest, had bought six hundred acres between Stony Cross andRomsey--a wide stretch of those low level pastures across which you seethe distant roofs and spires of the good old market town--and had madefor himself an archetypal home-farm, and had built himself ahunting-box, with stables and kennels of the most perfect kind; andthis estate, with the Queen Anne house, and the pits, and the mine, washis very own to dispose of as he pleased. 

Lady Jane's marriage had proved happy. Her husband, always egged on byher ambitious promptings, had made himself an important figure in thesenate, and had been on the eve of entering the cabinet as ColonialSecretary, when death cut short his career. A hard winter and a sharpattack of bronchitis nipped the aspiring senator in the bud. 

Lady Jane was as nearly broken-hearted as so cold a woman could be. Shehad loved her husband better than anything in this life, exceptherself. He left her with one son and a handsome jointure, with thefull possession of Briarwood until her son's majority. Upon that onlychild Lady Jane lavished all her care, but did not squander the wealthof her affection. Perhaps her capacity for loving had died with herhusband. She had been proud and fond of him, but she was not proud ofthe little boy in velvet knickerbockers, whose good looks were his onlymerit, and who was continually being guilty of some new piece ofmischief; laming ponies, smashing orchids, glass, china, and generallydisturbing the perfect order which was Briarwood's first law. 

When the boy was old enough to go to Eton, he seemed still more remotefrom his mother's love and sympathy. He was passionately fond of fieldsports, and those Lady Jane Vawdrey detested. He was backwards in allhis studies, despite the careful coaching he had received from the mildAnglican curate of Briarwood village. He was intensely pugilistic, andrarely came home for the holidays without bringing a black eye or aswollen nose as the result of his latest fight. He spent a good deal ofmoney, and in a manner that to his mother's calm sense appeared simplyidiotic. His hands were always grubby, his nails wore almost perpetualmourning, his boots were an outrage upon good taste, and he generallyleft a track of muddy foot-marks behind him along the crimson-carpetedcorridors. What could any mother do for such a boy, except toleratehim? Love was out of the question. How could a delicate, high-bredwoman, soft-handed, velvet robed, care to have such a lad about her? aboy who smelt of stables and wore hob-nailed boots, whose pockets werealways sticky with toffee, and his handkerchiefs a disgrace tohumanity, who gave his profoundest thoughts to pigeon-fancying, and hiswarmest affections to ratting terriers, nay, who was capable of havinga live rat in his pocket at any moment of his life. 

But while all these habits made the lad abominable in the eyes of hismother, the Duke and Duchess of Dovedale admired the young Herculeswith a fond and envious admiration. The Duke would have given coal-pitsand tin-mine, all the disposable property he held, and deemed it but asmall price for such a son. The Duchess thought of her feebleboy-babies who had been whooping-coughed or scarlet-fevered out of theworld, and sighed, and loved her nephew better than ever his mother hadloved him since his babyhood. When the Dovedales were at their place inthe Forest, Roderick almost lived with them; or, at any rate, dividedhis time between Ashbourne Park and the Abbey House, and spent aslittle of his life at home as he could. He patronised Lady, Mabel, whowas his junior by five years, rode her thorough-bred pony for her underthe pretence of improving its manners, until he took a header with itinto a bog, out of which pony and boy rolled and struggledindiscriminately, boy none the worse, pony lamed for life. He playedbilliards with the Duke, and told the Duchess all his schooladventures, practical jokes, fights, apple-pie beds, booby-traps, surreptitious fried sausages, and other misdemeanours. 

Out of this friendship arose a brilliant vision which reconciled LadyJane Vawdrey to her son's preference for his aunt's house and hisaunt's society. Why should he not marry Mabel by-and-by, and unite thetwo estates of Ashbourne and Briarwood, and become owner of the pitsand the mine, and distinguish himself in the senate, and be created apeer? As the husband of Lady Mabel Ashbourne, he would be rich enoughto command a peerage, almost as a right; but his mother would have hadhim deserve it. With this idea Lady Jane urged on her son's education. All his Hampshire friends called him clever, but he won no laurels atschool. Lady Jane sent for grinders and had the boy ground; but all thegrinding could not grind a love of classics or metaphysics into thisfree son of the forest. He went to Oxford, and got himself ploughed forhis Little Go, with a wonderful facility. For politics he cared not ajot, but he could drive tandem better than any other undergraduate ofhis year. He never spoke at the Union, but he pulled stroke in the'Varsity boat. He was famous for his biceps, his good-nature, and hisgood looks; but so far he had distinguished himself for nothing else, and to this stage of nonperformance had he come when the reader firstbeheld him. 

CHAPTER III. 

"I Want a Little Serious Talk with You. "

It was only half-past nine when the brougham drove up to the pillaredporch at Briarwood. The lighted drawing-room windows shone out upon thevaporous autumn darkness--a row of five tall French casements--and thesound of a piano caught Roderick's ear as he tossed the end of hiscigar in the shrubbery, and mounted the wide stone door-steps. 

"At it again, " muttered Rorie with a shrug of disgust, as he enteredthe hall, and heard, through the half-open drawing-room door, aninterlacement of pearly runs. At this stage of his existence, Rorie hadno appreciation of brilliant pianoforte playing. The music he likedbest was of the simplest, most inartificial order. 

"Are the Duke and Duchess here?" he asked the butler. 

"Her Grace and Lady Mabel is here, sir; not the Dook. "

"I suppose I must dress before I face the quality, " muttered Roriesulkily, and he went leaping upstairs--three steps at a time--toexchange his brown shooting-clothes and leather gaiters for thatdress-suit of his which was continually getting too small for him. Rorie detested himself in a dress-suit and a white tie. 

"You beast, " he cried, addressing his reflection in the tall glass doorof his armoire, "you are the image of a waiter at The Clarendon. "

The Briarwood drawing-room looked a great deal too vast and too loftyfor the three women who were occupying it this evening. It was afinely-proportioned room, and its amber satin hangings made a pleasingbackground for the white and gold furniture. White, gold, and ambermade up the prevailing tone of colour. Clusters of wax lights againstthe walls and a crystal chandelier with many candles, filled the roomwith a soft radiance. It was a room without shadow. There were norecesses, no deep-set windows or doors. All was coldly bright, faultlessly elegant. Rorie detested his mother's drawing-room almost asmuch as he detested himself in a dress-coat that was too short in thesleeves. 

The matrons were seated on each side of the shining gold and steelfireplace, before which there stretched an island of silky white fur. Lady Jane Vawdrey's younger sister was a stout, comfortable-lookingwoman in gray silk, who hardly realised one's preconceived notion of aduchess. Lady Jane herself had dignity enough for the highest rank inthe "Almanach de Gotha. " She wore dark green velvet and old rose-point, and looked like a portrait of an Austrian princess by Velasquez. Yearshad not impaired the purity of her blonde complexion. Her aquilinenose, thin lips, small firm chin, were the features of one born torule. Her light brown hair showed no streak of gray. An admirablewoman, no doubt, for anybody else's mother, as Rorie so often said tohimself. 

The young lady was still sitting at the piano, remote from the twoelders, her slim white fingers running in and out and to and fro inthose wondrous intricacies and involutions which distinguish modernclassical music. Rorie hated all that running about the piano to nopurpose, and could not perceive his cousin's merit in having devotedthree or four hours of her daily life for the last seven years to theaccomplishment of this melodious meandering. She left off playing, andheld out her small white hand to him as he came to the piano, aftershaking hands with his aunt. 

What was she like, this paragon formed by a mother's worshipping loveand ceaseless care, this one last pearl in the crown of domestic life, this child of so many prayers and hopes, and fears, and deep patheticrejoicings?

She was very fair to look upon--complete and beautiful as a pearl--withthat outward purity, that perfect delicacy of tint and harmony ofdetail which is in itself a charm. Study her as captiously as youwould, you could find no flaw in this jewel. The small regular featureswere so delicately chiselled, the fair fine skin was so transparent, the fragile figure so exquisitely moulded, the ivory hand and arm soperfect--no, you could discover no bad drawing or crude colouring inthis human picture. She lifted her clear blue eyes to Rorie's face, andsmiled at him in gentle welcome; and though he felt intensely cross athaving been summoned home like a school-boy, he could not refuse her aresponsive smile, or a gentle pressure of the taper fingers. 

"And so you have been dining with those horrid people!" she exclaimedwith an air of playful reproach, "and on your last night inHampshire--quite too unkind to Aunt Jane. "

"I don't know whom you mean by horrid people, Mabel, " answered Rorie, chilled back into sulkiness all at once; "the people I was with are allthat is good and pleasant. "

"Then you've not been at the Tempests' after all?"

"I have been at the Tempests'. What have you to say against theTempests?"

"Oh, I have nothing to say against them, " said Lady Mabel, shruggingher pretty shoulders in her fawn-coloured silk gown. "There are somethings that do not require to be said. "

"Mr. Tempest is the best and kindest of men; his wife is--well, anonentity, perhaps, but not a disagreeable one; and his daughter----"

Here Rorie came to a sudden stop, which Lady Mabel accentuated with asilvery little laugh. 

"His daughter is charming, " she cried, when she had done laughing; "redhair, and a green habit with brass buttons, a yellow waistcoat like herpapa's, and a rose in her button-hole. How I should like to see her inRotten Row!"

"I'll warrant there wouldn't be a better horse-woman or a prettier girlthere, " cried Rorie, scarlet with indignation. 

His mother looked daggers. His cousin gave another silvery laugh, clearas those pearly treble runs upon the Erard; but that pretty artificiallaugh had a ring which betrayed her mortification. 

"Rorie is thorough, " she said; "when he likes people he thinks themperfection. You do think that little red-haired girl quite perfection, now don't you, Rorie?" pursued Lady Mabel, sitting down before thepiano again, and touching the notes silently as she seemed to admirethe slender diamond hoops upon her white fingers--old-fashioned ringsthat had belonged to a patrician great-grandmother. "You think herquite a model young lady, though they say she can hardly read, andmakes her mark--like William the Conqueror--instead of signing hername, and spends her life in the stables, and occasionally, when thefox gets back to earth--swears. "

"I don't know who they may be, " cried Roderick, savagely, "but they saya pack of lies. Violet Tempest is as well educated as--any girl needbe. All girls can't be paragons; or, if they could, this earth would beintolerable for the rest of humanity. Lord deliver us from a worldoverrun with paragons. Violet Tempest is little more than a child, aspoiled child, if you like, but she has a heart of gold, and a firmerseat in her saddle than any other woman in Hampshire. "

Roderick had turned from scarlet to pale by the time he finished thisspeech. His mother had paled at the first mention of poor Vixen. Thatyoung lady's name acted upon Lady Jane's feelings very much as a redrag acts on a bull. 

"I think, after keeping you away from your mother on the last night ofyour vacation, Mr. Tempest might at least have had the good taste tolet you come home sober, " said Lady Jane, with suppressed rage. 

"I drank a couple of glasses of still hock at dinner, and not a drop ofanything else from the time I entered the Abbey till I left it; and Idon't think, considering how I've seasoned myself with Bass at Oxford, that two glasses of Rudesheimer would floor me, " explained Rorie, withrecovered calmness. 

"Oh, but you were drinking deep of a more intoxicating nectar, " criedLady Mabel, with that provokingly distinct utterance of hers. She hadbeen taught to speak as carefully as girls of inferior rank are taughtto play Beethoven--every syllable studied, every tone trained andripened to the right quality. "You were with Violet Tempest. "

"How you children quarrel!" exclaimed the Duchess; "you could hardly beworse if you were lovers. Come here, Rorie, and tell me all that hashappened to you since we saw you at Lord's in July. Never mind theseTempest people. They are of the smallest possible importance. Ofcourse, Rorie must have somebody to amuse himself with while we areaway. "

"And now we are come back, he is off to Oxford, " said Mabel with anaggrieved air. 

"You shouldn't have stayed so long in Switzerland then, " retorted Rorie. 

"Oh, but it was my first visit, and everything is so lovely. After allthe Swiss landscapes I have done in chalk, and pencil, andwater-colours, I was astonished to find what a stranger I was to thescenery. I blushed when I remembered those dreadful landscapes of mine. I was ashamed to look at Mont Blanc. I felt as if the Matterhorn wouldfall and crush me. "

"I think I shall do Switzerland next long, " said Rorie patronisingly, as if it would be a good thing for Switzerland. 

"You might have come this year while we were there, " said Lady Mabel. 

"No, I mightn't. I've been grinding. If you knew what a dose ofAristotle I've had, you'd pity me. That's where you girls have the bestof it. You learn to read a story-book in two or three modern languages, to meander up and down the piano, and spoil Bristol board, or Whatman'shot-pressed imperial, and then you call yourselves educated; while wehave to go back to the beginning of civilisation, and find out what alot of old Greek duffers were driving at when they sat in the sunshineand prosed like old boots. "

Lady Mabel looked at him with a serene smile. 

"Would you be surprised to hear that I know a little Greek, " she said, "just enough to struggle through the Socratic dialogues with the aid ofmy master?"

Roderick started as if he had been stung. 

"What a shame!" he cried. "Aunt Sophia, what do you mean by making aLady Jane Grey or an Elizabeth Barrett Browning of her?"

"A woman who has to occupy a leading position can hardly know toomuch, " answered the Duchess sententiously. 

"Ah, to be sure, Mabel will marry some diplomatic swell, and beentertaining ambassadors by-and-by. And when some modern Greek envoycomes simpering up to her with a remark about the weather, it will bean advantage for her to know Plato. I understand. Wheels within wheels. "

"The Duchess of Dovedale's carriage, " announced the butler, rolling outthe syllables as if it were a personal gratification to announce them. 

Mabel rose at once from the piano, and came to say good-night to heraunt. 

"My dear child, it's quite early, " said Lady Jane; "Roderick's lastnight, too. And your mamma is in no hurry. "

Mabel looked at Roderick, but that young gentleman was airing himselfon the hearth-rug, and gazing absently up at the ceiling. It evidentlysignified very little to him whether his aunt and cousin went or stayed. 

"You know you told papa you would be home soon after ten, " said LadyMabel, and the Duchess rose immediately. 

She had a way of yielding to her only daughter which herstronger-minded sister highly disapproved. The first duty of a mother, in Lady Jane's opinion, was to rule her child, the second, to love it. The idea was no doubt correct in the abstract; but the practice was notsucceeding too well with Roderick. 

"Good-night and good-bye, " said Lady Mabel, when the maid had broughther wraps, and Rorie had put them on. 

"Not good-bye, " said the good-natured Duchess; "Rorie must come tobreakfast to-morrow, and see the Duke. He has just bought somewonderful short-horns, and I am sure he would like to show them to you, Rorie, because you can appreciate them. He was too tired to come outto-night, but I know he wants to see you. "

"Thanks, I'll be there, " answered Rorie, and he escorted the ladies totheir carriage; but not another word did Mabel speak till the broughamhad driven away from Briarwood. 

"What a horrid young man Roderick has grown, mamma!" she remarkeddecisively, when they were outside the park-gates. 

"My love, I never saw him look handsomer. "

"I don't mean his looks. Good looks in a man are a superfluity. But hismanners--I never saw anything so underbred. Those Tempest people arespoiling him. "

"Roderick, " said Lady Jane, just as Rorie was contemplating an escapeto the billiard-room and his cigar, "I want a little serious talk withyou. "

Rorie shivered in his shoes. He knew too well what his mother's serioustalk meant. He shrugged his shoulders with a movement that indicated adormant resistance, and went quietly into the drawing-room. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Rorie comes of Age. 

"Bless my soul!" cried the Squire; "it's a vixen, after all. "

This is how Squire Tempest greeted the family doctor's announcement ofthe his baby's sex. He had been particularly anxious for a son toinherit the Abbey House estate, succeed to his father's dignities asmaster of the fox-hounds, and in a general way sustain the pride andglory of the family name; and, behold! Providence had given him adaughter. 

"The deuce is in it, " ejaculated the Squire; "to think that it shouldbe a vixen!"

This is how Violet Tempest came by her curious pet name. Before she wasshort-coated, she had contrived to exhibit a very spirited, and evenvixenish temper, and the family doctor, who loved a small joke, used toask after Miss Vixen when he paid his professional visits. As she grewolder, her tawny hair was not unlike a red fox's brush in its brightgolden-brown hue, and her temper proved decidedly vixenish. 

"I wish you wouldn't call Violet by that dreadful nickname, dear, " Mrs. Tempest remonstrated mildly. 

"My darling, it suits her to a nicety, " replied the Squire, and he tookhis own way in this as in most things. 

The earth rolled round, and the revolving years brought no second babyto the Abbey House. Every year made the Squire fonder of his littlegolden-haired girl. He put her on a soft white ball of a pony as soonas she could sit up straight, and took her about the Forest with aleading-rein. No one else was allowed to teach Vixen to ride. Young asshe was, she soon learnt to do without the leading-rein, and the gentlewhite pony was discarded as too quiet for little Miss Tempest. Beforeher eleventh birthday she rode to hounds, rose before the sun to huntthe young fox-cubs in early autumn, and saw the stag at bay on the wildheathery downs above the wooded valleys that sink and fall belowBoldrewood with almost Alpine grandeur. She was a creature full oflife, and courage, and generous impulses, and spontaneous leanings toall good thoughts; but she was a spoiled child, liked her own way, andhad no idea of being guided by anybody else's will--unless it had beenher father's, and he never thwarted her. 

Him she adored with the fondest love that child ever gave to parent: ablind worshipping love, that saw in him the perfection of manhood, thebeginning and end of earthly good. If anyone had dared to say inVixen's hearing that her father could, by any possible combination ofcircumstances, do wrong, act unjustly, or ungenerously, it would havebeen better for that man to have come to handy grips with a tiger-catthan with Violet Tempest. Her reverence for her father, and her beliefin him, were boundless. 

There never, perhaps, was a happier childhood than Violet's. She wasdaughter and heiress to one of the most popular men in that part of thecountry, and everybody loved her. She was not much given to visiting ina methodical way among the poor, and it had never entered into heryoung mind that it was her mission to teach older people the way toheaven; but if there was trouble in the village--a sick child, ahusband in prison for rabbit snaring, a dead baby, a little boy'spinafore set fire--Vixen and her pony were always to the fore; and itwas an axiom in the village that, where Miss Tempest did "take, " it wasvery good for those she took to. Violet never withdrew her hand' whenshe had put it to the plough. If she made a promise, she always keptit. However long the sickness, however dire the poverty, Vixen'spatience and benevolence lasted to the end. 

The famous princess in the story, whose sleep was broken because therewas a pea under her seven feather-beds, had scarcely a more untroubledlife than Vixen. She had her own way in everything. She did exactlywhat she liked with her comfortable, middle-aged governess, MissMcCroke, learnt what she pleased, and left what she disliked unlearned. She had the prettiest ponies in Hampshire to ride, the prettiestdresses to wear. Her mother was not a woman to bestow mental cultureupon her only child, but she racked her small brain to devise becomingcostumes for Violet: the coloured stockings which harmonised best witheach particular gown, the neat little buckled shoes, the fascinatingHessian boots. Nothing was too beautiful or too costly for Violet. Shewas the one thing her parents possessed in the world, and they lavishedmuch love upon her; but it never occurred to Mr. And Mrs. Tempest, asit had occurred to the Duchess of Dovedale--to make their daughter aparagon. 

In this perpetual sunshine Violet grew up, fair as most things are thatgrow in the sunshine. She loved her father with all her heart, andmind, and soul; she loved her mother with a lesser love; she had atolerant affection for Miss McCroke; she loved her ponies, and the dogArgus; she loved the hounds in the kennels; she loved every honestfamiliar face of nurse, servant, and stable-man, gardener, keeper, andhuntsman, that had looked upon her with friendly, admiring eyes, eversince she could remember. 

Not to be loved and admired would have been the strangest thing toViolet. She would hardly have recognised herself in an unappreciativecircle. If she could have heard Lady Mabel talking about her, it wouldhave been like the sudden revelation of an unknown world--a world inwhich it was possible for people to dislike and misjudge her. 

This is one of the disadvantages of being reared in a little heaven ofdomestic love. The outside world seems so hard, and black, and drearyafterwards, and the inhabitants thereof passing cruel. 

Miss Tempest looked upon Roderick Vawdrey as her own particularproperty--a person whom she had the right to order about as shepleased. Rorie had been her playfellow and companion in hisholiday-time for the last five years. All their tastes were in common. They had the same love for the brute creation, the same wild delight inrushing madly through the air on the backs of unreasoning animals;widely different in their tastes from Lady Mabel, who had once been runaway with in a pony-carriage, and looked upon all horses as incipientmurderers. They had the same love of nature, and the same indifferenceto books, and the same careless scorn of all the state and ceremony oflife. 

Vixen was "rising fifteen, " as her father called it, and Rorie was justfive years her senior. The Squire saw them gay and happy together, without one serious thought of what might come of their childishfriendship in the growth of years. That his Vixen could ever care foranyone but her "old dad, " was a notion that had not yet found its wayinto the Squire's brain. She seemed to him quite as much his ownproperty, his own to do what he liked with, singly and simply attachedto him, as his favourite horse or his favourite dog. So there were noshadowings forth in the paternal mind as to any growth and developmentwhich the mutual affection of these two young people might take in thefuture. 

It was very different with Lady Jane Vawdrey, who never saw her son andhis cousin Mabel together without telling herself how exactly they weresuited to each other, and what a nice thing it would be for theBriarwood and Ashbourne estates to be united by their marriage. 

Rorie went back to college, and contrived to struggle through his nextexaminations with an avoidance of actual discredit; but when Christmascame he did not return to the Forest, though Violet had counted on hiscoming, and had thought that it would be good fun to have his help inthe decorations for the little Gothic church in the valley--a prettylittle new church, like a toy, which the Squire had built and paid for, and endowed with a perpetual seventy pounds a year out of his ownpocket. It would have been fun to see poor Rorie prick his clumsyfingers with the holly. Vixen laughed at his awkwardness in advance, when she talked to Miss McCroke about him, and drew upon himself thatlady's mild reproval. 

But Christmas came and brought no Rorie. He had gone off to spend hisChristmas at the Duke of Dovedale's Scotch castle. Easter came, andstill no Rorie. He was at Putney, with the 'Varsity crew, or in Londonwith the Dovedales, riding in the Row, and forgetting dear oldHampshire and the last of the hunting, for which he would have beenjust in time. 

Even the long vacation came without Rorie. He had gone for thatpromised tour in Switzerland, at his mother's instigation, and was onlyto come back late in the year to keep his twenty-first birthday, whichwas to be honoured in a very subdued and unhilarious fashion atBriarwood. 

"Mamma, " said Violet, at breakfast-time one August morning, with hernose scornfully tilted, "what is Mr. Vawdrey like--dark or fair?"

"Why Violet, you can't have forgotten him, " protested her mother, withlanguid astonishment. 

"I think he has been away long enough for me to forget even the colourof his hair, mamma; and as he hasn't written to anybody, we may fairlysuppose he has forgotten us. "

"Vixen misses her old playfellow, " said the Squire, busy with thedemolition of a grouse. "But Rorie is a young man now, you know, dear, and has work to do in the world--duties, my pet--duties. "

"And is a young man's first duty to forget his old friends?" inquiredVixen naïvely. 

"My pet, you can't expect a lad of that kind to write letters. I am adeuced bad hand at letter-writing myself, and always was. I don't thinka man's hand was ever made to pinch a pen. Nature has given us a broadstrong grasp, to grip a sword or a gun. Your mother writes most of myletters, Vixen, you know, and I shall expect you to help her in a yearor two. Let me see; Rorie will be one-and-twenty in October, and thereare to be high jinks at Briarwood, I believe, so there's something foryou to look forward to, my dear. "

"Edward!" exclaimed Mrs. Tempest reproachfully; "you forget that Violetis not out. She will not be sixteen till next February. "

"Bless her!" cried the Squire, with a tender look at his only child, "she has grown up like a green bay-tree. But if this were to be quite afriendly affair at Briarwood, she might go, surely. "

"It will not be a friendly affair, " said Mrs. Tempest; "Lady Jane nevergives friendly parties. There is nothing friendly in her nature, and Idon't think she likes us--much. But I daresay we shall be asked, and ifwe go I must have a new dress, " added the gentle lady with a sigh ofresignation. "It will be a dinner, no doubt; and the Duke and Duchesswill be there, of course. "

The card of invitation came in due course, three weeks before thebirthday. It was to be a dinner, as Mrs. Tempest had opined. She wroteoff to her milliner at once, and there was a passage of letters andfashion-plates and patterns of silk to and fro, and some of Mrs. Tempest's finest lace came out of the perfumed chest in which she kepther treasures, and was sent off to Madame Theodore. 

Poor Vixen beheld these preparations with an aching heart. She did notcare about dinner-parties in the least, but she would have liked to bewith Roderick on his birthday. She would have liked it to have been ahunting-day, and to have ridden for a wild scamper across the hillswith him--to have seen the rolling downs of the Wight blue in thedistance--to have felt the soft south wind blowing in her face, and tohave ridden by his side, neck and neck, all day long; and then to havegone home to the Abbey House to dinner, to the snug round table in thelibrary, and the dogs, and papa in his happiest mood, expanding overhis port and walnuts. That would have been a happy birthday for all ofthem, in Violet's opinion. 

The Squire and his daughter had plenty of hunting in this merry monthof October, but there had been no sign of Rorie and his big rakingchestnut in the field, nor had anyone in the Forest heard of or seenthe young Oxonian. 

"I daresay he is only coming home in time for the birthday, " Mrs. Tempest remarked placidly, and went on with her preparations for thatevent. 

She wanted to make a strong impression on the Duchess, who had notbehaved too well to her, only sending her invitations forindiscriminate afternoon assemblies, which Mrs. Tempest had graciouslydeclined, pleading her feeble health as a reason for not going togarden-parties. 

Vixen was in a peculiar temper during those three weeks, and poor MissMcCroke had hard work with her. 

"_Der_, _die_, _das_, " cried Vixen, throwing down her German grammar ina rage one morning, when she had been making a muddle of the definitearticle in her exercise, and the patient governess had declared thatthey really must go back to the very beginning of things. "What stupidpeople the Germans are! Why can't they have one little word foreverything, as we have? T, h, e, the. Any child can learn that. What dothey mean by chopping up their language into little bits, like thepieces in a puzzle? Why, even the French are more reasonable--thoughthey're bad enough, goodness knows, with their hes and shes--femininetables, and masculine beds. Why should I be bothered to learn all thisrubbish? I'm not going to be a governess, and it will never be any useto me. Papa doesn't know a single sentence in French or German, andhe's quite happy. "

"But if your papa were travelling on the Continent, Violet, he wouldfind his ignorance of the language a great deprivation. "

"No, he wouldn't. He'd have a courier. "

"Are you aware, my dear, that we have wasted five minutes already inthis discursive conversation?" remarked Miss McCroke, looking at a fatuseful watch, which she wore at her side in the good old fashion. "Wewill leave the grammar for the present, and you can repeat Schiller'sSong of the Bell. "

"I'd rather say the Fight with the Dragon, " said Vixen; "there's morefire and life in it. I do like Schiller, Crokey dear. But isn't it apity he didn't write it in English?"

And Vixen put her hands behind her, and began to recite the wonderfulstory of the knight who slew the dragon, and very soon her eyes kindledand her cheeks were aflame, and the grand verses were rolled outrapidly, with a more or less faulty pronunciation, but plenty of lifeand vehemence. This exercise of mind and memory suited Vixen a greatdeal better than dull plodding at the first principles of grammar, andthe perpetual _der_, _die_, _das_. 

This day was the last of October, and Roderick Vawdrey's birthday. Hehad not been seen at the Abbey House yet. He had returned to Briarwoodbefore this, no doubt, but had not taken the trouble to come and seehis old friends. 

"He's a man now, and has duties, and has done with us, " thought Vixensavagely. 

She was very glad that it was such a wretched day--a hideous day foranyone's twenty-first birthday, ominous of all bad things, she thought. There was not a rift in the dull gray sky; the straight fine rain camedown persistently, soaking into the sodden earth, and sending up anodour of dead leaves. The smooth shining laurels in the shrubbery werethe only things in nature that seemed no worse for the perpetualdownpour. The gravel drives were spongy and sloppy. There was nohunting, or Vixen would have been riding her pony through rain and foulweather, and would have been comparatively independent of the elements. But to be at home all day, watching the rain, and thinking what ahorrid, ungrateful young man Rorie was! That was dreary. 

Mrs. Tempest went to her room to lie down directly after luncheon. Shewanted to keep herself fresh for the evening. She made quite a solemnbusiness of this particular dinner-party. At five precisely, Paulinewas to bring her a cup of tea. At half-past five she was to begin todress. This would give her an hour and a half for her toilet, asBriarwood was only half-an-hour's drive from the Abbey House. So forthe rest of that day--until she burst upon their astonished view in hernew gown--Mrs. Tempest would be invisible to her family. 

"What a disgusting birthday!" cried Vixen, sitting in the deepembrasure of the hall window, with Argus at her side, dog and girllooking out at the glistening shrubbery. 

Miss McCroke had gone to her room to write letters, or Vixen would havehardly been allowed to remain peacefully in such an inelegant position, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms embracing her legs, her backagainst the stout oak shutter. Yet the girl and dog made rather apretty picture, despite the inelegance of Vixen's attitude. The tawnyhair, black velvet frock, and careless amber sash, amber stockings, andbroad-toed Cromwell shoes; the tawny mastiff curled in the oppositecorner of the deep recess; the old armorial bearings, sending paleshafts of parti-coloured light across Vixen's young head;--these thingsmade a picture full framed of light and colour, in the dark brown oak. 

"What an abominable birthday!" ejaculated Vixen; "if it were suchweather as this on my twenty-first birthday, I should think Nature hadtaken a dislike to me. But I don't suppose Rorie cares. He is playingbilliards with a lot of his friends, and smoking, and making a horrorof himself, I daresay, and hardly knows whether it rains or shines. "

Drip, drip, drip, came the rain on the glistening leaves, berberis andlaurel, bay and holly, American oaks of richest red and bronze, copperbeeches, tall rhododendrons, cypress of every kind, and behind them adense black screen of yew. The late roses looked miserable. Vixen wouldhave liked to have brought them in and put them by the hall fire--thegood old hearth with its pile of blazing logs, before which Nip thepointer was stretched at ease, his muscular toes stiffening themselvesoccasionally, as if he was standing at a bird in his dreams. 

Vixen went on watching the rain. It was rather a lazy way of spendingthe afternoon certainly, but Miss Tempest was out of humour with herlittle world, and did not feel equal to groping out the difficulties, the inexorable double sharps and odious double flats, in a waltz ofChopin's. She watched the straight thin rain, and thought aboutRorie--chiefly to the effect that she hated him, and never could, byany possibility, like him again. 

Gradually the trickle of the rain from an overflowing waterpipe tookthe sound of a tune. No _berceuse_ by Gounod was ever morerest-compelling. The full white lids drooped over the big brown eyes, the little locked hands loosened, the soft round chin fell forward onthe knees; Argus gave a snort of satisfaction, and laid his heavy headon the velvet gown. Girl and dog were asleep. There was no sound in thewide old hall except the soft falling of wood ashes, the gentlebreathing of girl and dogs. 

Too pretty a picture assuredly to be lost to the eye of mankind. 

Whose footstep was this sounding on the wet gravel half-an-hour later?Too quick and light for the Squire's. Who was this coming in softly outof the rain, all dripping like a water god? Who was this whose falconeye took in the picture at a glance, and who stole cat-like to thewindow, and bending down his dark wet head, gave Violet's sleeping lipsthe first lover's kiss that had ever saluted them?

Violet awoke with a faint shiver of surprise and joy. Instinct told herfrom whom that kiss came, though it was the first time Roderick hadkissed her since he went to Eaton. The lovely brown eyes opened andlooked into the dark gray ones. The ruddy brown head rested on Rorie'sshoulder. The girl--half child, half woman, and all lovingtrustfulness, looked up at him with a glad smile. His heart was stirredwith a new feeling as those softly bright eyes looked into his. It wasthe early dawn of a passionate love. The head lying on his breastseemed to him the fairest thing on earth. 

"Rorie, how disgracefully you have behaved, and how utterly I detestyou!" exclaimed Vixen, giving him a vigorous push, and scrambling downfrom the window-seat. "To be all this time in Hampshire and never comenear us. "

A moment ago, in that first instant of a newly awakened delight, shewas almost betrayed into telling him that she loved him dearly, and hadfound life empty without him. But having had just time enough torecover herself, she drew herself up as straight as a dart, and lookedat him as Kate may have looked at Petruchio during their firstunpleasant interview in which they made each other's acquaintance. 

"All this time!" cried Rorie. "Do you know how long I have been inHampshire?"

"Haven't the least idea, " retorted Vixen haughtily. 

"Just half-an-hour--or, at least it is exactly half-an-hour since I wasdeposited with all my goods and chattels at the Lyndhurst Road Station. "

"You are only just home from Switzerland?"

"Within this hour!"

"And you have not even been to Briarwood?"

"My honoured mother still awaits my duteous greetings. "

"And this is your twenty-first birthday, and you came here first ofall. "

And, almost uninvited, the tawny head dropped on to his shoulder again, and the sweet childish lips allowed themselves to be kissed. 

"Rorie, how brown you have grown. '"

"Have I!"

The gray eyes were looking into the brown ones admiringly, and theconversation was getting a trifle desultory. 

Swift as a flash Violet recollected herself. It dawned upon her that itwas not quite the right thing for a young lady "rising sixteen" to letherself be kissed so tamely. Besides, Rorie never used to do it. Thething was a new development, a curious outcome of his Swiss tour. Perhaps people did it in Switzerland, and Rorie had acquired the habit. 

"How dare you do such a thing?" exclaimed Vixen, shaking herself freefrom the traveller's encircling arm. 

"I didn't think you minded, " said Rorie innocently; "and when a fellowcomes home from a long journey he expects a warm welcome!"

"And I am glad to see you, " cried Vixen, giving him both her hands witha glorious frankness; "but you don't know how I have been hating youlately. "

"Why, Vixen?"

"For being always away. I thought you had forgotten us all--that youdid not care a jot for any of us. "

"I had not forgotten any of you, and I did care--very much--for some ofyou. "

This, though vague, was consoling. 

The brown became Roderick. Dark of visage always, he was now tanned toa bronze as of one born under southern skies. Those deep gray eyes ofhis looked black under their black lashes. His black hair was cut closeto his well-shaped head. An incipient moustache shaded his upper lip, and gave manhood to the strong, firm mouth. A manly face altogether, Roderick's, and handsome withal. Vixen's short life had shown her nonehandsomer. 

He was tall and strongly built, with a frame that had been developed bymany an athletic exercise--from throwing the hammer to pugilism. Vixenthought him the image of Richard Coeur de Lion. She had been reading"The Talisman" lately, and the Plantagenet was her ideal of manlyexcellence. 

"Many happy returns of the day, Rorie, " she said softly. "To think thatyou are of age to-day. Your own master. "

"Yes, my infancy ceased and determined at the last stroke of midnightyesterday. I wonder whether my anxious mother will recognise that fact?"

"Of course you know what is going to happen at Briarwood. There is tobe a grand dinner-party. "

"And you are coming? How jolly!"

"Oh, no, Rorie. I am not out yet, you know. I shan't be for two years. Papa means to give me a season in town. He calls it having me broken toharness. He'll take a furnished house, and we shall have the horses up, and I shall ride in the Row, You'll be with us part of the time, won'tyou, Rorie?"

"_Ca se peut_. If papa will invite me. "

"Oh, he will, if I wish it. It's to be my first season, you know, andI'm to have everything my own way. "

"Will that be a novelty?" demanded Roderick, with intention. 

"I don't know. I haven't had my own way in anything lately. "

"How is that?"

"You have been away. "

At this naïve flattery, Roderick almost blushed. 

"How you've grown. Vixen, " he remarked presently. 

"Have I really? Yes, I suppose I do grow. My frocks are always gettingtoo short. "

"Like the sleeves of my dress-coats a year or two ago. "

"But now you are of age, and can't grow any more. What are you going tobe, Rorie? What are you going to do with your liberty? Are you goinginto Parliament?"

Mr. Vawdrey indulged in a suppressed yawn. 

"My mother would like it, " he said, "but upon my word I don't careabout it. I don't take enough interest in my fellow-creatures. "

"If they were foxes, you'd be anxious to legislate for them, " suggestedVixen. 

"I would certainly try to protect them from indiscriminate slaughter. And in fact, when one considers the looseness of existing game-laws, Ithink every country gentleman ought to be in Parliament. "

"And there is the Forest for you to take care of. "

"Yes, forestry is a subject on which I should like to have my say. Isuppose I shall be obliged to turn senator. But I mean to take lifeeasily--you may be sure of that, Vixen; and I intend to have the beststud of hunters in Hampshire. And now I think I must be off. "

"No, you mustn't, " cried Violet. "The dinner is not till eight. If youleave here at six you will have no end of time for getting home todress. How did you come?"

"On these two legs. "

"You shall have four to take you to Briarwood. West shall drive youhome in papa's dog-cart, with the new mare. You don't know her, do you?Papa only bought her last spring. She is such a beauty, andgoes--goes--oh, like a skyrocket. She bolts occasionally; but you don'tmind that, do you?"

"Not in the least. It would be rather romantic to be smashed on one'stwenty-first birthday. Will you tell them to order West to get ready atonce. "

"Oh, but you are to stop to tea with Miss McCroke and me--that's partof our bargain. No kettledrum, no Starlight Bess! And you'd scarcelycare about walking to Briarwood under such rain as that!"

"So be it, then; kettledrum and Starlight Bess, at any hazard ofmaternal wrath. But really now I'm doing a most ungentlemanly thing, Vixen, to oblige you!"

"Always be ungentlemanly then for my sake--if it's ungentlemanly tocome and see me, " said Vixen coaxingly. 

They were standing side by side in the big window looking out at thestraight thin rain. The two pairs of lips were not very far away fromeach other, and Rorie might have been tempted to commit a third offenceagainst the proprieties, if Miss McCroke had not fortunately entered atthis very moment. She was wonderfully surprised at seeing Mr. Vawdrey, congratulated him ceremoniously upon his majority, and infused anelement of stiffness into the small assembly. 

"Rorie is going to stay to tea, " said Vixen. "We'll have it here by thefire, please, Crokey dear. One can't have too much of a good fire thisweather. Or shall we go to my den? Which would you like best, Rorie?"

"I think we had better have tea here, Violet, " interjected MissMcCroke, ringing the bell. 

Her pupil's _sanctum sanctorum_--that pretty up-stairs room, halfschoolroom, half boudoir, and wholly untidy--was not, in Miss McCroke'sopinion, an apartment to be violated by the presence of a young man. 

"And as Rory hasn't had any luncheon, and has come ever so far out ofhis way to see me, please order something substantial for him, " saidVixen. 

Her governess obeyed. The gipsy table was wheeled up to the broadhearth, and presently the old silver tea-pot and kettle, and the yellowcups and saucers, were shining in the cheery firelight. The old butlerput a sirloin and a game-pie on the sideboard, and then left the littleparty to shift for themselves, in pleasant picnic fashion. 

Vixen sat down before the hissing tea-kettle with a pretty importantair, like a child making tea out of toy tea-things. Rorie brought a lowsquare stool to a corner close to her, and seated himself with his china little above the tea-table. 

"You can't eat roast beef in that position, " said Vixen. 

"Oh yes I can--I can do anything that's mad or merry this evening. ButI'm not at all sure that I want beef, though it is nearly three monthssince I've seen an honest bit of ox beef. I think thin bread andbutter--or roses and dew even--quite substantial enough for me thisevening. "

"You're afraid of spoiling your appetite for the grand dinner, " saidVixen. 

"No, I'm not. I hate grand dinners. Fancy making a fine art of eating, and studying one's _menu_ beforehand to see what combination of disheswill harmonise best with one's internal economy. And then the names ofthe things are always better than the things themselves. It's like ashow at a fair, all the best outside. Give me a slice of English beefor mutton, and a bird that my gun has shot, and let all the fine-artdinners go hang. "

"Cut him a slice of beef, dear Miss McCroke, " said Vixen. 

"Not now, thanks; I can't eat now. I'm going to drink orange pekoe. "

Argus had taken up his position between Violet and her visitor. He satbolt upright, like a sentinel keeping guard over his mistress; savethat a human sentinel, unless idiotic or intoxicated, would hardly sitwith jaws wide apart, and his tongue hanging out of one side of hismouth, as Argus did. But this lolloping attitude of the canine tonguewas supposed to indicate a mind at peace with creation. 

"Are you very glad to come of age, Rorie?" asked Vixen, turning herbright brown eyes upon him, full of curiosity. 

"Well, it will be rather nice to have as much money as I want withoutasking my mother for it. She was my only guardian, you know. My fatherhad such confidence in her rectitude and capacity that he lefteverything in her hands. "

"Do you find Briarwood much improved?" inquired Miss McCroke. 

Lady Jane had been doing a good deal to her orchid-houses lately. 

"I haven't found Briarwood at all yet, " answered Rorie, "and Vixenseems determined I shan't find it. "

"What, have you only just returned?"

"Only just, "

"And you have not seen Lady Jane yet?" exclaimed Miss McCroke with ahorrified look. 

"It sounds rather undutiful, doesn't it? I was awfully tired, aftertravelling all night; and I made this a kind of halfway house. "

"Two sides of a triangle are invariable longer than anyone side, "remarked Vixen, gravely. "At least that's what Miss McCroke has taughtme. "

"It was rather out of my way, of course. But I wanted to see whetherVixen had grown. And I wanted to see the Squire. "

"Papa has gone to Ringwood to look at a horse; but you'll see him atthe grand dinner. He'll be coming home to dress presently. "

"I hope you had an agreeable tour, Mr. Vawdrey?" said Miss McCroke. 

"Oh, uncommonly jolly. "

"And you like Switzerland?"

"Yes; it's nice and hilly. "

And then Roderick favoured them with a sketch of his travels, whilethey sipped their tea, and while Vixen made the dogs balance pieces ofcake on their big blunt noses. 

It was all very nice--the Tête Noire, and Mont Blanc, and theMatterhorn. Rorie jumbled them all together, without the least regardto geography. He had done a good deal of climbing, had worn out andlost dozens of alpenstocks, and had brought home a case of Swiss carvedwork for his friends. 

"There's a clock for your den, Vixen--I shall bring it to-morrow--witha little cock-robin that comes out of his nest and sings--no end ofjolly. "

"How lovely!" cried Violet. 

The tall eight-day clock in a corner of the hall chimed the half-hour. 

"Half-past five, and Starlight Bess not ordered, " exclaimed Roderick. 

"Let's go out to the stables and see about her, " suggested Vixen. "Andthen I can show you my pony. You remember Titmouse, the one that_would_ jump?"

"Violet!" ejaculated the aggrieved governess. "Do you suppose I wouldpermit you to go out of doors in such weather?"

"Do you think it's still raining?" asked Vixen innocently. "It may havecleared up. Well, we'd better order the cart, " she added meekly, as sherang the bell. "I'm not of age yet, you see, Rorie. Please, Peters, tell West to get papa's dog-cart ready for Mr. Vawdrey, and to driveStarlight Bess. "

Rorie looked at the bright face admiringly. The shadows had deepened;there was no light in the great oak-panelled room except the ruddyfire-glow, and in this light Violet Tempest looked her loveliest. Thefigures in the tapestry seemed to move in the flickeringlight--appeared and vanished, vanished and appeared, like the phantomsof a dream. The carved bosses of the ceiling were reflected grotesquelyon the oaken wall above the tapestry. The stags' heads had a goblinlook. It was like a scene of enchantment, and Violet, in her blackfrock and amber sash, looked like the enchantress--Circe, Vivien, Melusine, or somebody of equally dubious antecedents. 

It was Miss McCroke's sleepiest hour. Orange pekoe, which has anawakening influence upon most people, acted as an opiate upon her. Shesat blinking owlishly at the two young figures. 

Rorie roused himself with a great effort. 

"Unless Starlight Bess spins me along the road pretty quickly, I shallhardly get to Briarwood by dinner-time, " he said; "and upon my honour, I don't feel the least inclination to go. "

"Oh, what fun if you were absent at your coming-of-age dinner!" criedVixen, with her brown eyes dancing mischievously. "They would have toput an empty chair for you, like Banquo's. "

"It would be a lark, " acquiesced Rorie, "but it wouldn't do; I shouldhear too much about it afterwards. A fellow's mother has some kind ofclaim upon him, you know. Now for Starlight Bess. "

They went into the vestibule, and Rorie opened the door, letting in agust of wind and rain, and the scent of autumn's last ill-used flowers. 

"Oh, I so nearly forgot, " said Violet, as they stood on the threshold, side by side, waiting for the dog-cart to appear. "I've got a littlepresent for you--quite a humble one for a grand young land-owner likeyou--but I never could save much of my pocket-money; there are so manypoor children always having scarlet-fever, or tumbling into the fire, or drinking out of boiling tea-kettles. But here it is, Rorie. I hopeyou won't hate it very much. "

She put a little square packet into his hand, which he proceededinstantly to open. 

"I shall love it, whatever it is. "

"It's a portrait. "

"You darling! The very thing I should have asked for. "

"The portrait of someone you're fond of. "

"Someone I adore, " said Rorie. 

He had extracted the locket from its box by this time. It was a thickoblong locket of dead gold, plain and massive; the handsomest of itskind that a Southampton jeweller could supply. 

Rorie opened it eagerly, to look at the portrait. 

There was just light enough from the newly-kindled vestibule lamp toshow it to him. 

"Why it's a dog, " cried Rorie, with deep-toned disgust. "It's oldArgus. "

"Who did you think it was?"

"You, of course. "

"What an idea! As if I should give anyone my portrait. I knew you werefond of Argus. Doesn't his head come out beautifully? The photographersaid he was the best sitter he had had for ever so long. I hope youdon't quite detest the locket, Rorie. "

"I admire it intensely, and I'm deeply grateful. But I feelinexpressibly sold, all the same. And I am to go about the world withArgus dangling at my breast. Well, for your sake, Vixen, I'll submiteven to that degradation. "

Here came the cart, with two flaming lamps, like angry eyes flashingthrough the shrubberies. It pulled up at the steps. Rorie and Vixenclasped hands and bade good-night, and then the young man swung himselflightly into the seat beside the driver, and away went Starlight Bessmaking just that soft of dashing and spirited start which inspires thetimorous beholder with the idea that the next proceeding will be thebringing home of the driver and his companion upon a brace of shutters. 

CHAPTER V. 

Rorie makes a Speech. 

Somewhat to his surprise, and much to his delight, Roderick Vawdreyescaped that maternal lecture which he was wont undutifully to describeas a "wigging. " When he entered the drawing-room in full dress justabout ten minutes before the first of the guests was announced, LadyJane received him with a calm affectionateness, and asked him noquestions about his disposal of the afternoon. Perhaps this unusualclemency was in honour of his twenty-first birthday, Rorie thought. Aman could not come of age more than once in his life. He was entitledto some favour. 

The dinner-party was as other dinners at Briarwood; all thearrangements perfect; the _menu_ commendable, if not new; the generalresult a little dull. 

The Ashbourne party were among the first to arrive; the Duke portly andaffable; the Duchess delighted to welcome her favourite nephew; LadyMabel looking very fragile, flower-like, and graceful, in her pale bluegauze dinner-dress. Lady Mabel affected the palest tints, half-colours, which were more like the shadows in a sunset sky than any earthly hues. 

She took possession of Rorie at once, treating him with a calmsuperiority, as if he had been a younger brother. 

"Tell me all about Switzerland, " she said, as they sat side by side onone of the amber ottomans. "What was it that you liked best?"

"The climbing, of course, " he answered. 

"But which of all the landscapes? What struck you most? What impressedyou most vividly? Your first view of Mont Blanc, or that marvellousgorge below the Tête Noire, --or----?"

"It was all uncommonly jolly. But there's a family resemblance in Swissmountains, don't you know? They're all white--and they're all peaky. There's a likeness in Swiss lakes, too, if you come to think of it. They're all blue, and they're all wet. And Swiss villages, now--don'tyou think they are rather disappointing?--such a cruel plagiarism ofthose plaster châlets the image-men carry about the London streets, andno candle-ends burning inside to make 'em look pretty. But I likedLucerne uncommonly, there was such a capital billiard-table at thehotel. "

"Roderick!" cried Lady Mabel, with a disgusted look. "I don't think youhave a vestige of poetry in your nature. "

"I hope I haven't, " replied Rorie devoutly. 

"You could see those sublime scenes, and never once feel your heartthrilled or your mind exalted--you can come home from your first Swisstour and talk about billiard-tables!"

"The scenery was very nice, " said Rorie thoughtfully. "Yes; there weretimes, perhaps, when I was a trifle stunned by all that grand calmbeauty, the silence, the solitude, the awfulness of it all; but I havehardly tune to feel the thrill when I came bump up against a party oftourists, English or American, all talking the same twaddle, and allpatronising the scenery. That took the charm out of the landscapesomehow, and I coiled up, as the Yankees say. And now you want me to gointo second-hand raptures, and repeat my emotions, as if I were writinga tourist's article for a magazine. I can't do it, Mabel. "

"Well, I won't bore you any more about it, " said Lady Mabel, "but Iconfess my disappointment. I thought we should have such nice longtalks about Switzerland. "

"What's the use of talking of a place? If it's so lovely that one can'tlive without it, one had better go back there. "

This was a practical way of putting things which was too much for LadyMabel. She fanned herself gently with a great fan of cloudy lookingfeathers, such as Titania might have used that midsummer night nearAthens. She relapsed into a placid silence, looking at Roriethoughtfully with her calm blue eyes. 

His travels had improved him. That bronze hue suited him wonderfullywell. He looked more manly. He was no longer a beardless boy, to bepatronised with that gracious elder-sister air of Lady Mabel's. Shefelt that he was further off from her than he had been last season inLondon. 

"How late you arrived this evening, " she said, after a pause. "I cameto five-o'clock with my aunt, and found her quite anxious about you. Ifit hadn't been for your telegram from Southampton, she would havefancied there was something wrong. "

"She needn't have fidgeted herself after three o'clock, " answered Roriecoolly; "my luggage must have come home by that time. "

"I see. You sent the luggage on before, and came by a later train?"

"No, I didn't. I stopped halfway between here and Lyndhurst to see someold friends. "

"Flattering for my aunt, " said Mabel. "I should have thought she wasyour oldest friend. "

"Of course she has the prior claim. But as I was going to hand myselfover to her bodily at seven o'clock, to be speechified about andrendered generally ridiculous, after the manner of young men who comeof age, I felt I was entitled to do what I liked in the interval. "

"And therefore you went to the Tempests', " said Mabel, with her blueeyes sparkling. "I see. That is what you do when you do what you like. "

"Precisely. I am very fond of Squire Tempest. When I first rode tohounds it was under his wing. There's my mother beckoning me; I am togo and do the civil to people. "

And Roderick walked away from the ottoman to the spot where his motherstood, with the Duke of Dovedale at her side, receiving her guests. 

"It was a very grand party, in the way of blue blood, landed estate, diamonds, lace, satin and velvet, and self-importance. All the magnatesof the soil, within accessible distance of Briarwood, had assembled todo honour to Rorie's coming of ago. The dining-tables had been arrangedin a horse-shoe, so as to accommodate fifty people in a room which, inits every-day condition, would not have been too large for thirty. Theorchids and ferns upon this horse-shoe table made the finestfloricultural show that had been seen for a long time. There were rarespecimens from New Granada and the Philippine Islands; wondrous flowerslately discovered in the Sierra Madre; blossoms of every shape andcolour from the Cordilleras; richest varieties of hue--golden yellow, glowing crimson, creamy white; rare eccentricities of form and colourbeside which any other flower would have looked vulgar; butterflyflowers and pitcher-shaped flowers, that had cost as much money asprize pigeons, and seemed as worthless, save to the connoisseur in thearticle. The Vawdrey racing-plate, won by Roderick's grandfather, wasnowhere by comparison with those marvellous tropical blossoms, thatfairy forest of fern. Everybody talked about the orchids, confessed hisor her comparative ignorance of the subject, and complimented Lady Jane. 

"The orchids made the hit of the evening, " Rorie said afterwards. "Itwas their coming of age, not mine. "

There was a moderate and endurable amount of speechifying by-and-by, when the monster double-crowned pines had been cut, and the purplegrapes, almost as big as pigeons' eggs, had gone round. 

The Duke of Dovedale assured his friends that this was one of theproudest moments of his life, and that if Providence had permitted ason of his own to attain his majority, he, the Duke, could have hardlyfelt a deeper interest in the occasion than he felt to-day. Hehad--arra--arra--known this young man from childhood, andhad--er--um--never found him guilty of a meanaction--or--arra--discovered in him a thought unworthy of an Englishgentleman. 

This last was felt to be a strong point, as it implied that an Englishgentleman must needs be much better than any other gentleman. 

A continental gentleman might, of course, be guilty of an unworthythought and yet pass current, according to the loose morality of hisnation. But the English article must be flawless. 

And thus the Duke meandered on for five minutes or so, and there was asubdued gush of approval, and then an uncomfortable little pause, andthen Rorie rose in his place, next to the Duchess, and returned thanks. 

He told them all how fond he was of them and the soil that bred them. How he meant to be a Hampshire squire, pure and simple, if he could. How he had no higher ambition than to be useful and to do good in thislittle spot of England which Providence had given him for hisinheritance. How, if he should go into Parliament by-and-by, as he hadsome thoughts of attempting to do, it would be in their interests thathe would join that noble body of legislators; that it would be they andtheir benefit he would have always nearest his heart. 

"There is not a tree in the Forest that I do not love, " cried Rorie, fired with his theme, and forgetting to stammer; "and I believe thereis not a tree, from the Twelve Apostles to the Knightwood Oak, or apatch of gorse from Picket Post to Stony Cross, that I do not know aswell as I know the friends round me to-night. I was born in the Forest, and may I live and die and be buried here. I have just come back fromseeing some of the finest scenery in Europe; yet, without blushing formy want of poetry, I will confess that the awful grandeur of thosesnow-clad mountains did not touch my heart so deeply as our beechenglades and primrose-carpeted bottoms close at home. " There was a burstof applause after Rorie's speech that made all the orchids shiver, andnearly annihilated a thirty-guinea _Odontoglossum Vexillarium_. Histalk about the Forest, irrelevant as it might be, went home to thehearts of the neighbouring landowners. But, by-and-by, in thedrawing-room, when he rejoined his cousin, he found that fastidiousyoung lady by no means complimentary. 

"Your speech would have been capital half a century ago, Rorie, " shesaid, "and you don't arra--arra--as poor papa does, which is somethingto be thankful for; but all that talk about the Forest seemed to be ananachronism. People are not rooted in their native soil nowadays, asthey used to be in the old stage-coach times, when it was a long day'sjourney to London. One might as well be a vegetable at once if one isto be pinned down to one particular spot of earth. Why, the TwelveApostles, " exclaimed Mabel, innocent of irreverence, for she meantcertain ancient and fast-decaying oaks so named, "see as much of lifeas your fine old English gentleman. Men have wider ideas nowadays. Theworld is hardly big enough for their ambition. "

"I would rather live in a field, and strike my roots deep down like oneof those trees, than be a homeless nomad with a world-wide ambition, "answered Rorie. "I have a passion for home. "

"Then I wonder you spend so little time in it. "

"Oh, I don't mean a home inside four walls. The Forest is my home, andBriarwood is no dearer to me than any other spot in it. "

"Not so dear as the Abbey House, perhaps?"

"Well, no. I confess that fine old Tudor mansion pleases me better thanthis abode of straight lines and French windows, plate glass and giltmouldings. "

They sat side by side upon the amber ottoman, Rorie with Mabel's bluefeather fan in his hand, twirling and twisting it as he talked, anddoing more damage to that elegant article in a quarter of an hour thana twelvemonth's legitimate usage would have done. People, looking atthe pretty pair, smiled significantly, and concluded that it would be amatch, and went home and told less privileged people about the evidentattachment between the Duke's daughter and the young commoner. ButRorie was not strongly drawn towards his cousin this evening. It seemedto him that she was growing more and more of a paragon; and he hatedparagons. 

She played presently, and afterwards sang some French _chansons_. Bothplaying and singing were perfect of their kind. Rorie did notunderstand Chopin, and thought there was a good deal of unnecessaryhopping about the piano in that sort of thing--nothing concrete, orthat came to a focus; a succession of airy meanderings, a fairy dancein the treble, a goblin hunt in the bass. But the French _chansons_, the dainty little melodies with words of infantile innocence, all aboutleaves and buds, and birds'-nests and butterflies, pleased himinfinitely. He hung over the piano with an enraptured air; and againhis friends made note of his subjugation, and registered the fact forfuture discussion. 

CHAPTER VI. 

How she took the News. 

It was past midnight when the Tempest carriage drove through the darkrhododendron shrubberies up to the old Tudor porch. There was a greatpile of logs burning in the hall, giving the home-comers cheerywelcome. There was an antique silver spirit stand with itsaccompaniments on one little table for the Squire, and there wasanother little table on the opposite side of the hearth for Mrs. Tempest, with a dainty tea-service sparkling and shining in the redglow. 

A glance at these arrangements would have told you that there were oldservants at the Abbey House, servants who knew their master's andmistress's ways, and for whom service was more or less a labour of love. 

"How nice, " said the lady, with a contented sigh. "Pauline has thoughtof my cup of tea. "

"And Forbes has not forgotten my soda-water, " remarked the Squire. 

He said nothing about the brandy, which he was pouring into the tallglass with a liberal hand. 

Pauline came to take off her mistress's cloak, and was praised for herthoughtfulness about the tea, and then dismissed for the night. 

The Squire liked to stretch his legs before his own fireside afterdining out; and with the Squire, as with Mr. Squeers, theleg-stretching process involved the leisurely consumption of a gooddeal of brandy and water. 

Mr. And Mrs. Tempest talked over the Briarwood dinner-party, andarrived--with perfect good nature--at the conclusion that it had been afailure. 

"The dinner was excellent, " said the Squire, "but the wine went roundtoo slow; my glasses were empty half the time. That's always the waywhen you've a woman at the helm. She never fills her cellars properly, or trusts her butler thoroughly. "

"The dresses were lovely, " said Mrs. Tempest, "but everyone lookedbored. How did you like my dress, Edward? I think it's rather goodstyle. Theodore will charge me horribly for it, I daresay. "

"I don't know much about your dress, Pam, but you were the prettiestwoman in the room. "

"Oh Edward, at my age!" exclaimed Mrs. Tempest, with a pleased look, "when there was that lovely Lady Mabel Ashbourne. "

"Do you call her lovely?--I don't. Lips too thin; waist too slim; toomuch blood, and too little flesh. "

"Oh, but surely, Edward, she is grace itself; quite an etherealcreature. If Violet had more of that relined air----"

"Heaven forbid. Vixen is worth twenty such fine-drawn misses. LadyMabel has been spoiled by over-training. "

"Roderick is evidently in love with her, " suggested Mrs. Tempest, pouring out another cup of tea. 

The clocks had just struck two, the household was at rest, the logsblazed and cracked merrily, the red light shining on those mail-cladeffigies in the corners, lighting up helm and hauberk, glancing ongreaves and gauntlets. It was an hour of repose and gossip which theSquire dearly loved. 

Hush! what is this creeping softly down the old oak staircase? Aslender white figure with cloudy hair; a small pale face, and two darkeyes shining with excitement; little feet in black velvet slipperstripping lightly upon the polished oak. 

Is it a ghost? No; ghosts are noiseless, and those little slippersdescend from stair to stair with a gentle pit-a-pit. 

"Bless my soul and body!" cried the Squire; "what's this?"

A gush of girlish laughter was his only answer. 

"Vixen!"

"Did you take me for a ghost, papa?" cried Violet, descending the lastfive stairs with a flying leap, and then, bounding across the hall toperch, light as a bird, upon her father's knee. "Did I really frightenyou? Did you think the good old Abbey House was going to set up afamily ghost; a white lady, with a dismal history of a broken heart?You darling papa! I hope you took me for a ghost!"

"Well, upon my word, you know, Vixen, I was just the least bitstaggered. Your little white figure looked like something uncannyagainst the black oak balustrades, half in light, half in shadow. "

"How nice!" exclaimed Violet. 

"But, my dear Violet, what can have induced you to come downstairs atsuch an hour?" ejaculated Mrs. Tempest in an aggrieved voice. 

"I want to hear all about the party, mamma, " answered Vixen coaxingly. "Do you think I could sleep a wink on the night of Rorie's coming ofage? I heard the joy-bells ringing in my ears all night. "

"That was very ridiculous. " said Mrs. Tempest, "for there were nojoy-bells after eleven o'clock yesterday. "

"But they rang all the same, mamma. It was no use burying my head inthe pillows; those bells only rang the louder. Ding-dong, ding-dong, dell, Rorie's come of age; ding-dong, dell, Rorie's twenty-one. Then Ithought of the speeches that would be made, and I fancied I could hearRorie speaking. Did he make a good speech, papa?"

"Capital, Vix; the only one that was worth hearing!"

"I am so glad! And did he look handsome while he was speaking? I thinkthe Swiss sunshine has rather over-cooked him, you know; but he is notunbecomingly brown. "

"He looked as handsome a young fellow as you need wish to set eyes on. "

"My dear Edward, " remonstrated Mrs. Tempest, languidly, too thoroughlycontented with herself to be seriously vexed about anything, "do youthink it is quite wise of you to encourage Violet in that kind of talk?"

"Why should she not talk of him? She never had a brother, and he standsin the place of one to her. Isn't Rorie the same to you as an elderbrother, Vix?"

The girl's head was on her father's shoulder, one slim arm round hisneck, her face hidden against the Squire's coat-collar. He could notsee the deep warm flush that dyed his daughter's cheek at this homequestion. 

"I don't quite know what an elder brother would be like, papa. But I'mvery fond of Rorie--when he's nice, and comes to see us before anyoneelse, as he did to-day. "

"And when he stays away?"

"Oh, then I hate him awfully, " exclaimed Vixen, with such energy thatthe slender figure trembled faintly as she spoke. "But tell me allabout the party, mamma. Your dress was quite the prettiest, I am sure?"

"I'm not certain of that, Violet, " answered Mrs. Tempest with gravedeliberation, as if the question were far too serious to be answeredlightly. "There was a cream-coloured silk, with silver bullion fringe, that was very striking. As a rule, I detest gold or silver trimmings;but this was really elegant. It had an effect like moonlight. "

"Was that Lady Mabel Ashbourne's dress?" asked Vixen eagerly. 

"No; Lady Mabel wore blue gauze--the very palest blue, all puffings andruchings--like a cloud. "

"Oh mamma! the clouds have no puffings and ruchings. "

"My dear, I mean the general effect--a sort of shadowiness which suitsLady Mabel's ethereal style. "

"Ethereal!" repeated Violet thoughtfully; "you seem to admire her verymuch, mamma. "

"Everybody admires her, my dear. "

"Because she is a duke's only daughter. "

"No; because she is very lovely, and extremely elegant, and mostaccomplished. She played and sang beautifully to-night. "

"What did she play, mamma?"

"Chopin!"

"Did she!" cried Vixen. "Then I pity her. Yes, even if she were myworst enemy I should still pity her. "

"People who are fond of music don't mind difficulties, " said Mrs. Tempest. 

"Don't they? Then I suppose I'm not fond of it, because I shirk mypractice. But I should be very fond f music if I could grind it on abarrel organ. "

"Oh, Violet, when will you be like Lady Mabel Ashbourne?"

"Never, I devoutly hope, " said the Squire. 

Here the Squire gave his daughter a hug which might mean anything. 

"Never, mamma, " answered Violet with conviction. "First and foremost, Inever can be lovely, because I have red hair and a wide mouth. Secondly, I can never be elegant--much less ethereal--because it isn'tin me. Thirdly, I shall never be accomplished, for poor Miss McCroke isalways giving me up as the baddest lot in the shape of pupils that evercame in her way. "

"If you persist in talking in that horrible way, Violet----"

"Let her talk as she likes, Pam, " said the fond father. "I won't haveher bitted too heavily. "

Mrs. Tempest breathed a gentle sigh of resignation. The Squire was allthat is dear and good as husband and father, but refinement was out ofhis line. 

"Do go on about the party, mamma. Did Rorie seem to enjoy himself verymuch----"

"I think so. He was very devoted to his cousin all the evening. Ibelieve they are engaged to be married. "

"Mamma!" exclaimed Vixen, starting up from her reclining attitude uponher father's shoulder, and looking intently at the speaker; "Rorieengaged to Lady Mabel Ashbourne!"

"So I am told, " replied Mrs. Tempest. "It will be a splendid match forhim. "

The pretty chestnut head dropped back into its old place upon theSquire's shoulder, and Violet answered never a word. 

"Past two o'clock, " cried her mother. "This is really too dreadful. Come, Violet, you and I must go upstairs at any rate. "

"We'll all go, " said the Squire, finishing his second brandy and soda. 

So they all three went upstairs together. Vixen had grown suddenlysilent and sleepy. She yawned dolefully, and kissed her mother andfather at the end of the gallery, without a word; and then scudded off, swift as a scared rabbit, to her own room. 

"God bless her!" exclaimed the Squire; "she grows prettier and morewinning every day. "

"If her mouth were only a little smaller, " sighed Mrs. Tempest. 

"It's the prettiest mouth I ever saw upon woman--bar one, " said theSquire. 

What was Vixen doing while the fond father was praising her?

She had locked her door, and thrown herself face downwards on thecarpet, and was sobbing as if her heart would break. 

Rorie was going to be married. Her little kingdom had been overturnedby a revolution: her little world had crumbled all to pieces. Tillto-night she had been a queen in her own mind; and her kingdom had beenRorie, her subjects had begun and ended in Rorie. All was over. Hebelonged to some one else. She could never tyrannise over himagain--never scold him and abuse him and patronise him and ridicule himany more. He was her Rorie no longer. 

Had she ever thought that a time might come when he would be somethingmore to her than playfellow and friend? No, never. The young brightmind was too childishly simple for any such foresight or calculation. She had only thought that he was in somewise her property, and would beso till the end of both their lives. He was hers, and he was very fondof her, and she thought him a rather absurd young fellow, and lookeddown upon him with airs of ineffable superiority from the altitude ofher childish womanliness. 

And now he was gone. The earth had opened all at once and swallowedhim, like that prophetic gentleman in the Greek play, whose name Vixencould never remember--chariot and horses and all. He belongedhenceforth to Lady Mabel Ashbourne. She could never be rude to him anymore. She could not take such a liberty with another young lady's lover. 

"And to think that he should never have told me he was going to beengaged to her, " she said. "He must have been fond of her from the verybeginning; and he never said a word; and he let me think he ratherliked me--or at least tolerated me. And how could he like two peoplewho are the very antipodes of each other? If he is fond of her, he mustdetest me. If he respects her, he must despise me. "

The thought of such treachery rankled deep in the young warm heart. Vixen started up to her feet, and stood in the midst of the firelitroom, with clinched fists, like a young fury. The light chestnuttresses should have been Medusa's snakes to have harmonised with thatset white face. God had given Violet Tempest a heart to feel deeply, too deeply for perfect peace, or that angelic softness which seems tous most worthy in woman--the power to suffer and be patient. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Rorie has Plans of his own. 

Roderick Vawdrey's ideas of what was due to a young man who attains hismajority were in no wise satisfied by his birthday dinner-party. It hadbeen pleasant enough in its way, but far too much after the pattern ofall other dinner-parties to please a young man who hated all common andhackneyed things, and all the beaten tracks of life--or who, at anyrate, fancied he did, which comes to nearly the same thing. 

"Mother, " he began at breakfast next morning, in his loud cheery voice, "we must have something for the small tenants, and shopkeepers, andcottagers. "

"What do you mean, Roderick?"

"Some kind of entertainment to celebrate my majority. The people willexpect it. Last night polished off the swells very nicely. The wholething did you credit, mother. "

"Thank you, " said Lady Jane, with a slight contraction of her thin lips. 

This October morning, so pleasant for Rorie, was rather a bitter dayfor his mother. She had been reigning sovereign at Briarwood hitherto;henceforth she could only live there on sufferance. The house wasRorie's. Even the orchid-houses were his. He might take her to task ifhe pleased for having spent so much money on glass. 

"But I must have my humble friends round me, " continued Rorie. "Theyoung people, too--the boys and girls. I'll tell you what, mother. Wemust have a lawn meet. The hounds have never met here since mygrandfather's time--fifty years ago. The Duke's stud-groom was tellingme about it last year. He's a Hampshire man, you know, born and bred inthe Forest. We'll have a lawn meet and a hunting breakfast; and itshall be open house for everyone--high and low, rich and poor, gentleand simple. Don't be frightened, mother, " interjected Rorie, seeingLady Jane's look of horror; "we won't do any mischief. Your gardensshall be respected. "

"They are your gardens now, Roderick. You are sole master here, and cando what you please. "

"My dear mother, how can you talk like that? Do you suppose I shallever forget who made the place what it is? The gardens have been yourparticular hobby, and they shall be your gardens to the end of time. "

"That is very generous of you, my dear Roderick; but you are promisingtoo much. When you marry, your wife will be mistress of Briarwood, andit will be necessary for me to find a new home. "

"I am in no hurry to get married. It will be half-a-dozen years beforeI shall even think of anything so desperate. "

"I hope not, Roderick. With your position and your responsibilities youought to marry young. Marriage--a suitable marriage, that is tosay--would give you an incentive to earnestness and ambition. I want tosee you follow your father's footsteps; I want you to make a nameby-and-by. "

"I'm afraid it will be a distant by-and-by, " said Rorie, with a yawn. "I don't feel at all drawn towards the senate. I love the country, mydogs, my horses, the free fresh air, the stir and movement of life toowell to pen myself up in a study and pore over blue-books, or to wastethe summer evenings listening to the member for Little Peddlingtonlaying down the law about combination drainage, or the proposedloop-line that is intended to connect his borough with the world ingeneral. I'm afraid it isn't in me, mother, and that you'll be sorelydisappointed if you set your heart upon my making a figure as asenator. "

"I should like to see you worthy of your father's name, " Lady Janesaid, with a regretful sigh. 

"Providence hasn't made me in the same pattern, " answered Rorie. "Lookat my grandfather's portrait over the mantelpiece, in pink and mahoganytops. What a glorious fellow he must have been. You should hear how theold people talk of him. I think I inherit his tastes, instead of myfather's. Hereditary genius crops up in curious ways, you know. Perhaps, if I have a son, he will be a heaven-born statesman, and youmay have your ambition gratified by a grandson. And now about thehunting breakfast. Would this day week suit you?"

"This is your house, Roderick. It is for you to give your orders. "

"Bosh!" exclaimed the son impatiently. "Don't I tell you that you aremistress here, and will be mistress----"

"My dear Roderick, let us look things straight in the face, " said LadyJane. "If I were sole mistress here there would be no huntingbreakfast. It is just the very last kind of entertainment I should everdream of giving. I am not complaining, mind. It is natural enough foryou to like that kind of thing; and, as master of this house, it isyour right to invite whomsoever you please. I am quite happy that itshould be so, but let there be no more talk about my being mistress ofthis house. That is too absurd. "

Rorie felt all his most generous impulses turned to a sense ofconstraint and bitterness. He could say no more. 

"Will you give me a list of the people you would like to be asked?"said his mother, after rather an uncomfortable silence. 

"I'll go and talk it over with the Duke, " answered Rorie. "He'll enterinto the spirit of the thing. "

Rorie found the Duke going the round of the loose-boxes, and uncle andnephew spent an hour together pleasantly, overhauling the fine stud ofhunters which the Duke kept at Ashbourne, and going round the paddocksto look at the brood-mares and their foals; these latter beingeccentric little animals, all head and legs, which nestled close to themother's side for a minute, and then took fright at their own tails, and shot off across the field, like a skyrocket travellinghorizontally, or suddenly stood up on end, and executed a wild waltz inmid air. 

The Duke and Roderick decided which among these leggy little beastspossessed the elements of future excellence; and after an hour'sperambulation of the paddocks they went to the house, where they foundthe Duchess and Lady Mabel in the morning-room; the Duchess busy makingscarlet cloth cloaks for her school-children, Lady Mabel reading aGerman critic on Shakespeare. 

Here the hunt breakfast was fully discussed. Everybody was to be asked. The Duchess put in a plea for her school-children. It would be such atreat for the little things to see the hounds, and their red cloaks andhoods would look so pretty on the lawn. 

"Let them come, by all means, " said Roderick; "yourschool--half-a-dozen schools. I'll have three or four tents rigged upfor refreshments. There shall be plenty to eat and drink for everybody. And now I'm off to the Tempests' to arrange about the hounds. TheSquire will be pleased, I know. "

"Of course, " said Lady Mabel, "and the Squire's daughter. "

"Dear little thing!" exclaimed Rorie, with an elder brother'stenderness; "she'll be as pleased as Punch. You'll hunt, of course, Mabel?"

"I don't know. I don't shine in the field, as Miss Tempest does. "

"Oh, but you must come, Mab. The Duke will find you a safe mount. "

"She has a hunter I bred on purpose for her, " said the Duke; "butshe'll never be such a horsewoman as her mother. "

"She looks lovely on Mazeppa, " said Rorie; "and she must come to myhunting breakfast. "

"Of course, Rorie, if you wish I shall come. "

Rorie stayed to luncheon, and then went back to Briarwood to mount hishorse to ride to the Abbey House. 

The afternoon was drawing in when Rorie rode up to the old Tudorporch--a soft, sunless, gray afternoon. The door stood open, and he sawthe glow of the logs on the wide hearth, and the Squire's stalwartfigure sitting in the great arm-chair, leaning forward with a newspaperacross his knee, and Vixen on a stool at his feet, the dogs groupedabout them. 

"Shall I send my horse round to the stables, Squire?" asked Rorie. 

"Do, my lad, " answered Mr. Tempest, ringing the bell, at which summonsa man appeared and took charge of Roderick's big chestnut. 

"Been hunting to-day, Squire?" asked Rorie, when he had shaken handswith Mr. Tempest and his daughter, and seated himself on the oppositeside of the hearth. 

"No, " answered the Squire, in a voice that had a duller sound thanusual. "We had the hounds out this morning at Hilberry Green, and therewas a good muster, Jack Purdy says; but I felt out of sorts, andneither Vixen nor I went. It was a loss for Vixen, poor little girl. "

"It was a grief to see you ill, papa, " said Violet, nestling closer tohim. 

 She had hardly taken any notice of Roderick to-day, shakinghands with him in an absent-minded way, evidently full of anxiety abouther father. She was very pale, and looked older and more womanly thanwhen he saw her yesterday, Roderick thought. 

"I'm not ill, my dear, " said the Squire, "only a little muddled andqueer in my head; been riding too hard lately, perhaps. I don't getlighter, you know, Rorie, and a quick run shakes me more than it used. Old Martin, our family doctor, has been against my hunting for a longtime; but I should like to know what kind of life men of my age wouldlead if they listened to the doctors. They wouldn't let us have adecent dinner. "

"I'm so sorry!" said Rorie. "I came to ask you a favour, and now I feelas it I hardly ought to say anything about it. "

And then Roderick proceeded to tell the Squire his views about a lawnmeet at Briarwood, and a hunting breakfast for rich and poor. 

"It shall be done, my boy, " answered the Squire heartily. "It's justthe sort of thing you ought to do to make yourself popular. Lady Juneis a charming woman, you know, thoroughbred to the finger-nails; butshe has kept herself a little too much to herself. There are people oldenough to remember what Briarwood was in your grandfather's time. Thisday week you say. I'll arrange everything. We'll have such a gatheringas hasn't been seen for the last twenty years. "

"Vixen must come with you, " said Rorie. 

"Of course. "

"If papa is well and strong enough to hunt. "

"My love, there is nothing amiss with me--nothing that need trouble methis day week. A man may have a headache, mayn't he, child, withoutpeople making any fuss about it?"

"I should like you to see Dr. Martin, papa. Don't you think he ought tosee the doctor, Rorie? It's not natural for him to be ill. "

"I'm not going to be put upon half-rations, Vixen. Martin would starveme. That's his only idea of medical treatment. Yes, Vixen shall come, Rorie. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

Glas ist der Erde Stolz und Glück. 

The morning of the Briarwood Meet dawned fairly. Roderick watched thefirst lifting of the darkness from his bed-room window, and rejoiced inthe promise of a fine weather. The heavens, which had been sounpropitious upon his birthday, seemed to promise better things to-day. He did not desire the traditional hunting morning--a southerly wind anda cloudy sky. He cared very little about the scent lying well, or theactual result of the day's sport. He wanted rather to see the kindfamiliar faces round him, the autumn sunshine lighting up all the glowand colour of the picture, the scarlet coats, the rich bay and brown ofthe horses, the verdant background of lawn and shrubberies. Two hugemarquees had been erected for the commonalty--one for theschool-children, the other for the villagers. There were long tables inthe billiard-room for the farming class; and for the quality there wasthe horse-shoe table in the dining-room, as at Roderick's birthdaydinner. But on this occasion the table was decorated only with hardyferns and flowers. The orchids were not allowed to appear. 

Roderick noticed the omission. 

"Why, where are the thing-um-tites, mother?" he asked, with somesurprise; "the pitcher-plants and tropical what's-its-names?"

"I did not think there was any occasion to have them brought out of thehouses, Roderick, " Lady Jane answered quietly; "there is always a riskof their being killed, or some of your sporting friends might bepicking my prize blossoms to put in their button-holes. Men who givetheir minds to horses would hardly appreciate orchids. "

"All right, mother. As long as there is plenty to eat, I don't supposeit much matters, " answered Rorie. 

He had certainly no cause for complaint upon this score. Briarwood hadbeen amply provisioned for an unlimited hospitality. The red coats andgreen coats, and blue coats and brown coats, came in and out, slashedaway at boar's head and truffled turkey, sent champagne corks flying, and added more dead men to the formidable corps of tall hock bottles, dressed in uniform brown, which the astonished butler ranged rank andfile in a lobby outside the dining-room. He had never seen this kind ofthing at Briarwood since he had kept the keys of the cellars; and helooked upon this promiscuous hospitality with a disapproving eye. 

The Duke supported his nephew admirably, and was hail-fellow-well-metwith everybody. He had always been popular at Ashbourne. It was his ownplace, his particular selection, bought with his own money, improvedunder his own eye, and he liked it better than any of his hereditaryseats. 

"If I had only had a son like you, Rorie, " he said, as he stood besidethe young man, on the gravel sweep before the hall-door, welcoming thenew-comers, "I should have been a happy man. Well, I suppose I must besatisfied with a grandson; but it's a hard thing that the title andestates are to go to that scamp of a cousin of mine. "

Roderick, on this particular morning, was a nephew whom any uncle mightbe proud to own. His red coat and buckskins became him; so did hisposition as host and master at Briarwood. His tall erect figure showedto advantage amidst the crowd. His smile lit up the dark sunburnt facelike sunshine. He had a kind word, a friendly hand-clasp foreverybody--even for gaffers and goodies who had hobbled from theirvillage shanties to see the sport, and to get their share of coldsirloin and old October. He took the feeble old creatures into thetent, and saw that they found a place at the board. 

Squire Tempest and his daughter were among the later arrivals. The meetwas to be at one, and they only rode into the grounds at half-pasttwelve, when everyone else had breakfasted. Mrs. Tempest had not come. The entertainment was much too early for a lady who never left herrooms till after noon. 

Vixen looked lovely in her smart little habit. It was not the Lincolngreen with the brass buttons, which Lady Mabel had laughed at a yearago. To-day Miss Tempest wore a dark brown habit, moulded to the fullerect figure, with a narrow rim of white at the throat, a little felthat of the same dark brown with a brown feather, long white gauntlets, and a whip with a massive ivory handle. 

The golden bay's shining coat matched Violet's shining hair. It was theprettiest picture in the world, the little rider in dark brown on thebright bay horse, the daintily quilted saddle, the gauntleted handsplaying so lightly with the horse's velvet mouth--horse and riderdevotedly attached to each other. 

"How do you like him?" asked Vixen, directly she and Rorie had shakenhands. "Isn't he absolutely lovely?'

"Absolutely lovely, " said Rorie, patting the horse's shoulder andlooking at the rider. 

"Papa gave him to me on my last birthday. I was to have ridden Titmouseanother year; but I got the brush one day after a hard run when almosteverybody else was left behind, and papa said I should have a horse. Poor Titmouse is put into a basket-chaise. Isn't it sad for him?'

"Awfully humiliating. "

Lady Mabel was close by on her chestnut thoroughbred, severely costumedin darkest blue and chimney-pot hat. 

"I don't think you've ever met my cousin?" said Rorie. "Mabel, this isMiss Tempest, whom you've heard me talk about. Miss Tempest, Lady MabelAshbourne. "

Violet Tempest gave a startled look, and blushed crimson. Then the twogirls bowed and smiled: a constrained smile on Vixen's part, a prim andchilly smile from Lady Mabel. 

"I want you two to be awful good friends, " said Rorie; "and when youcome out, Vixen, Lady Mabel will take you under her wing. She knowseverybody, and the right thing to be done on every occasion. "

Vixen turned from red to pale, and said nothing. Lady Mabel looked atthe distant blue line of the Wight, and murmured that she would behappy to be of use to Miss Tempest if ever they met in London. Roriefelt, somehow, that it was not encouraging. Vixen stole a glance at herrival. Yes, she was very pretty--a delicate patrician beauty whichVixen had never seen before. No wonder Rorie was in love with her. Where else could he have seen anything so exquisite? It was the mostnatural thing in the world that these cousins should be fond of eachother, and engaged to be married. Vixen wondered that the thing hadnever occurred to her as inevitable--that it should have come upon heras a blow at the last. 

"I think Rorie ought to have told me, " she said to herself. "He is likemy brother; and a brother would not hide his love affairs from hissister. It was rather mean of Rorie. "

The business of the day began presently. Neither Vixen nor the Squiredismounted. They had breakfasted at home; and Vixen, who did not caremuch for Lady Jane Vawdrey, was glad to escape with no furthercommunication than a smile and a bow. At a quarter-past one they wereall riding away towards the Forest, and presently the serious businessbegan. 

Vixen and her father were riding side by side. 

"You are so pale, papa. Is your head bad again to-day?"

"Yes, my dear. I'm afraid I've started a chronic headache. But thefresh air will blow it away presently, I daresay. You're not lookingover-well yourself, Vixen. What have you done with your roses?"

"I--I--don't care much about hunting to-day, papa, " said Violet, suddentears rushing into her eyes. "Shall we go home together? You're notwell, and I'm not enjoying myself. Nobody wants us, either; so whyshould we stay?"

Rorie was a little way behind them, taking care of Lady Mabel, whoseslim-legged chestnut went through as many manoeuvres as if he had beendoing the manège business in a circus, and got over the ground veryslowly. 

"Nonsense, child! Go back! I should think not! Jack Purdy may do allthe work, but people like to see me to the fore. We shall find down inDingley Bottom, I daresay, and get a capital run across the hills toBeaulieu. "

They found just as the Squire had anticipated, and after that there wasa hard run for the next hour and a quarter. Roderick was at the heel ofthe hunt all the time, opening gates, and keeping his cousin out ofbogs and dangers of all kinds. They killed at last on a wild bit ofcommon near Beaulieu, and there were only a few in at the death, amongst them Vixen on her fast young bay, flushed with excitement andtriumph by this time, and forgetting all her troubles in the delight ofwinning one of the pads. Mrs Millington, the famous huntress from theshires, was there to claim the brush. 

"How tired you look, papa, " said Vixen, as they rode quietly homewards. 

"A little done up, my dear, but a good dinner will set me all rightagain. It was a capital run, and your horse behaved beautifully. Idon't think I made a bad choice for you. Rorie and his cousin weremiles behind, I daresay. Pretty girl, and sits her horse like apicture--but she can't ride. We shall meet them going home, perhaps. "

A mile or two farther on they met Roderick alone. His cousin had gonehome with her father. 

"It was rather a bore losing the run, " he said, as he turned hishorse's head and rode by Vixen, "but I was obliged to take care of mycousin. "

One of the Squire's tenants, a seventeen-stone farmer, on a stout graycob, overtook them presently, and Mr. Tempest rode on by his side, talking agricultural talk about over-fed beasts and cattle shows, thelast popular form of cruelty to animals. 

Roderick and Violet were alone, riding slowly side by side in thedarkening gray, between woods where solitary robins carolled sweetly, or the rare gurgle of the thrush sounded now and then from thickets ofbeech and holly. 

A faint colour came back to Vixen's cheek. She was very angry with herplayfellow for his want of confidence, for his unfriendly reserve. Yetthis was the one happy hour of her day. There had been a flavour ofdesolateness and abandonment in all the rest. 

"I hope you enjoyed the run, " said Rorie. 

"I don't think you can care much whether we did or didn't, " retortedVixen, shrouding her personality in a vague plural. "If you had caredyou would have been with us. Sultan, " meaning the chestnut "must havefelt cruelly humiliated by being kept so far behind. "

"If a man could be in two places at once, half of me, the better halfof me, would have been with you, Vixen; but I was bound to take care ofmy cousin. I had insisted upon her coming. "

"Of course, " answered Vixen, with a little toss of her head; "it wouldhave been quite wrong if she had been absent. "

They rode on in silence for a little while after this. Vixen waslonging to say: "Rorie, you have treated me very badly. You ought tohave told me you were going to be married. " But something restrainedher. She patted her horse's neck, listened to the lonely robins, andsaid not a word. The Squire and his tenant were a hundred yards ahead, talking loudly. 

Presently they came to a point at which their roads parted, but Roriestill rode on by Vixen. 

"Isn't that your nearest way?" asked Vixen, pointing down thecross-road with the ivory handle of her whip. 

"I am not going the nearest way. I am going to the Abbey House withyou. "

"I wouldn't be so rude as to say Don't, but I think poor Sultan must betired. "

"Sultan shall have a by-day to-morrow. "

They went into an oak plantation, where a broad open alley led from oneside of the enclosure to the other. The wood had a mysterious look inthe late afternoon, when the shadows were thickening under the tallthin trees. There was an all-pervading ghostly grayness as in a shadowyunder-world. They rode silently over the thick wet carpet of fallenleaves, the horses starting a little now and then at the aspect of anewly-barked trunk lying white across the track. They were silent, having, in sooth, very little to say to each other just at this time. Vixen was nursing her wrathful feelings; Rorie felt that his future wasconfused and obscure. He ought to do something with his life, perhaps, as his mother had so warmly urged. But his soul was stirred by noambitious promptings. 

They were within two hundred yards of the gate at the end of theenclosure, when Vixen gave a sudden cry:

"Did papa's horse stumble?" she asked; "look how he sways in hissaddle. "

Another instant, and the Squire reeled forward, and fell headforemostacross his horse's shoulder. The fall was so sudden and so heavy, thatthe horse fell with him, and then scrambled up on to his feet againaffrighted, swung himself round, and rushed past Roderick and Vixenalong the plashy track. 

Vixen was off her horse in a moment, and had flown to her father'sside. He lay like a log, face downwards upon the sodden leaves justinside the gate. The farmer had dismounted and was stooping over him, bridle in hand, with a frightened face. 

"Oh, what is it?" cried Violet frantically. "Did the horse throwhim?--Bullfinch, his favourite horse. Is he much hurt? Oh, help me tolift him up--help me--help me!"

Rorie was by her side by this time, kneeling down with her beside theprostrate Squire, trying to raise the heavy figure which lay like leadacross his arm. 

"It wasn't the horse, miss, " said the farmer. "I'm afraid it's aseizure. "

"A fit!" cried Vixen. "Oh, papa, papa----darling--darling----"

She was sobbing, clinging to him, trembling like a leaf, and turning awhite, stricken face up towards Roderick. 

"Do something to help him--for God's sake--do something, " she cried;"you won't let him lie there and die for want of help. Somebrandy--something, " she gasped, stretching out her trembling hand. 

The farmer had anticipated her thought. He had taken his flask from thesaddle pocket, and was kneeling down by the Squire. Roderick had liftedthe heavy head, and turned the ghastly face to the waning light. Hetried to force a little brandy between the livid lips--but vainly. 

"For God's sake get her away, " he whispered to John Wimble, the farmer. "It's all over with him. "

"Come away with me, my dear Miss Tempest, " said Wimble, trying to raiseViolet from her knees beside the Squire. She was gazing into that awfulface distractedly--half divining its solemn meaning--yet watching forthe kind eyes to open and look at her again. "Come away with me, andwe'll get a doctor. Mr. Vawdrey will take care of your father. "

"You go for the doctor, " she answered firmly. "I'll stay with papa. Take my horse, he's faster than yours. Oh, he'll carry you well enough. You don't know how strong he is--go, quick--quick--Dr. Martin, atLyndhurst--it's a long way, but you must get him. Papa will recover, and be able to ride home, perhaps, before you can get back to us, butgo, go. "

"You go for the doctor, miss; your horse will carry you fast enough. He'd never carry such a heavy weight as me, and my cob is dead beat. You go, and Mr. Vawdrey will go with you. I'll take care of the Squire. "

Violet looked from one to the other helplessly. 

"I'd rather stay with papa, " she said. "You go--yes--go, go. I'll staywith papa. "

She crouched down beside the prostrate figure on the damp marshyground, took the heavy head on her lap, and looked up at the two menwith a pale set face which indicated a resolve that neither of them wasstrong enough to overrule. They tried their utmost to persuade her, butin vain. She was fixed as a new Niobe--a stony image of young despair. So Roderick mounted his horse and rode off towards Lyndhurst, andhonest Jack Wimble tied the other two horses to the gate, and took hisstand beside them, a few paces from those two motionless figures on theground, patiently waiting for the issue of this bitter hour. 

It was one of the longest, weariest, saddest hours that ever youth andhope lived through. There was an awful heart-sickening fear in Violet'smind, but she gave it no definite shape. She would not say to herself, "My father is dead. " The position in which he was lying hampered herarms so that she could not reach out her hand to lay it upon his heart. She bent her face down to his lips. 

Oh God! not a flutter stirred upon her soft cheek as she laid itagainst those pallid lips. The lower jaw had fallen in an awful-lookingway; but Violet had seen her father look like that sometimes as heslept, with open mouth, before the hall fire. It might be only a longswoon, a suspension of consciousness. Dr. Martin would comepresently--oh, how long, how long the time seemed--and make all thingsright. 

The crescent moon shone silver pale above that dim gray wood. Thebarked trunks gleamed white and spectral in the gathering dark. Owlsbegan to hoot in the distance, frogs were awaking near at band, belatedrabbits flitted ghost-like across the track. All nature seemed of onegray or shadowy hue--silvery where the moonbeams fell. 

The October air was chill and penetrating. There was a dull aching inViolet's limbs from the weight of her burden, but she was hardlyconscious of physical pain. It seemed to her that she had been sittingthere for hours waiting for the doctor's help. She thought the nightmust have nearly worn itself out. 

"Dr. Martin could not have been at home, " she said, speaking for thefirst time since Roderick rode away. "Mr. Vawdrey would fetch someoneelse, surely. "

"My dear young lady, he hasn't had time to ride to Lyndhurst yet. "

"Not yet, " cried Vixen despairingly, "not yet! And it has been so long. Papa is getting so cold. The chill will be so bad for him. "

"Worse for you, miss. I do wish you'd let me take you home. "

"And leave papa here--alone--unconscious! How can you be so cruel as tothink of such a thing?"

"Dear Miss Tempest, we're not doing him any good, and you may begetting a chill that wilt be nigh your death. If you would only go hometo your mamma, now--it's hard upon her not to know--she'll be frettingabout you, I daresay. "

"Don't waste your breath talking to me, " cried Vixen indignantly; "Ishall not leave this spot till papa goes with me. "

They waited for another quarter of an hour in dismal silence. Thehorses gnawed the lower branches of the trees, and gave occasionalevidence of their impatience. Bullfinch had gone home to his stable nodoubt. They were only about a mile-and-a-half from the Abbey House. 

Hark! what was that? The splish-splash of horses' hoofs on the softturf. Another minute and Rorie rode up to the gate with a stranger. 

"I was lucky enough to meet this gentleman, " he said, "a doctor fromSouthampton, who was at the hunt to-day. Violet dear, will you let metake you home now, and leave the doctor and Mr. Wimble with yourfather?"

"No, " answered Vixen decisively. 

The strange doctor knelt down and looked at his patient. He was amiddle-aged man, grave-looking, with iron-gray hair--a man whoimpressed Vixen with a sense of power and authority. She looked at himsilently, with a despairing appealing look that thrilled him, familiaras he was with such looks. He made his examination quietly, saying nota word, and keeping his face hidden. Then he turned to the two men whowere standing close by, watching him anxiously. 

"You must get some kind of litter to carry him home, " he whispered. 

And then with gentle firmness, with strong irresistible hands, heseparated the living from the dead, lifted Violet from the ground andled her towards her horse. 

"You must let Mr. Vawdrey take you home, my dear young lady, " he said. "You can do nothing here. "

"But you--you can do something, " sobbed Violet, "you will bring himback to life--you----"

"I will do all that can be done, " answered the doctor gently. 

His tone told her more than his words. She gave one wild shriek, andthrew herself down beside her dead father. A cloud came over thedistracted brain, and she lay there senseless. The doctor and Rorielifted her up and carried her to the gate where her horse was waiting. The doctor forced a little brandy through the locked lips, and betweenthem Rorie and he placed her in the saddle. She had just consciousnessenough by this time to hold the bridle mechanically, and to sit uprighton her horse; and thus led by Roderick, she rode slowly back to thehome that was never any more to be the same home that she had known andlived in through the joyous sixteen years of her life. All things wereto be different to her henceforward. The joy of life was broken shortoff, like a flower snapped from its stem. 

CHAPTER IX. 

A House of Mourning. 

There was sorrow at the Abbey House deeper and wilder than had enteredwithin those doors for many a year. To Mrs. Tempest the shock of herhusband's death was overwhelming. Her easy, luxurious, monotonous lifehad been very sweet to her, but her husband had been the dearest partof her life. She had taken little trouble to express her love for him, quite willing that he should take it for granted. She had beenself-indulgent and vain; seeking her own ease, spending money and careon her own adornment; but she had not forgotten to make the Squire'slife pleasant to him also. Newly-wedded lovers in the fairhoneymoon-stage of existence could not have been fonder of each otherthan the middle-aged Squire and his somewhat faded wife. His lovingeyes had never seen Time's changes in Pamela Tempest's pretty face, thelessening brightness of the eyes, the duller tints of the complexion, the loss of youth's glow and glory. To him she had always appeared themost beautiful woman in the world. 

And now the fondly-indulged wife could do nothing but lie on her sofaand shed a rain of incessant tears, and drink strong tea, which hadlost its power to comfort or exhilarate. She would see no one. Shecould not even be roused to interest herself in the mourning, though, with a handsome widow, Pauline thought that ought to be all important. 

"There are so many styles of widows' caps now, ma'am. You really oughtto see them, and choose for yourself, " urged Pauline, an honest youngEnglishwoman, who had begun life as Polly, but whom Mrs. Tempest hadelevated into Pauline. 

"What does it matter, Pauline? Take anything you like. _He_ will not bethere to see. "

Here the ready tears flowed afresh. That was the bitterest of all. Thatshe should look nice in her mourning, and Edward not be there to praiseher. In her feebleness she could not imagine life without him. Shewould hear his step at her door surely, his manly voice in thecorridor. She would awake from this awful dream, in which he was not, and find him, and fall into his arms, and sob out her grief upon hisbreast, and tell him all she had suffered. 

That was the dominant feeling in this weak soul. He could not be gonefor ever. 

Yet the truth came back upon her in hideous distinctness every now andthen--came back suddenly and awfully, like the swift revelation of adesolate plague-stricken scene under a lightning flash. He was gone. Hewas lying in his coffin, in the dear old Tudor hall where they had satso cosily. Those dismal reiterated strokes of the funeral-bell meantthat his burial was at hand. They were moving the coffin already, perhaps. His place knew him no more. 

She tottered to the darkened window, lifted the edge of the blind, andlooked out. The funeral train was moving slowly along the carriagesweep, through the winding shrubberied road. How long, and black, andsolemnly splendid the procession looked. Everybody had loved andrespected him. It was a grand funeral. The thought of this generalhomage gave a faint thrill of comfort to the widow's heart. 

"My noble husband, " she ejaculated. "Who could help loving you?"

It seemed to her only a little while ago that she had driven up to theTudor porch for the first time after her happy honeymoon, when she wasin the bloom of youth and beauty, and life was like a schoolgirl'shappy dream. 

"How short life is, " she sobbed; "how cruelly short for those who arehappy!"

With Violet grief was no less passionate; but it did not find its solevent in tears. The stronger soul was in rebellion against Providence. She kept aloof from her mother in the time of sorrow. What could theysay to each other? They could only cry together. Violet shut herself inher room, and refused to see anyone, except patient Miss McCroke, whowas always bringing her cups of tea, or basins of arrowroot, trying tocoax her to take some kind of nourishment, dabbing her hot foreheadwith eau-de-Cologne--doing all those fussy little kindnesses which areso acutely aggravating in a great sorrow. 

"Let me lie on the ground alone, and think of him, and wail for him. "

That is what Violet Tempest would have said, if she could haveexpressed her desire clearly. 

Roderick Vawdrey went back to the Abbey House after the funeral, andcontrived to see Miss McCroke, who was full of sympathy for everybody. 

"Do let me see Violet, that's a dear creature, " he said. "I can't tellyou how unhappy I am about her. I can't get her face out of mythoughts, as I saw it that dreadful night when I led her horsehome--the wild sad eyes, the white lips. "

"She is not fit to see anyone, " said Miss McCroke; "but perhaps itmight rouse her a little to see you. "

Miss McCroke had an idea that all mourners ought to be roused; thatmuch indulgence in grief for the dead was reprehensible. 

"Yes, " answered Rorie eagerly, "she would see me, I know. We are likebrother and sister. "

"Come into the schoolroom, " said the governess, "and I'll see what Ican do. "

The schoolroom was Vixen's own particular den, and was not a bit likethe popular idea of a schoolroom. 

It was a pretty little room, with a high wooden dado, painted olivegreen, and a high-art paper of amazing ugliness, whereon brown and redstorks disported themselves on a dull green ground. The high-art paperwas enlivened with horsey caricatures by Leech, and a menagerie ofpottery animals on various brackets. 

A pot or a pan had been stuck into every corner that would hold one. There were desks, and boxes, and wickerwork baskets of every shape andkind, a dwarf oak bookcase on either side of the fireplace, with thebooks all at sixes and sevens, leaning against each other as if theywere intoxicated. The broad mantelpiece presented a confusion ofphotographs, cups and saucers, violet jars, and Dresden shepherdesses. Over the quaint old Venetian glass dangled Vixen's first trophy, thefox's brush, tied with a scarlet ribbon. There were no birds, orsquirrels, or dormice, for Vixen was too fond of the animal creation toshut her favourites up in cages; but there was a black bearskin spreadin a corner for Argus to lie upon. In the wide low windows there weretwo banks of bright autumn flowers, pompons and dwarf roses, mignonetteand veronica. 

Miss McCroke drew up the blind, and stirred the fire. 

"I'll go and ask her to come, " she said. 

"Do, like a dear, " said Rorie. 

He paced the room while she was gone, full of sadness. He had been veryfond of the Squire, and that awfully sudden death, an apoplepticseizure, instantaneous as a thunderbolt, had impressed him verypainfully. It was his first experience of the kind, and it wasinfinitely terrible to him. It seemed to him a long time before Vixenappeared, and then the door opened, and a slim black figure came in, awhite fixed face looked at him piteously, with tearless eyes made bigby a great grief. She came leaning on Miss McCroke, as if she couldhardly walk unaided. The face was stranger to him than an altogetherunknown face. It was Violet Tempest with all the vivid joyous life goneout of her, like a lamp that is extinguished. 

He took her cold trembling hands and drew her gently to a chair, andsat down beside her. 

"I wanted so much to see you, dear, " he said, "to tell you how sorry weall are for you--my mother, my aunt, and cousin"--Violet gave a faintshiver--"all of us. The Duke liked your dear father so much. It wasquite a shock to him. "

"You are very good, " Violet said mechanically. 

She sat by him, pale and still as marble, looking at the ground. Hisvoice and presence impressed her but faintly, like something a long wayoff. She was thinking of her dead father. She saw nothing but that oneawful figure. They had laid him in his grave by this time. The coldcruel earth had fallen upon him and hidden him for ever from the light;he was shut away for ever from the fair glad world; he who had been sobright and cheerful, whose presence had carried gladness everywhere. 

"Is the funeral quite over?" she asked presently, without lifting herheavy eyelids. 

"Yes, dear. It was a noble funeral. Everybody was there--rich and poor. Everybody loved him. "

"The poor most of all, " she said. "I know how good he was to them. "

Somebody knocked at the door and asked something of Miss McCroke, whichobliged the governess to leave her pupil. Roderick was glad at herdeparture, That substantial figure in its new black dress had been ahinderance to freedom of conversation. 

Miss McCroke's absence did not loosen Violet's tongue. She sat lookingat the ground, and was dumb. That silent grief was very awful toRoderick. 

"Violet, why don't you talk to me about your sorrow?" he said. "Surelyyou can trust me--your friend--your brother!"

That last word stung her into speech. The hazel eyes shot a swift angryglance at him. 

"You have no right to call yourself that, " she said, "you have nottreated me like a sister. "

"How not, dear?"

"You should have told me about your engagement--that you were going tomarry Lady Mabel Ashbourne. "

"Should I?" exclaimed Rorie, amazed. "If I had I should have told youan arrant falsehood. I am not engaged to my cousin Mabel. I am notgoing to marry her. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least whether you are or not, " returnedVixen, with a weary air. "Papa is dead, and trifles like that can'taffect me now. But I felt it unkind of you at the time I heard it. "

"And where and how did you hear this wonderful news, Vixen?" askedRorie, very pleased to get her thoughts away from her grief, were itonly for a minute. 

"Mamma told me that everybody said you were engaged, and that the factwas quite obvious. "

"What everybody says, and I what is quite obvious, is very seldom true, Violet. You may take that for a first principle in social science. I amnot engaged to anyone. I have no thought of getting married--for thenext three years. "

Vixen received this information with chilling silence. She would havebeen very glad to hear it, perhaps, a week ago--at which time she hadfound it a sore thing to think of her old playfellow as Lady Mabel'saffianced husband--but it mattered nothing now. The larger grief hadswallowed up all smaller grievances. Roderick Vawdrey had receded intoremote distance. He was no one, nothing, in a world that was suddenlyemptied of all delight. 

"What are you going to do, dear?" asked Roderick presently. "If youshut yourself up in your room and abandon yourself to grief, you willmake yourself very ill. You ought to go away somewhere for a littlewhile. "

"For ever!" exclaimed Vixen passionately. "Do you think I can everendure this dear home without papa? There is not a thing I look at thatdoesn't speak to me of him. The dogs, the horses. I almost hate themfor reminding me so cruelly. Yea, we are going away at once, I believe. Mamma said so when I saw her this morning. "

"Your poor mamma! How does she bear her grief?"

"Oh, she cries, and cries, and cries, " said Vixen, rathercontemptuously. "I think it comforts her to cry. I can't cry. I am likethe dogs. If I did not restrain myself with all my might I should howl. I should like to lie on the ground outside his door--just as his dogdoes--and to refuse to eat or drink till I died. "

"But, dear Violet, you are not alone in the world. You have your poormamma to think of. "

"Mamma--yes. I am sorry for her, of course. But she is only like alay-figure in my life. Papa was everything. "

"Do you know where your mamma is going to take you?"

"No; I neither know nor care. It will be to a house with four walls anda roof, I suppose. It will be all the same to me wherever it is. "

What could Roderick say? It was too soon to talk about hope or comfort. His heart was rent by this dull silent grief; but he could do nothingexcept sit there silently by Vixen's side with her cold unresponsivehands held in his. 

Miss McCroke came back presently, followed by a maid carrying a prettylittle Japanese tea-tray. 

"I have just been giving your poor mamma a cup of tea, Violet, " saidthe governess. "Mr. Clements has been telling her about the will, andit has been quite too much for her. She was almost hysterical. Butshe's better now, poor dear. And now we'll all have some tea. Bring thetable to the fire, Mr. Vawdrey, please, and let us make ourselvescomfortable, " concluded Miss McCroke, with an assumption of mildcheerfulness. 

Perhaps there is not in all nature so cheerful a thing as a goodsea-coal fire, with a log of beechwood on the top of the coals. It willbe cheerful in the face of affliction. It sends out its gushes ofwarmth and brightness, its gay little arrowy flames that appear anddisappear like elves dancing their midnight waltzes on a barren moor. It seems to say: "Look at me and be comforted! Look at me and hope! Sofrom the dull blackness of sorrow rise the many coloured lights ofnew-born joy. "

Vixen suffered her chair to be brought near that cheery fire, and justthen Argus crept into the room and nestled at her knee. Roderick seatedhimself at the other side of the hearth--a bright little fire-placewith its border of high-art tiles, illuminated with the story of "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, " after quaintly mediaeval designs, by Mr. StaceyMarks. Miss McCroke poured out the tea in the quaint old red and blueWorcester cups, and valiantly sustained that assumption ofcheerfulness. She would not have permitted herself to smile yesterday;but now the funeral was over, the blinds were drawn up, and a mildcheerfulness was allowable. 

"If you would condescend to tell me where you are going, Vixen, I mightcontrive to come there too, by-and-by. We could have some ridestogether. You'll take Arion, of course. "

"I don't know that I shall ever ride again, " answered Violet with ashudder. 

Could she ever forget that awful ride? Roderick hated himself for hisfoolish speech. 

"Violet will have to devote herself to her studies very assiduously forthe next two years, " said Miss McCroke. "She is much more backwardsthan I like a pupil of mine to be at sixteen. "

"Yes, I am going to grind at three or four foreign grammars, and togive my mind to latitude and longitude, and fractions, and decimals, "said Vixen, with a bitter laugh. "Isn't that cheering?"

"Whatever you do, Vixen, " cried Roderick earnestly, "don't be aparadigm. "

"What's that?"

"An example, a model, a paragon, a perfect woman nobly planned, &c. Beanything but that, Vixen, if you love me. "

"I don't think there is much fear of any of us being perfect, " saidMiss McCroke severely. "Imperfection is more in the line of humanity. "

"Do you think so?" interrogated Rorie. "I find there is a great dealtoo much perfection in this world, too many faultless people--I hatethem. "

"Isn't that a confession of faultiness on your side?" suggested MissMcCroke. 

"It may be. But it's the truth. "

Vixen sat with dry hollow eyes staring at the fire. She had heard theirtalk as if it had been the idle voices of strangers sounding in thedistance, ever so far away. Argus nestled closer and closer at herknee, and she patted his big blunt head absently, with a dim sense ofcomfort in this brute love, which she had not derived from humansympathy. 

Miss McCroke went on talking and arguing with Rorie, with a view tosustaining that fictitious cheerfulness which might beguile Vixen intobrief oblivion of her griefs. But Vixen was not so to be beguiled. Shewas with them, but not of them. Her haggard eyes stared at the fire, and her thoughts were with the dear dead father, over whosenewly-filled grave the evening shadows were closing. 

CHAPTER X. 

Captain Winstanley. 

Two years later, and Vixen was sitting with the same faithful Argusnestling beside her, by the fireside of a spacious Brightondrawing-room, a large, lofty, commonplace room, with tall windowsfacing seawards. Miss McCroke was there too, standing at one of thewindows taking up a dropped stitch in her knitting, while Mrs. Tempestwalked slowly up and down the expanse of Brussels carpet, stopping nowand then at a window to look idly out at the red sunset beyond thelow-lying roofs and spars of Shoreham. Those two years had changedViolet Tempest from a slender girl to a nobly-formed woman; a womanwhom a sculptor would have worshipped as his dream of perfection, whoma painter would have reverenced for her glow and splendour ofcolouring; but about whose beauty the common run of mankind, and moreespecially womankind, had not quite made up their minds. The prettylittle women with eighteen-inch waists opined that Miss Tempest was toobig. 

"She's very handsome, you know, and all that, " they said deprecatingly, "and her figure is quite splendid; but she's on such a very largescale. She ought to be painted in fresco, you know, on a high cornice. As Autumn, or Plenty, or Ceres, or something of that kind, carrying acornucopia. But in a drawing-room she looks so very massive. "

The amber-haired women--palpably indebted to auricomous fluids for thecolour of their tresses--objected to the dark burnished gold of VioletTempest's hair. There was too much red in the gold, they said, and acolour so obviously natural was very unfashionable. That cream-whiteskin of hers, too, found objectors, on the score of a slight powderingof freckles; spots which the kindly sun leaves on the fruit he bestloves. In fact, there were many reservations made by Miss Tempest'spretended admirers when they summed up her good looks; but when sherode her pretty bay horse along the King's Road, strangers turned tolook at her admiringly; when she entered a crowded room she threw allpaler beauties in the shade. The cabbage-rose is a vulgar flowerperhaps, but she is queen of the garden notwithstanding. 

Lest it should be supposed, after this, that Vixen was a giantess, itmay be as well to state that her height was five feet six, her waisttwenty-two inches at most, her shoulders broad but finely sloping, herarms full and somewhat muscular, her hands not small, but exquisitelytapering, her foot long and narrow, her instep arched like an Arab's, and all her movements instinct with an untutored grace and dignity. Sheheld her head higher than is common to women, and on that score wasfound guilty of pride. 

"I think we ought to go back before Christmas, Violet, " said Mrs. Tempest, continuing a discussion that had been dragging itself slowlyalong for the last half-hour. 

"I am ready, mamma, " answered Vixen submissively. "It will break ourhearts afresh when we go home, but I suppose we must go home some day. "

"But you would like to see the dear old house again, surely, Violet?"

"Like to see the frame without the picture? No, no, no, mamma. Theframe was very dear while the picture was in it--but--yes, " cried Vixenpassionately, "I should like to go back. I should like to see papa'sgrave, and carry fresh flowers there every day. It has been too muchneglected. "

"Neglected, Violet! How can you say such thing? When Manotti's bill forthe monument was over nine hundred pounds. "

"Oh, mamma, there is more love in a bunch of primroses that my own handgathers and carries to the grave than in all the marble or granite inWestminster Abbey. "

"My dear, for poor people wild flowers are very nice, and show goodfeeling--but the rich must have monuments. There could be nothing toosplendid for your dear papa, " added the widow tearfully. 

She was always tearful when she spoke of her dear Edward, even now;though she was beginning to find that life had some savour without him. 

"No, " said Vixen, "but I think papa will like the flowers best. "

"Then if all is well, Miss McCroke, " pursued Mrs. Tempest, "we will goback at the end of November. It would be a pity to lose the seasonhere. "

Vixen yawned despondently. 

"What do we care about the season, mamma?" she exclaimed. "Can itmatter to us whether there are two or three thousand extra people inthe place? It only makes the King's Road a little more uncomfortable. "

"My dear Violet, at your age gaiety is good for you, " said Mrs. Tempest. 

"Yes, and, like most other things that are good, it's verydisagreeable, " retorted Vixen. 

"And now, about this ball, " pursued Mrs. Tempest, taking up a droppedstitch in the previous argument; "I really think we ought to go, if itwere only on Violet's account. Don't you, Maria?"

Mrs. Tempest always called her governess Maria when she was anxious toconciliate her. 

"Violet is old enough to enter society, certainly, " said Miss McCroke, with some deliberation; "but whether a public ball----"

"If it's on my account, mamma, pray don't think of going, " protestedVixen earnestly. "I hate the idea of a ball--I hate----"

"Captain Winstanley, " announced Forbes, in the dusky end of thedrawing-room by the door. 

"He has saved me the trouble of finishing my sentence, " muttered Vixen. 

The visitor came smiling though the dusk into the friendly glow of thefire. He shook hands with Mrs. Tempest with the air of an old friend, went over to the window to shake hands with Miss McCroke, and then cameback to Vixen, who gave him a limp cold hand, with an indifference thatwas almost insolent, while Argus lifted his head an inch or so from thecarpet and saluted him with a suppressed growl. Whether this arose froma wise instinct in the animal, or from a knowledge that his mistressdisliked the gentleman, would be too nice a point to decide. 

"I was that moment thinking of you, Captain Winstanley, " said the widow. 

"An honour and a happiness for me, " murmured the Captain. 

Mrs. Tempest seated herself in her own particular chair, beside whichwas her own particular table with one of those pretty tea-serviceswhich were her chief delight--a miniature silver tea-kettle with aspirit-lamp, a cosy little ball-shaped teapot, cups and saucers of oldBattersea. 

"You'll take a cup of tea?" she said insinuatingly. 

"I shall be delighted. I feel as if I ought to go home and write versesor smart paragraphs for the society papers after drinking your tea, itis so inspiring. Addison ought to have drunk just such tea beforewriting one of his Spectators, but unfortunately his muse required oldport. "

"If the Spectator came out nowadays I'm afraid we should think itstupid. " suggested Mrs. Tempest. 

"Simply because the slipshod writers of the present day have spoiledour taste for fine English, " interjected Miss McCroke severely. 

"Well, I fear we should find Addison a little thin, " said CaptainWinstanley; "I can't imagine London society existing for a week on suchliterary pabulum as 'The Vision of Mirza. ' We want something strongerthan that. A little scandal about our neighbours, a racy article onfield sports, some sharpish hits at the City, a libel or two upon menwe know, a social article sailing very near the wind, and one ofAddison's papers on cherry-coloured hoods, or breast-knots, patches orpowder, thrown in by the way of padding. Our dear Joseph is too purelyliterary for the present age. "

"What monsters newspapers have grown, " remarked Mrs. Tempest. "It'salmost impossible to get through them. "

"Not if you read anything else, " answered the captain. "The majority donot. "

"We were talking about the ball just as you came in, " said Mrs. Tempest. "I really think Vixen ought to go. "

"I am sure she ought, " said the Captain. 

Vixen sat looking at the fire and patting Argus. She did not favour theCaptain with so much as a glance; and yet he was a man upon whom theeyes of women were apt to dwell favourably. He was not essentiallyhandsome. The most attractive men rarely are. He was tall and thin, with a waist as small as a woman's, small hands, small feet--a generaldelicacy of mould that was accounted thoroughbred. He had a long nose, a darkly-pale complexion, keen gray eyes under dark brows, dark hair, cropped close to his small head; thin lips, white teeth, a neat blackmoustache, and a strictly military appearance, though he had sold outof a line regiment three years ago, and was now a gentleman at large, doing nothing, and living in a gentleman-like manner on a very smallincome. He was not in debt, and was altogether respectable. Nothingcould be said against him, unless it were some dark hint of a gamblingtransaction at a fast and furious club, some vague whisper about themysterious appearance of a king at écarté--the kind of a rumour whichis apt to pursue a man who, like Bulwer's Dudley Smooth, does not cheatbut always wins. 

Despite those vague slanders, which are generally baseless--the mereexpression of society's floating malice, the scum of ill-nature on theocean of talk--Captain Winstanley was a universal favourite. He wenteverywhere, and was liked wherever he went. He was gifted with thatadaptability and hardiness which is, of all cleverness, most valuablein polite society. Of him, as of Goldsmith, it might be said that hetouched nothing he did not adorn. True, that the things he touched werefor the most part small things, but they were things that kept himbefore the eye of society, and found favour in that eye. 

He was a good horseman, a good oarsman, a good swimmer, a goodcricketer. He played and sang; he was a first-rate amateur actor; hewas great at billiards and all games of skill; he could talk anylanguage society wanted him to talk--society not requiring a man toexcel in Coptic or Chinese, or calling upon him suddenly for Japaneseor Persian; he dressed with perfect taste, and without the slightestpretence of dandyism; he could write a first-rate letter, andcaricature his dearest friends of last year in pen and ink for theentertainment of his dearest friends of this year; he was known to havecontributed occasionally to fashionable periodicals, and was supposedto have a reserve of wit and satire which would quite have annihilatedthe hack writers of the day had he cared to devote himself toliterature. 

Mrs. Tempest and her daughter had met the Captain early in the previousspring among the Swiss mountains. He knew some of Mrs. Tempest'sHampshire friends, and with no other credentials had contrived to winher friendship. Vixen took it into her obstinate young head to detesthim. But then, Vixen, at seventeen and a half, was full of ridiculousdislikes and irrational caprices. Mrs. Tempest, in her lonely andsomewhat depressed condition, considered the Captain a particularlyuseful acquaintance. Miss McCroke was dubious, but finding anyexpression of her doubts ungraciously received, took the safer line ofsilence. 

The ball in question was a charity ball at the Pavilion, a perfectlyunobjectionable ball. The list of patronesses bristled with noblenames. There was nothing to be said against Vixen's appearance there, except Miss McCroke's objection that Squire Tempest's daughter andheiress ought not to make her _début_ in society at any public ballwhatever; ought, in a manner, hardly to be seen by the human eye as agrown-up young lady, until she had been presented to her gracioussovereign. But Mrs. Tempest had set her heart upon Vixen's going to theball; or, in other words, she had set her heart upon going herself. Onher way through Paris, in September, she had gone to Worth's--out ofcuriosity, just to see what the great man's salons were like--and thereshe had been tempted into the purchase of an artistic arrangement inblack silk and jet, velvet and passementerie. She did not require thecostume, but the thing in itself was so beautiful that she could nothelp buying it. And having spent a hundred guineas on this masterpiece, there arose in her mind a natural craving to exhibit it; to feel thatshe was being pointed out as one of the best-dressed women in thecrowded room; to know that women were whispering to each othersignificantly, "Worth, " as the nocturn in velvet and silk andglimmering jet swept by them. 

There was a good deal more discussion, and it was ultimately settledthat Vixen should go to the ball. She had no positive objection. Shewould have liked the idea of the ball well enough perhaps, if it hadnot been for Captain Winstanley. It was his advocacy that made thesubject odious. 

"How very rudely you behaved to Captain Winstanley, Violet, " said Mrs. Tempest, when her visitor had departed. 

"Did I, mamma?" inquired Vixen listlessly. "I thought I wasextraordinarily civil. If you knew how I should have liked to behave tohim, you would think so too. "

"I can not imagine why you are so prejudiced against him, " pursued Mrs. Tempest fretfully. 

"It is not prejudice, mamma, but instinct, like Argus's. That man isdestined to do us some great wrong, if we do not escape out of hisclutches. "

"It is shameful of you to say such things, " cried the widow, pale withanger. "What have you to say against him? What fault can you find withhim? You cannot deny that he is most gentlemanlike. "

"No, mamma; he is a little too gentlemanlike. He makes a trade of hisgentlemanliness. He is too highly polished for me. "

"You prefer a rough young fellow, like Roderick Vawdrey, who talksslang, and smells of the stables. "

"I prefer anyone who is good and true, " retorted Vixen. "Roderick is aman, and not to be named in the same breath with your fine gentleman. "

"I admit that the comparison would be vastly to his disadvantage, " saidthe widow. "But it's time to dress for dinner. "

"And we are to dine with the Mortimers, " yawned Vixen. "What a bore!"

This young lady had not that natural bent for society which issymptomatic of her age. The wound that pierced her young heart twoyears ago had not healed so completely that she could find pleasure ininane conversation across a primeval forest of sixpenny ferns, and thefactitious liveliness of a fashionable dinner-table. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"It shall be Measure for Measure. "

The night of the ball came, and, in spite of her aversion for CaptainWinstanley, and general dislike of the whole thing, Violet Tempestbegan the evening by enjoying herself. She was young and energetic, andhad an immense reserve of animal spirits after her two years of sadnessand mourning. She danced with the partners her friends broughther--some of the most eligible men in the room--and was full of lifeand gaiety; yet the festival seemed to her in somewise horrible all thetime. 

"If papa could know that we are dancing and smiling at each other, asif all life was made up of gladness, when he is lying in his coldgrave!" thought Vixen, after joining hands with her mother in theladies' chain. 

The widow looked as if she had never known a care. She was consciousthat Worth's _chef-d'oeuvre_ was not thrown away. She saw herself inthe great mirrors which once reflected George and his lovelyFitzherbert in their days of gladness--which reflected the same Georgelater, old, and sick, and weary. 

"That French _grande dame_ was right, " thought Mrs. Tempest, "who said, '_Le noir est si flattant pour les blondes_. '"

Black was flattering for Vixen's auburn hair also. Though herindifferent eye rarely glanced at the mirrored walls, she had neverlooked lovelier. A tall graceful figure, in billowy black tulle, wreathed with white chrysanthemums; a queen-like head, with a red-goldcoronal; a throat like an ivory pillar, spanned with a broad blackribbon, fastened with a diamond clasp; diamond stars in her ears, and anarrow belt of diamonds round each white arm. 

"How many waltzes have you kept for me?" Captain Winstanley askedpresently, coming up to Vixen. 

"I have not kept waltzes for anyone, " she answered indifferently. 

"But surely you were under a promise to keep some for me? I asked you aweek ago. "

"Did you? I am sure I never promised anything of the kind. "

"Here is only one little shabby waltz left, " said the Captain, lookingat her programme. "May I put my name down for that?"

"If you like, " answered Vixen indifferently; and then, with thefaintest suspicion of malice, she added, "as mamma does not dance rounddances. "

She was standing up for the Lancers presently, and her partner had justled her to her place, when she saw that she had her mother and CaptainWinstanley again for her _vis-à-vis_. She grew suddenly pale, andturned away. 

"Will you let me sit this out?" she said. "I feel awfully ill. "

Her partner was full of concern, and carried her off at once to acooler room. 

"It is too bad!" she muttered to herself. "The Lancers! To go rompinground with a lot of wild young men and women. It is as bad as the Queenin Hamlet. "

This was the last dance before supper. Vixen went in to the supper-roompresently with her attentive partner, who had kept by her sidedevotedly while the lively scramble to good old English tunes was goingon in the dancing-room. 

"Are you better?" he asked tenderly, fanning her with her big blackfan, painted with violets and white chrysanthemums. "The room isabominably hot. "

"Thanks. I'm quite well now. It was only a momentary faintness. But Irather hate the Lancers, don't you?"

"Well, I don't know. I think, sometimes, you know, with a nice partner, they're good fun. Only one can't help treading on the ladies' trains, and they wind themselves round one's legs like snakes. I've seenfellows come awful croppers, and the lady who has done it look sosweetly unconcerned. But if one tears a lace flounce, you know, theylook daggers. It's something too dreadful to feel oneself walking intohoniton at ten guineas a yard, and the more one tries to extricateoneself the more harm one does. "

Vixen's supper was the merest pretence. Her mother sat opposite her, with Captain Winstanley still in attendance. Vixen gave them onescathing look, and then sat like an image of scorn. Her partner couldnot get a word from her, and when he offered her the fringed end of acracker bonbon, she positively refused to have anything to do with it. 

"Please don't, " she said. "It's too inane. I couldn't possibly pretendto be interested in the motto. "

When she went back to the ball-room Captain Winstanley followed her andclaimed his waltz. The band was just striking up the latest love-sickGerman melody, "_Weit von dir!_" a strain of drawling tenderness. 

"You had better go and secure your supper, " said Vixen coldly. 

"I despise all ball-suppers. This one most particularly, if it were todeprive me of my waltz. "

Vixen shrugged her shoulders, and submitted to take those fewpreliminary steps which are like the strong swimmer's shiverings on thebank ere he plunges in the stream. And then she was whirling round tothe legato strains, "_Weit von dir! Weit von dir! Wo ist mein LebensLust?--Weit von dir--Weit von dir!_"

Captain Winstanley's waltzing was simple perfection. It was not theLiverpool Lurch, or the Scarborough Scramble, the Bermondsey Bounce, orthe Whitechapel Wiggle; it was waltzing pure and simple, unaffected, graceful; the waltzing of a man with a musical ear, and an athlete'smastery of the art of motion. Vixen hated the Captain, but she enjoyedthe waltz. They danced till the last bar died away in a tenderdiminuendo. 

"You look pale, " said the Captain, "let us go into the garden. " Hebrought her cloak and wrapped it round her, and she took his offeredarm without a word. It was one of those rare nights in late October, when the wind is not cold. There was hardly the flutter of a leaf inthe Pavilion garden. The neighbouring sea made the gentlest music--amelancholy ebb and flow of sound, like the murmuring of some greatimprisoned spirit. 

In the searching light of day, when its adjacent cab-stands andcommonesses are visible, and its gravelled walks are peopled withnursemaids and small children, the Pavilion garden can hardly be calledromantic. But by this tender moonlight, in this cool stillness of aplacid autumn midnight, even the Pavilion garden had its air of romanceand mystery. The various roofs and chimneys stood up against the sky, picturesque as a city of old time. And, after all, this part ofBrighton has a peculiar charm which all the rest of Brighton lacks. Itspeaks of the past, it tells its story of the dead. They were not greator heroic, perhaps, those departed figures, whose ghosts haunt us inthe red and yellow rooms, and in the stiff town garden; but they hadtheir histories. They lived, and loved, and suffered; and, being deadso long, come back to us in the softened light of vanished days, andtake hold of our fancy with their quaint garments and antiquehead-gear, their powder, and court-swords, and diamond shoe-buckles, and little loves and little sorrows. 

Vixen walked slowly along the shining gravel-path with her black andgold mantle folded round her, looking altogether statuesque andunapproachable. They took one turn in absolute silence, and thenCaptain Winstanley, who was not inclined to beat about the bush when hehad something particular to say, and a good opportunity for saying it, broke the spell. 

This was perhaps the first time, in an acquaintance of more than sixmonths, that he had ever found himself alone with Violet Tempest, without hazard of immediate interruption. 

"Miss Tempest, " he began, with a firmness of tone that startled her, "Iwant to know why you are so unkind to me. "

"I hardly know what you mean by unkindness. I hope I have never saidanything uncivil?"

"No; but you have let me see very plainly that you dislike me. "

"I am sorry nature has given me an unpleasantly candid disposition. "

Those keen gray eyes of the Captain's were watching her intently. Anangry look shot at her from under the straight dark brows--swift as anarrow. 

"You admit then that you do not like me?" he said. 

Vixen paused before replying. The position was embarrassing. 

"I suppose if I were ladylike and proper, I should protest that I likeyou immensely; that there is no one in the world, my mother excepted, whom I like better. But I never was particularly proper or polite, Captain Winstanley, and I must confess there are very few people I dolike, and----"

"And I am not one of them, " said the Captain. 

"You have finished the sentence for me. "

"That is hard upon me--no, Violet, you can never know how hard. Whyshould you dislike me? You are the first woman who ever told me so"(flushing with an indignant recollection of all his victories). "I havedone nothing to offend you. I have not been obtrusive. I haveworshipped at a distance--but the Persian's homage of the sun is notmore reverent----"

"Oh, pray don't talk about Persians and the sun, " cried Violet. "I amnot worthy that you should be so concerned about my likes and dislikes. Please think of me as an untaught inexperienced girl. Two years ago Iwas a spoiled child. You don't know how my dearest father spoiled me. It is no wonder I am rude. Remember this, and forgive me if I am tootruthful. "

"You are all that is lovely, " he exclaimed passionately, stung by herscorn and fired by her beauty, almost beside himself as they stoodthere in the magical moonlight--for once in his life forgetting tocalculate every move on life's chessboard. "You are too lovely for me. From the very first, in Switzerland, when I was so happy----no, I willnot tell you. I will not lay down my heart to be trampled under yourfeet. "

"Don't, " cried Violet, transfixing him with the angry fire of her eyes, "for I'm afraid I should trample on it. I am not one of those gentlecreatures who go out of their way to avoid treading on worms--or otherreptiles. "

"You are as cruel as you are lovely, " he said, "and your cruelty issweeter than another woman's kindness. Violet, I laugh at your dislike. Yes, such aversion as that is often the beginning of closest liking. Iwill not be disheartened. I will not be put off by your scornfulcandour. What if I were to tell you that you are the only woman I everloved?"

"Pray do not. It would transform passive dislike into active hatred. Ishould be sorry for that, because, " looking at him deliberately, with aslow scorn, "I think my mother likes you. "

"She has honoured me with her confidence, and I hope I shall not proveunworthy of the trust. I rarely fail to repay any benefit that isbestowed upon me. "

"October nights are treacherous, " said Vixen, drawing her cloak closeraround her. "I think we had better go back to the ball-room. "

She was shivering a little with agitated feeling, in spite of thatmantle of scorn in which she had wrapped herself. This was the firstman who had ever called her lovely, who had ever talked to her of lovewith manhood's strong passion. 

The Captain gave her his arm, and they went back to the glare and heatof the yellow dragons and scarlet griffins. Another Lancer scramble wasin full progress, to the old-fashioned jigging tunes, but Mrs. Tempestwas sitting among the matrons in a corner by an open window. 

"Are we ever going home any more, mamma?" inquired Vixen. 

"My dear Violet, I have been waiting for you ever so long. "

"Why should you leave so early?" exclaimed Captain Winstanley. "Thereare half-a-dozen more dances, and you are engaged for them all, Ibelieve, Miss Tempest. "

"Then I will show mercy to my partners by going away, " said Violet. "Are all balls as long as this? We seem to have been here ages; Iexpect to find my hair gray to-morrow morning. "

"I really think we had better go, " said Mrs. Tempest, in her undecidedway. 

She was a person who never quite made up her mind about anything, butbalanced every question gently, letting somebody else turn the scalefor her--her maid, her governess, her daughter; she was always tryingto have her own way, but never quite knew what her own way was, andjust managed things skillfully enough to prevent other people havingtheirs. 

"If you are determined, I will see you to your carriage, and then theball is over for me, " said the Captain gallantly. 

He offered Mrs. Tempest his arm, and they went put into the vestibule, where the Captain left them for a few minutes, while he went into theporch to hasten the arrival of the carriage. 

"Where were you and Captain Winstanley all that time, Violet?" askedMrs. Tempest. 

"In the garden. "

"How imprudent!"

"Indeed, dear mamma, it wasn't cold. "

"But you were out there so long. What could you find to talk about allthat time?"

"We were not talking all the time, only enjoying the cool air and themoonlight. "

"Mrs. Tempest's carriage!" roared one of the door-keepers, as if it hadbeen his doing that the carriage had appeared so quickly. 

Captain Winstanley was ready to hand them to their brougham. 

"Come and take a cup of tea to-morrow afternoon, and let as talk overthe ball, " said the widow. 

"With infinite pleasure. "

"Shall we drop you at your house?"

"A thousand thanks--no--my lodgings are so close, I'll walk home. "

He went back for his overcoat, and then walked slowly away, withoutanother glance at the crowded ball-room, or the corridors where theladies who were waiting for their carriages were contriving to improvethe time by a good deal of quiet, or even noisy, flirtation. Hislodgings were on the Old Steine, close by. But he did not go homeimmediately. There are times in a man's life when four walls are tosmall too hold the bigness of his thoughts. Captain Winstanley pacedthe Marine Parade for half-an-hour or so before he went home. 

"_Va pour la mère_, " he said to himself, at the close of that halfhour's meditations; "she is really very nice, and the positionaltogether advantageous, perhaps as much as one has the right to expectin the general decadence of things. But, good heavens, how lovely thatgirl is! She is the first woman who ever looked me in the face and toldme she disliked me; the first woman who ever gave me contemptuous looksand scornful words. And yet--for that very reason, perhaps--I----"

The dark brows contracted over the keen eyes, which seemed closer thanusual to the hawk nose. 

"Look to yourself, my queen, in the time to come, " he said, as heturned his back on the silvery sea and moonlight sky. "You have beenhard to me and I will be hard to you. It shall be measure for measure. "

CHAPTER XII. 

"I have no Wrong, where I can claim no Right. "

Going home again. That was hard to bear. It reopened all the oldwounds. Violet Tempest felt as if her heart must really break, as ifthis new grief were sharper than the old one, when the carriage drovein through the familiar gates, in the December dusk, and along thewinding shrubberied road, and up to the Tudor porch, where the lion ofthe Tempests stood, _passant regardant_, with lifted paw and backwardsgaze, above the stone shield. The ruddy firelight was shining acrossthe wide doorway. The old hearth looked as cheerful as of old. Andthere stood the empty chair beside it. That had been Vixen's particularwish. 

"Let nothing be disturbed, dear mamma, " she had said ever so manytimes, when her mother was writing her orders to the housekeeper. "Begthem to keep everything just as it was in papa's time. "

"My dear, it will only make you grieve more. "

"Yes; but I had rather grieve for him than forget him. I am more afraidof forgetting him than of grieving too much for him, " said Vixen. 

And now, as she stood on the hearth after her journey, wrapped in blackfurs, a little black fur _toque_ crowning her ruddy gold hair, fancyfilled the empty chair as she gazed at it. Yes, she could see herfather sitting there in his hunting-clothes, his whip across his knee. 

The old pointer, the Squire's favourite, came whining to her feet. Howold he looked! Old, and broken, and infirm, as if from much sorrow. 

"Poor Nip! poor Nip!" she said, patting him. "The joy of your life wentwith papa, didn't it?"

"It's all very sad, " murmured Mrs. Tempest, loosening her wraps. "Asad, sad home-coming. And it seems only yesterday that I came here as abride. Did I ever tell you about my travelling-dress, Violet? It was ashot-silk--they were fashionable then, you know--bronze and blue--theloveliest combination of colour!"

"I can't imagine a shot-silk being anything but detestable, " said Vixencurtly. "Poor Nip! How faithful dogs are! The dear thing is actuallycrying!"

Tears were indeed running from the poor old eyes, as the pointer's headlay in Vixen's lap; as if memory, kindled by her image, brought backthe past too keenly for that honest canine heart. 

"It is very mournful, " said Mrs. Tempest. "Pauline, let us have a cupof tea. "

She sank into an arm-chair opposite the fire. Not the squire's oldcarved oak-chair, with its tawny leather cushions. That must needs besacred evermore--a memento of the dead, standing beside the hearth, revered as the image of an honoured ancestor in a Roman citizen's home. 

"I wonder if anyone is alive that we knew here?" said Vixen, lying backin her low chair, and idly caressing the dogs. 

"My dear Violet, why should people be dead? We have only been away twoyears. "

"No; but it seems so long. I hardly expect to see any of the old faces. He is not here, " with a sudden choking sob. "Why should all beleft--except him?"

"The workings of Providence are full of mystery, " sighed the widow. "Dear Edward! How handsome he looked that day he brought me home. Andhe was a noble-looking man to the last. Not more than two spoonfuls ofpekoe, Pauline. You ought to know how I like it by this time. "

This to the handmaiden, who was making tea at the gipsy table in frontof the fire--the table at which Vixen and Rorie had drunk tea somerrily on that young man's birthday. 

After tea mother and daughter went the round of the house. Howfamiliar, how dear, how strange, how sad all things looked! Thefaithful servants had done their duty. Everything was in its place. Thelast room they entered was the Squire's study. Here were all hisfavourite books. The "Sporting Magazine" from its commencement, incrimson morocco. "Nimrod" and "The Druid, " "Assheton Smith's Memoirs, "and many others of the same class. Books on farming and farriery, ondogs and guns. Here were the Squire's guns and whips, a motleycollection, all neatly arranged by his own hands. The servants had donenothing but keep them free from dust. There, by the low and cosyfireplace, with its tiled hearth, stood the capacious crimson moroccochair, in which the master of the Abbey House had been wont to sit whenhe held audience with his kennel-huntsman, or gamekeeper, hisfarm-bailiff, or stud-groom. 

"Mamma, I should like you to lock the door of this room and keep thekey, so that no one may ever come here, " said Vixen. 

"My dear, that is just the way to prolong your grief; but I will do itif you like. "

"Do, dear mamma. Or, if you will let me keep the key, I will come inand dust the room every day. It would be a pleasure for me, a mournfulone, perhaps, but still a pleasure. "

Mrs. Tempest made no objection, and, when they left the room, Vixenlocked the door and put the key in her pocket. 

Christmas was close at hand. The saddest time for such a home-coming, Vixen thought. The gardeners brought in their barrows of holly, andfir, and laurel; but Vixen would take no part in the decoration of halland corridors, staircase and gallery--she who in former years had beenso active in the labour. The humble inhabitants of the village rejoicedin the return of the family at the great house, and Vixen was pleasedto see the kind faces again, the old men and women, the rosy-cheekedchildren, and careworn mothers, withered and wrinkled before their timewith manifold anxieties. She had a friendly word for everyone, andgifts for all. Home was sweet to her after her two years' absence, despite the cloud of sadness that overhung all things. She went out tothe stables and made friends with the old horses, which had been out atgrass all through the summer, and had enjoyed a paradise of rest forthe last two years. Slug and Crawler, Mrs. Tempest's carriage horses, sleek even-minded bays, had been at Brighton, and so had Vixen'sbeautiful thorough-bred, and a handsome brown for the groom; but allthe rest had stayed in Hampshire. Not one had been sold, though thestud was a wasteful and useless one for a widow and her daughter. Therewas Bullfinch, the hunter Squire Tempest had ridden in his last hour oflife. Violet went into his box, and caressed him, and fed him, andcried over him with bitterest tears. This home-coming brought back theold sorrow with overwhelming force. She ran out of the stables to hideher tears, and ran up to her own room, and abandoned herself to hergrief, almost as utterly as she had done on those dark days when herfather's corpse was lying in the house. 

There was no friendly Miss McCroke now to be fussy and anxious, and tointerpose herself between Violet Tempest and her grief. Violet wassupposed to be "finished, " or, in other words, to know everything underthe sun which a young lady of good birth and ample fortune can berequired to know. Everything, in this case, consisted of a smatteringof French, Italian, and German, a dubious recollection of the mainfacts in modern history, hazy images of Sennacherib, Helen of Troy, Semiramis, Cyrus, the Battle of Marathon, Romulus and Remus, the murderof Jules Caesar, and the loves of Antony and Cleopatra flitting dimlyathwart the cloudy background of an unmapped ancient world, a few vaguenotions about astronomy, some foggy ideas upon the constitution ofplants and flowers, sea-weeds and shells, rocks and hills--and ageneral indifference for all literature except poetry and novels. 

Miss McCroke, having done her duty conscientiously after her lights, had now gone to finish three other young ladies, the motherlessdaughters of an Anglo-Indian colonel, over whom she was to exercisematernal authority and guidance, in a tall narrow house in Maida Vale. She had left Mrs. Tempest with all honours, and Violet had lavishedgifts upon her at parting, feeling fonder of her governess in the lastweek of their association than at any other period of her tutelage. To-day, in her sorrow, it was a relief to Violet to find herself freefrom the futile consolations of friendship. She flung herself into thearm-chair by the fire and sobbed out her grief. 

"Oh, kindest, dearest, best of fathers, " she cried, "what is homewithout you!"

And then she remembered that awful day of the funeral when RoderickVawdrey had sat with her beside this hearth, and had tried to comforther, and remembered how she had heard his voice as a sound far away, asound that had no meaning. That was the last time she had seen him. 

"I don't suppose I thanked him for his pity or his kindness, " shethought. "He must have gone away thinking me cold and ungrateful; but Iwas like a creature at the bottom of some dark dismal pit. How could Ifeel thankful to someone looking down at me and talking to me from thefree happy world at the top?"

Her sobs ceased gradually, she dried her tears, and that unconsciouspleasure in life which is a part of innocent youth came slowly back. She looked round the room in which so much of her childhood had beenspent, a room full of her own fancies and caprices, a room whoseprettiness had been bought with her own money, and was for the mostpart the work of her own hands. 

In spite of home's sorrowful association she was glad to find herselfat home. Mountains, and lakes, and sunny bays, and dark pathlessforests, may be ever so good to see, but there is something sweet inour return to the familiar rooms of home; some pleasure in being shutsnugly within four walls, surrounded by one's own belongings. 

The wood-fire burnt merrily, and sparkled on the many-coloured pots andpans upon the panelled wall; here an Etruscan vase of India red, therea Moorish water-jar of vivid amber. Outside the deep mullioned windowsthe winter blast was blowing, with occasional spurts of flying snow. Argus crept in presently, and stretched himself at full length upon thefleecy rug. Vixen lay back in her low chair, musing idly in the glow ofthe fire, and by-and-by the lips which had been convulsed with griefparted in a smile, the lovely brown eyes shone with happy memories. 

She was thinking of her old playfellow and friend, Rorie. 

"I wonder if he will come to-day?" she mused. "I think he will. He issure to be at home for the hunting. Yes, he will come to-day. What willhe be like, I wonder? Handsomer than he was two years ago? No, thatcould hardly be. He is quite a man now. Three-and-twenty! I must notlaugh at him any more. "

The thought of his coming thrilled her with a new joy. She seemed tohave been living an artificial life in the two years of her absence, tohave been changed in her very self by change of surroundings. It wasalmost as if the old Vixen had been sent into an enchanted sleep, whilesome other young lady, a model of propriety and good manners, wentabout the world in Vixen's shape. Her life had been made up, more orless, of trifles and foolishness, with a background of grand scenery. Tepid little friendships with agreeable fellow-travellers at Nice;tepid little friendships of the same order in Switzerland; well-dressedyoung people smiling at each other, and delighting in each other'scompany; and parting, probably for ever, without a pang. 

But now she had come back to the friends, the horses, the dogs, therooms, the gardens, the fields, the forests of youth, and was going tobe the real Vixen again; the wild, thoughtless, high-spirited girl whomSquire Tempest and all the peasantry round about had loved. 

"I have been ridiculously well-behaved, " she said to herself, "quite asecond edition of mamma. But now I am back in the Forest my goodmanners may go hang. 'My foot's on my native heath, and my name isMcGregor. '"

Somehow in all her thoughts of home--after that burst of grief for herdead father--Roderick Vawdrey was the central figure. He filled the gapcruel death had made. 

Would Rorie come soon to see her? Would he be very glad to have her athome again? What would he think of her? Would he fancy her changed? Forthe worse? For the better?

"I wonder whether he would like my good manners or the original Vixenbest?" she speculated. 

The morning wore on, and still Violet Tempest sat idly by the fire. Shehad made up her mind that Roderick would come to see her at once. Shewas sufficiently aware of her own importance to feel sure that the factof her return had been duly chronicled in the local papers. He wouldcome to-day--before luncheon, perhaps, and they three, mamma, Rorie, and herself, would sit at the round table in the library--the snug warmroom where they had so often sat with papa. This thought brought backthe bitterness of her loss. 

"I can bear it better if Rorie is with us, " she thought, "and he isalmost sure to come. He would not be so unkind as to delay biddingwelcome to such poor lonely creatures as mamma and I. "

She looked at her little watch--a miniature hunter in a case of blackenamel, with a monogram in diamonds, one of her father's last gifts. Itwas one o'clock already, and luncheon would be at half-past. 

"Only half-an-hour for Rorie, " she thought. 

The minute-hand crept slowly to the half-hour, the luncheon-gongsounded below, and there had been no announcement of Mr. Vawdrey. 

"He may be downstairs with mamma all this time, " thought Vixen. "Forbeswould not tell me, unless he were sent. "

She went downstairs and met Forbes in the hall. 

"Oh, if you please, ma'am, Mrs. Tempest does not feel equal to comingdown to luncheon. She will take a wing of chicken in her own room. "

"And I don't feel equal to sitting in the library alone, Forbes, " saidViolet; "so you may tell Phoebe to bring me a cup of tea and a biscuit. Has nobody called this morning?"

"No, ma'am. "

Vixen went back to her room, out of spirits and out of temper. It wasunkind of Rorie, cold, neglectful, heartless. 

"If he had come home after an absence of two years--absence under suchsad circumstances--how anxious I should be to see him, " she thought. "But I don't suppose there is frost enough to stop the hunting, and Idaresay he is tearing across the heather on some big raw-boned horse, and not giving me a thought. Or perhaps he is dancing attendance uponLady Mabel. But no, I don't think he cares much for that kind of thing. "

She moved about the room a little, rearranging things that were alreadyarranged exactly as she had left them two years ago. She opened a bookand flung it aside; tried the piano, which sounded muffled and woolly. 

"My poor little Broadwood is no better for being out at grass, " shesaid. 

She went to one of the windows, and stood there looking out, expectingevery instant to see a dog-cart with a rakish horse, a wasp-like body, and high red wheels, spin round the curve of the shrubbery. She stoodthus for a long time, as she had done on that wet October afternoon ofRorie's home-coming; but no rakish horse came swinging round the curveof the carriage-drive. The flying snow drifted past the window; thewinter sky looked blue and clear between the brief showers, the tallfeathery fir-trees and straight slim cypresses stood up against theafternoon light, and Vixen gazed at them with angry eyes, full ofresentment against Roderick Vawdrey. 

"The ground is too hard for the scent to lie well, that's one comfort, "she reflected savagely. 

And then she thought of the dear old kennels given over to a newmaster; the hounds whose names and idiosyncrasies she had known as wellas if they had been human acquaintances. She had lost all interest inthem now. Pouto and Gellert, Lightfoot, Juno, Ringlet, LordDundreary--they had forgotten her, no doubt. 

Here was someone at last, but not the one for whom she was watching. Afigure clothed in a long loose black cloak and slouched felt hat, andcarrying a weedy umbrella, trudged sturdily around the curve, and camebriskly towards the porch. It was Mr. Scobel, the incumbent of thepretty little Gothic church in the village--a church like a toy. 

He was a good man and a benevolent, this Mr. Scobel; a hard-worker, anda blessing in the neighbourhood. But just at this moment Violet Tempestdid not feel grateful to him for coming. 

"What does he want?" she thought. "Blankets and coals and things, Isuppose. "

She turned sullenly from the window, and went back to her seat by thefire, and threw on a log, and gave herself up to disappointment. Theblue winter sky had changed to gray; the light was fading behind thefeathery fir-tops. 

"Perhaps he will come to afternoon tea, " she thought; and then, with adiscontented shrug of her shoulders: "No, he is not coming at all. Ifhe cared about us, he would have been the first to bid us welcome;knowing, as he must, how miserable it was for me to come home atall--without papa!"

She sat looking at the fire. 

"How idle I am!" she mused; "and poor Crokey did so implore me to go onwith my education, and read good useful books and enlarge my mind. Idon't think my poor little mind would bear any more stretching, or thatI should be much happier if I knew all about Central Africa, and thenearest way from Hindostan to China, or old red sandstone, andtertiary, and the rest of them. What does it matter to me what theearth is made of, if I can but be happy upon it? No, I shall never tryto be a highly cultivated young woman. I shall read Byron, andTennyson, and Wordsworth, and Keats, and Bulwer, and Dickens, andThackeray, and remain an ignoramus all the days of my life. I thinkthat would be quite enough for Rorie, if he and I were to be muchtogether; for I don't believe he ever opens a book at all. And whatwould be the use of my talking to him about old red sandstone or thecentre of Africa?"

Phoebe, Miss Tempest's fresh-faced Hampshire maid, appeared at thismoment. 

"Oh, if you please, miss, your ma says would you go to thedrawing-room? Mr. Scobel is with her, and would like to see you. "

Violet rose with a sigh. 

"Is my hair awfully untidy, Phoebe?"

"I think I had better arrange the plaits, miss. "

"That means that I'm an object. It's four o'clock; I may as well changemy dress for dinner. I suppose I must go down to dinner?"

"Lor' yes, miss; it will never do to shut yourself up in your own roomand fret. You're as pale as them there Christmas roses already. "

Ten minutes later Vixen went down to the drawing-room, looking verystately in her black Irish poplin, whose heavy folds became the tallfull figure, and whose dense blackness set off the ivory skin and warmauburn hair. She had given just one passing glance at herself in thecheval-glass, and Vanity had whispered:

"Perhaps Rorie would have thought me improved; but he has not taken thetrouble to come and see. I might be honeycombed by the small-pox, orbald from the effects of typhus, for aught he cares. "

The drawing-room was all aglow with blazing logs, and the sky outsidethe windows looking pale and gray, when Violet went in. Mrs. Tempestwas in her favourite arm-chair by the fire, Tennyson's latest poem onthe velvet-coloured gipsy table at her side, in company with a largeblack fan and a smelling-bottle. Mr. Scobel was sitting in a low chairon the other side of the hearth, with his knees almost up to his chinand his trousers wrinkled up ever so far above his stout Oxford shoes, leaving a considerable interval of gray stocking. He was a man of aboutthirty, pale, and unpretending of aspect, who fortified his nativemodesty with a pair of large binoculars, which interposed a kind ofbarrier between himself and the outer world. 

He rose as Violet came towards him, and turned the binoculars upon her, glittering in the glow of the fire. 

"How tall you have grown, " he cried, when they had shaken hands. "Andhow----" here he stopped, with a little nervous laugh; "I really don'tthink I should have known you if we had met elsewhere. "

"Perhaps Rorie would hardly know me, " thought Vixen. 

"How are all the poor people?" she asked, when Mr. Scobel had resumedhis seat, and was placidly caressing his knees, and blinking, orseeming to blink, at the fire with his binoculars. 

"Oh, poor souls!" he sighed. "There has been a great deal of sicknessand distress, and want of work. Yes, a very great deal. The winterbegan early, and we have had some severe weather. James Parsons is inprison again for rabbit-snaring. I'm really afraid James isincorrigible. Mrs. Roper's eldest son, Tom--I daresay you remember Tom, an idle little ruffian, who was always birdnesting--has managed to gethimself run over by a pair of Lord Ellangowan's waggon-horses, and nowLady Ellangowan is keeping the whole family. An aunt came fromSalisbury to sit up with the boy, and was quite angry because LadyEllangowan did not pay her for nursing him. "

"That's the worst of the poor, " said Mrs. Tempest languidly, thefirelight playing upon her diamond rings, as she took her fan from thevelvet table and slowly unfolded it, to protect her cheek from theglare, "they are never satisfied. "

"Isn't it odd they are not, " cried Vixen, coming suddenly out of a deepreverie, "when they have everything that can make life delightful?"

"I don't know about everything, Violet; but really, when they have suchnice cottages as your dear papa built for them, so well-drained andventilated, they ought to be more contented. "

"What a comfort good drainage and ventilation must be, when there is nobread in the larder!" said Violet. 

"My dear, it is ridiculous to talk in that way; just in the style ofhorrid Radical newspapers. I am sure the poor have an immense deal donefor them. Look at Mr. Scobel, is he not always trying to help them. "

"I do what I can, " said the clergyman modestly; "but I only wish itwere more. An income of sixteen shillings a week for a family of sevenrequires a good deal of ekeing out. If it were not for the assistance Iget here, and in one or two other directions, things would be very badin Beechdale. "

Beechdale was the name of the village nearest the Abbey House, thevillage to which belonged Mr. Scobel's toy-church. 

"Of course, we must have the usual distribution of blanket and wearingapparel on Christmas Eve, " said Mrs. Tempest. "It will seem very sadwithout my dear husband. But we came home before Christmas on purpose. "

"How good of you! It was very sad last year when the poor people cameup to the Hall to receive your gifts, and there were no familiar faces, except the servants. There were a good many tears shed over last year'sblankets, I assure you. "

"Poor dear things!" sighed Mrs. Tempest, not making it too clearwhether she meant the blankets, or the recipients thereof. 

Violet said nothing after her little ironical protest about the poor. She sat opposite the fire, between her mother and Mr. Scobel, but atsome distance from both. The ruddy light glowed on her ruddy hair, andlit up her pale cheeks, and shone in her brilliant eyes. The incumbentof Beechdale thought he had never seen anything so lovely. She was likea painted window; a Madonna, with the glowing colour of Rubens, thedivine grace of Raffaelle. And those little speeches about the poor hadwarmed his heart. He was Violet's friend and champion from that moment. 

Mrs. Tempest fanned herself listlessly. 

"I wish Forbes would bring the tea, " she said. 

"Shall I ring, mamma?"

"No, dear. They have not finished tea in the housekeeper's room, perhaps. Forbes doesn't like to be disturbed. Is there any news, Mr. Scobel? We only came home yesterday evening, and have seen no one. "

"News! Well, no, I think not much. Lady Ellangowan has got a neworchid. "

"And there has been a new baby, too, hasn't there?"

"Oh yes. But nobody talks about the baby, and everybody is in raptureswith the orchid. "

"What is it like?"

"Rather a fine boy. I christened him last week. "

"I mean the orchid. "

"Oh, something really magnificent; a brilliant blue, a butterfly-shapedblossom that positively looks as if it were alive. They say LordEllangowan gave five hundred guineas for it. People come from the otherside of the county to see it. "

"I think you are all orchid mad, " exclaimed Mrs. Tempest. "Oh, herecomes the tea!" as Forbes entered with the old silver tray and Swanseacups and saucers. "You'll take some, of course, Mr. Scobel. I cannotunderstand this rage for orchids--old china, or silver, or lace, I canunderstand, but orchids--things that require no end of trouble to keepthem alive, and which I daresay are as common as buttercups and daisiesin the savage places where they grow. There is Lady Jane Vawdrey now, aperfect slave to the orchid-houses. "

Violet's face flamed crimson at this mention of Lady Jane. Not forworlds would she have asked a question about her old playfellow, thoughshe was dying to hear about him. Happily no one saw that sudden blush, or it passed for a reflection of the fire-glow. 

"Poor Lady Jane!" sighed the incumbent of Beechdale, looking verysolemn, "she has gone to a land in which there are fairer flowers thanever grew on the banks of the Amazon. "

"What do you mean?"

"Surely you have heard----"

"Nothing, " exclaimed Mrs. Tempest. "I have corresponded with nobody butmy housekeeper while I have been away. I am a wretched correspondent atthe best of times, and, after dear Edward's death, I was too weary, toodepressed, to write letters. What is the matter with Lady Jane Vawdrey?"

"She died at Florence last November of bronchitis. She was very illlast winter, and had to be taken to Cannes for the early part of theyear; but she came back in April quite well and strong, as everyonesupposed, and spent the summer at Briarwood. Her doctors told her, however, that she was not to risk another winter in England, so inSeptember she went to Italy, taking Lady Mabel with her. "

"And Roderick?" inquired Vixen, "He went with them of course. "

"Naturally, " replied Mr. Scobel. "Mr. Vawdrey was with his mother tillthe last. "

"Very nice of him, " murmured Mrs. Tempest approvingly; "for, in ageneral way, I don't think they got on too well together. Lady Jane wasrather dictatorial. And now, I suppose, Roderick will marry his cousinas soon as he is out of mourning. "

"Why should you suppose so, mamma?" exclaimed Violet. "It is quite amistake of yours about their being engaged. Roderick told me sohimself. He was not engaged to Lady Mabel. He had not the least idea ofmarrying her. "

"He has altered his mind since then, I conclude, " said Mr. Scobelcheerily--those binoculars of his could never have seen through astone-wall, and were not much good at seeing things under hisnose--"for it is quite a settled thing that Mr. Vawdrey and Lady Mabelare to be married. It will be a splendid match for him, and will makehim the largest landowner in the Forest, for Ashbourne is settled onLady Mabel. The Duke bought it himself, you know, and it is not in theentail, " added the incumbent, explaining a fact that was as familiar asthe church catechism to Violet, who sat looking straight at the fire, holding her head as high as Queen Guinevere after she had thrown thediamonds out of window. 

"I always knew that it would be so, " said Mrs. Tempest, with the air ofa sage. "Lady Jane had set her heart upon it. Worldly greatness was heridol, poor thing! It is sad to think of her being snatched away fromeverything. What has become of the orchids?"

"Lady Jane left them to her niece. They are building houses to receivethem at Ashbourne. "

"Rather a waste of money, isn't it?" suggested Violet, in a cold hardvoice. "Why not let them stay at Briarwood till Lady Mabel is mistressthere?"

Mr. Scobel did not enter into this discussion. He sat serenely gazingat the fire, and sipping his tea, enjoying this hour of rest and warmthafter a long day's fatigue and hard weather. He had an Advent serviceat seven o'clock that evening, and would but just have time to tramphome through the winter dark, and take a hurried meal, before he ranacross to his neat little vestry and shuffled on his surplice, whileMrs. Scobel played her plaintive voluntary on the twenty-guineaharmonium. 

"And where is young Vawdrey now?" inquired Mrs. Tempest blandly. 

She could only think of the Squire of Briarwood as the lad fromEton--clumsy, shy, given to breaking teacups, and leaving the track ofhis footsteps in clay or mud upon the Aubusson carpets. 

"He has not come home yet. The Duke and Duchess went to Florence justbefore Lady Jane's death, and I believe Mr. Vawdrey is with them inRome. Briarwood has been shut up since September. "

"Didn't I tell you, mamma, that somebody would be dead, " cried Violet. "I felt when we came into this house yesterday evening, that everythingin our lives was changed. "

"I should hardly think mourning can be very becoming to Lady Mabel, "ruminated Mrs. Tempest. "Those small sylph-like figures rarely lookwell in black. "

Mr. Scobel rose with an effort to make his adieux. The delicious warmthof the wood-fire, the perfume of arbutus logs, had made him sleepy. 

"You'll come and see our new school, I hope, " he said to Violet, asthey shook hands. "You and your dear mamma have contributed so largelyto its erection that you have a right to be critical; but I reallythink you will be pleased. "

"We'll come to-morrow afternoon, if it's fine, " said Mrs. Tempestgraciously. "You must bring Mrs. Scobel to dinner at seven, and then wecan talk over all we have seen. "

"You are very kind. I've my young women's scripture-class at aquarter-past eight; but if you will let me run away for an hour----"

"Certainly. "

"I can come back for Mrs. Scobel. Thanks. We shall be delighted. "

When he was gone, Violet walked towards the door without a word to hermother. 

"Violet, are you going away again? Pray stop, child, and let us have achat. "

"I have nothing to talk about, mamma. "

"Nonsense. You have quite deserted me since we came home. And do yousuppose I don't feel dull and depressed as well as you? It is notdutiful conduct, Violet. I shall really have to engage a companion ifyou go on so. Miss McCroke was dreary, but she was not altogetheruncompanionable. One could talk to her. "

"You had better have a companion, mamma. Someone who will be lively, and talk pleasantly about nothing particular all day long. No doubt awell-trained companion can do that. She has an inexhaustiblewell-spring of twaddle in her own mind. I feel as if I could never becheerful again. "

"We had better have stopped at Brighton----"

"I hate Brighton!"

"Where we knew so many nice people----"

"I detest nice people!"

"Violet, do you know that you have an abominable temper?"

"I know that I am made up of wickedness!" answered Vixen vehemently. 

She left the room without another word, and went straight to her denupstairs, not to throw herself on the ground, and abandon herself to achildish unreasoning grief, as she had done on the night of Roderick'scoming of age, but to face the situation boldly. She walked up and downthe dim fire-lit room, thinking of what she had just heard. 

"What does it matter to me? Why should I be so angry?" she askedherself. "We were never more than friends and playfellows. And I thinkthat, on the whole, I rather disliked him. I know I was seldom civil tohim. He was papa's favourite. I should hardly have tolerated bun butfor that. "

She felt relieved at having settled this point in her mind. Yet therewas a dull blank sense of loss, a vague aching in her troubled heart, which she could not get rid of easily. She walked to and fro, to andfro, while the fire faded out and the pale windows darkened. 

"I hate myself for being so vexed about this, " she said, clasping herhands above her head with a vehemence that showed the intensity of hervexation. "Could I--I--Violet Tempest--ever be so despicable a creatureas to care for a man who does not care for me; to be angry, sorry, broken-hearted, because a man does not want me for his wife? Such athing is not possible; if it were, I think I would kill myself. Ishould be ashamed to live. I could not look human beings in the face. Ishould take poison, or turn Roman Catholic and go into a convent, whereI should never see the face of a man again. No; I am not such an odiouscreature. I have no regard for Rorie except as my old playfellow, andwhen he comes home I will walk straight up to him and give him my hand, and congratulate him heartily on his approaching marriage. Perhaps LadyMabel will ask me to be one of her bridesmaids. She will have a rounddozen, I daresay. Six in pink, and six in blue, no doubt, like waxdolls at a charity-fair. Why can't people be married without makingidiots of themselves?"

The half-hour gong sounded at this moment, and Vixen ran down to thedrawing-room, where the candles and lamps were lighted, and where therewas plenty of light literature lying about to distract the troubledmind. Violet went to her mother's chair and knelt beside it. 

"Dear mamma, forgive me for being cross just now, " she said gently; "Iwas out of spirits. I will try to be better company in future--so thatyou may not be obliged to engage a companion. "

"My dear, I don't wonder at your feeling low-spirited, " replied Mrs. Tempest graciously. "This place is horribly dull. How we ever enduredit, even in your dear papa's time, is more than I can understand. It islike living on the ground-floor of one of the Egyptian pyramids. Wemust really get some nice people about us, or we shall both gomelancholy mad. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

"He belongs to the Tame-Cat Species. "

Life went on smoothly enough at the Abbey House after that evening. Violet tried to make herself happy among the surroundings of herchildhood, petted the horses, drove her basket-carriage with thefavourite old pony, went among the villagers, rode her thoroughbred bayfor long wild explorations of the Forest and neighbouring country, looked with longing eyes, sometimes, at the merry groups riding to themeet, and went her lonely way with a heavy heart. No more hunting forher. She could not hunt alone, and she had declined all friendly offersof escort. It would have seemed a treason against her beloved dead toride across country by anyone else's side. 

Everyone had called at the Abbey House and welcomed Mrs. Tempest andher daughter back to Hampshire. They had been asked to five-o'clock atEllangowan Park, to see the marvellous orchid. They had been invited tohalf-a-dozen dinner-parties. 

Violet tried her utmost to persuade her mother that it was much toosoon after her father's death to think of visiting. 

"My dear Violet, " cried the widow, "after going to that ball atBrighton, we could not possibly decline invitations here. It would bean insult to our friends. If we had not gone to the ball----"

"We ought not to have gone, " exclaimed Vixen. 

"My love, you should have said so at the time. "

"Mamma, you know I was strongly against it. "

Mrs. Tempest shrugged her shoulders as who should say, "This is toomuch!"

"I know your dress cost a small fortune, and that you danced everywaltz, Violet, " she answered, "that is about all I do know. "

"Very well, mamma, let us accept all the invitations. Let us be asmerry as grigs. Perhaps it will make papa more comfortable in Paradiseto know how happy we are without him. He won't be troubled by anyuneasy thoughts about our grief, at all events, " added Vixen, with astifled sob. 

"How irreverently you talk. Mr. Scobel would be dreadfully shocked tohear you. " said Mrs. Tempest. 

The invitations were all accepted, and Mrs. Tempest for the rest of thewinter was in a flutter about her dresses. She was very particular asto the exact shade of silver-gray or lavender which might be allowed torelieve the sombre mass of black; and would spend a whole morning indiscussing the propriety of a knot of scarlet ribbon, or a border ofgold passementerie. 

They went to Ellangowan Park and did homage to the wonderful orchid, and discussed Roderick's engagement to the Duke's only daughter. Everybody said that it was Lady Jane's doing, and there were some whoalmost implied that she had died on purpose to bring about the happyconjuncture. Violet was able to talk quite pleasantly about themarriage, and to agree with everybody's praises of Lady Mabel's beauty, elegance, good style, and general perfection. 

Christmas and the New Year went by, not altogether sadly. It is noteasy for youth to be full of sorrow. The clouds come and go, there arealways glimpses of sunshine. Violet was grateful for the kindness thatgreeted her everywhere among her old friends, and perhaps a little gladof the evident admiration accorded to her beauty in all circles. Lifewas just tolerable, after all. She thought of Roderick Vawdrey as ofsomething belonging to the past; something which had no part, neverwould have any part, in her future life. He too was dead and passedaway, like her father. Lady Mabel's husband, the master of Briarwood_in esse_, and of Ashbourne _in posse_, was quite a different beingfrom the rough lad with whom she had played at battledore andshuttlecock, billiards, croquet, and rounders. 

Early in February Mrs. Tempest informed her daughter that she was goingto give a dinner. 

"It will seem very dreadful without dearest Edward, " she said; "but ofcourse having accepted hospitalities, we are bound to return them. "

"Do you really think we ought to burst out into dinner-parties so soon, mamma?"

"Yes, dear, as we accepted the dinners. If we had not gone it wouldhave been different. "

"Ah, " sighed Vixen, "I suppose it all began with that ball at Brighton, like 'Man's first disobedience, and the fruit----'"

"I shall miss poor McCroke to fill in the invitation cards. "

"Let me do it, mamma. I can write a decent hand. That is one of the fewladylike accomplishments I have been able to master; and even that isopen to objection as being too masculine. "

"If you would slope more, Violet, and make your up-strokes finer, andnot cross your T's so undeviatingly, " Mrs. Tempest murmured amiably. "Alady's T ought to be less pronounced. There is something too assertivein your consonants. "

Violet wrote the cards. The dinner was to be quite a grand affair, three weeks' notice, and a French cook from The Dolphin at Southamptonto take the conduct of affairs in the kitchen; whereby the Abbey Housecook declared afterwards that there was nothing that Frenchman didwhich she could not have done as well, and that his wastefulness wasenough to make a Christian woman's hair stand on end. 

Three days before the dinner, Vixen riding Arion home through theshrubbery, after a long morning in the Forest, was startled by thevision of a dog-cart a few yards in front of her, a cart, which, at thefirst glance, she concluded must belong to Roderick Vawdrey. The wheelswere red, the horse had a rakish air, the light vehicle swung from sideto side as it spun around the curve. 

No, that slim figure, that neat waist, that military air did not belongto Roderick Vawdrey. 

"He here!" ejaculated Vixen inwardly, with infinite disgust. "I thoughtwe had seen the last of him. "

She had been out for two hours and a half, and felt that Arion had donequite enough, or she would have turned her horse's head and gone backto the Forest, in order to avoid this unwelcome visitor. 

"I only hope mamma won't encourage him to come here, " she thought; "butI'm afraid that smooth tongue of his has too much influence over her. And I haven't even poor Crokey to stand by me. I shall feel like a birdtransfixed by the wicked green eyes of a velvet-pawed murdering cat. "

"And I have not a friend in the world, " she thought. "Plenty ofpleasant acquaintance, ready to simper at me and pay me compliments, because I am Miss Tempest of the Abbey House, but not one honest friendto stand by me, and turn that man out of doors. How dare he come here?I thought I spoke plainly enough that night at Brighton. "

She rode slowly up to the house, slipped lightly out of her saddle, andled her horse round to the stables, just as she had led the pony in herhappy childish days. The bright thoroughbred bay was as fond of her asif he had been a dog, and as tame. She stood by his manger caressinghim while he ate his corn, and feeling very safe from CaptainWinstanley's society in the warm clover-scented stable. 

She dawdled away half-a-hour in this manner, before she went back tothe house, and ran up to her dressing-room. 

"If mamma sends for me now, I shan't be able to go down, " she thought. "He can hardly stay more than an hour. Oh, horror! he is a tea-drinker;mamma will persuade him to stop till five o'clock. "

Violet dawdled over her change of dress as she had dawdled in thestable. She had never been more particular about her hair. 

"I'll have it all taken down, Phoebe, " she told her Abigail; "I'm in nohurry. "

"But really, miss, it's beautiful----"

"Nonsense after a windy ride; don't be lazy, Phoebe. You may give myhair a good brushing while I read. "

A tap at the door came at this moment, and Phoebe ran to open it. 

"Mrs. Tempest wishes Miss Tempest to come down to the drawing-roomdirectly, " said a voice in the corridor. 

"There now, miss, " cried Phoebe, "how lucky I didn't take your hairdown. It never was nicer. "

Violet put on her black dress, costly and simple as the attire Poloniusrecommended to his son. Mrs. Tempest might relieve her costume withwhat bright or delicate hues she liked. Violet had worn nothing butblack since her father's death. Her sole ornaments were a pair of blackearrings, and a large black enamel locket, with one big diamond shiningin the middle of it, like an eye. This locket held the Squire'sportrait, and his daughter wore it constantly. 

The Louis Quatorze clock on the staircase struck five as Violet wentdown. 

"Of course he is staying for tea, " she thought, with an impatient shrugof her shoulders. "He belongs to the tame-cat species, and has aninexhaustible flow of gossip, spiced with mild malevolence. The kind offrivolous ill-nature which says: 'I would not do anyone harm for theworld, but one may as well think the worst of everybody. '"

Yes, kettledrum was in full swing. Mrs. Scobel had come over from hertiny Vicarage for half-an-hour's chat, and was sitting opposite herhostess's fire, while Captain Winstanley lounged with his back to thecanopied chimneypiece, and looked benignantly down upon the two ladies. The Queen Anne kettle was hissing merrily over its spirit-lamp, theperfume of the pekoe was delicious, the logs blazed cheerily in the lowfireplace, with its shining brass andirons. Not a repulsive picture, assuredly; yet Vixen came slowly towards this charming circle, lookingblack as thunder. 

Captain Winstanley hurried forward to receive her. 

"How do you do?" she said, as stiffly as a child brought down to thedrawing-room, bristling in newly-brushed hair and a best frock, andthen turning to her mother, she asked curtly: "What did you want withme, mamma?"

"It was Captain Winstanley who asked to see you, my dear. Won't youhave some tea?"

"Thanks, no, " said Vixen, seating herself in a corner between Mrs. Scobel and the mantelpiece, and beginning to talk about the schools. 

Conrad Winstanley gave her a curious look from under his dark brows, and then went on talking to her mother. He seemed hardly disconcertedby her rudeness. 

"Yes, I assure you, if it hadn't been for the harriers, Brighton wouldhave been unbearable after you left, " he said. "I ran across to Parisdirectly the frost set in. But I don't wonder you were anxious to comeback to such a lovely old place as this. "

"I felt it a duty to come back, " said Mrs. Tempest, with a pious air. "But it was very sad at first. I never felt so unhappy in my life. I amgetting more reconciled now. Time softens all griefs. "

"Yes, " said the Captain, in a louder tone than before, "Time is aclever horse. There is nothing he won't beat if you know how to ridehim. "

"You'll take some tea?" insinuated Mrs. Tempest, her attention absorbedby the silver kettle, which was just now conducting itself asspitfireishly as any blackened block-tin on a kitchen hob. 

"I can never resist it. And perhaps after tea you will be so good as togive me the treat you talked about just now. "

"To show you the house?" said Mrs. Tempest. "Do you think we shall havelight enough?"

"Abundance. An old house like this is seen at its best in the twilight. Don't you think so, Mrs. Scobel?"

"Oh, yes, " exclaimed Mrs. Scobel, with a lively recollection of heralbum. "'They who would see Melrose aright, should see it'--I think, by-the-bye, Sir Walter Scott says, 'by moonlight. '"

"Yes, for an ancient Gothic abbey; but twilight is better for a Tudormanor-house. Are you sure it will not fatigue you?" inquired theCaptain, with an air of solicitude, as Mrs. Tempest rose languidly. 

"No; I shall be very pleased to show you the dear old place. It is fullof sad associations, of course, out I do not allow my mind to dwellupon them more than I can help. "

"No, " cried Vixen bitterly. "We go to dinner-parties and kettledrums, and go into raptures about orchids and old china, and try to cure ourbroken hearts that way. "

"Are you coming, Violet?" asked her mother sweetly. 

"No, thanks, mamma. I am tired after my ride. Mrs. Scobel will help youto play cicerone. "

Captain Winstanley left the room without so much as a look at VioletTempest. Yet her rude reception had galled him more than any cross thatfate had lately inflicted upon him. He had fancied that time would havesoftened her feeling towards him, that rural seclusion and the societyof rustic nobodies would have made him appear at an advantage, that shewould have welcomed the brightness and culture of metropolitan life inhis person. He had hoped a great deal from the lapse of time sincetheir last meeting. But this sullen reception, this silent expressionof dislike, told him that Violet Tempest's aversion was a plant of deeproot. 

"The first woman who ever disliked me, " he thought. "No wonder that sheinterests me more than other women. She is like that chestnut mare thatthrew me six times before I got the better of her. Yet she proved thebest horse I ever had, and I rode her till she hadn't a leg to standupon, and than sold her for twice the money she cost me. There are twoconquests a man can make over a woman, one to make her love him, theother----"

"That suit of chain-armour was worn by Sir Gilbert Tempest at Acre, "said the widow. "The plate-armour belonged to Sir Percy, who was killedat Barnet. Each of them was knighted before he was five-and-twentyyears old, for prowess in the field. The portrait over the chimneypieceis the celebrated Judge Tempest, who was famous for----Well, he didsomething wonderful, I know. Perhaps Mrs. Scobel remembers, " concludedMrs. Tempest, feebly. 

"It was at the trial of the seven bishops, " suggested the Vicar's wife. 

"In the time of Queen Elizabeth, " assented Mrs. Tempest. "That one withthe lace cravat and steel breastplate was an admiral in Charles theSecond's reign, and was made a baronet for his valiant behaviour whenthe Dutch fleet were at Chatham. The baronetcy died with his son, wholeft only daughters. The eldest married a Mr. Percival, who took thename of Tempest, and sat for the borough of----Perhaps Mrs. Scobelknows. I have such a bad memory for these things; though I have heardmy dear husband talk about them often. "

Captain Winstanley looked round the great oak-panelled hall dreamily, and heard very little of Mrs. Tempest's vague prattling about herhusband's ancestors. 

What a lovely old place, he was thinking. A house that would give a manimportance in the land, supported, as it was, by an estate bringing insomething between five and six thousand a year. How much militarydistinction, how many battles must a soldier win before he could makehimself master of such a fortune?

"And it needed but for that girl to like me, and a little gold ringwould have given me the freehold of it all, " thought Conrad Winstanleybitterly. 

How many penniless girls, or girls with fortunes so far beneath themeasure of a fine gentleman's needs as to be useless, had been overhead and ears in love with the elegant Captain; how many pretty girlshad tempted him by their beauty and winsomeness to be false to hisgrand principle that marriage meant promotion. And here was anobstinate minx who would have realised all his aims, and whom he felthimself able to love to distraction into the bargain; and, behold, someadverse devil had entered into her mind, and made Conrad Winstanleyhateful to her. 

"It's like witchcraft, " he said to himself. "Why should this one womanbe different from all other women? Perhaps it's the colour. That ruddyauburn hair, the loveliest I ever saw, means temper. But I conqueredthe chestnut, and I'll conquer Miss Tempest--or make her smart for it. "

"A handsome music-gallery, is it not?" said the widow. "The carvedbalustrade is generally admired. "

Then they went into the dining-room, and looked cursorily at about adozen large dingy pictures of the Italian school, which a man who knewanything about art would have condemned at a glance. Fine examples ofbrown varnish, all of them. Thence to the library, lined with itscarved-oak dwarf bookcases, containing books which nobody had openedfor a generation--Livy, Gibbon, Hume, Burke, Smollett, Plutarch, Thomson. These sages, clad in shiny brown leather and gilding, made asgood a lining for the walls as anything else, and gave an air ofsnugness to the room in which the family dined when there was nocompany. 

They came presently to the Squire's den, at the end of a corridor. 

"That was my dear husband's study, " sighed Mrs. Tempest. "It lookssouth, into the rose garden, and is one of the prettiest rooms in thehouse. But we keep it locked, and I think Violet has the key. "

"Pray don't let Miss Tempest be disturbed, " said Captain Winstanley. "Ihave seen quite enough to know what a delightful house you have--allthe interest of days that are gone, all the luxuries of to-day. I thinkthat blending of past and present is most fascinating. I should neverbe a severe restorer of antiquity, or refuse to sit in a chair thatwasn't undeniably Gothic. "

"Ah, " sighed the Vicar's wife, who was an advanced disciple in theschool of Eastlake, "but don't you think everything should be inharmony? If I were as rich as Mrs. Tempest, I wouldn't have so much asa teapot that was not strictly Tudor. "

"Then I'm afraid you'd have to go without a teapot, and drink your teaout of a tankard, " retorted Captain Winstanley. 

"At any rate, I would be as Tudor as I could be. "

"And not have a brass bedstead, a spring mattress, a moderator lamp, ora coal-scuttle in your house, " said the captain. "My dear madam, it isall very well to be mediaeval in matters ecclesiastic, but homecomforts must not be sacrificed in the pursuit of the aesthetic, or amodern luxury discarded because it looks like an anachronism. "

Mrs. Scobel was delighted with Captain Winstanley. He was just the kindof man to succeed in a rustic community. His quiet self-assurance setother people at their ease. He carried with him an air of life andmovement, as if he were the patentee of a new pleasure. 

"My husband would be so pleased to see you at the Vicarage, if you arestaying any time in the neighbourhood, " she said. 

But after this little gush of friendliness, she reflected that therecould not be much sympathy between the man of society and her Anglicanparson; and that it was she, and not Ignatius Scobel, who would be gladto see Captain Winstanley at the Vicarage. 

"I shall be charmed, " he replied. "I never was so delighted with anyplace as your Forest. It is a new world to me. I hate myself for havinglived in England so long without knowing this beautiful corner of theland. I am staying with my old chief, Colonel Pryke, at Warham Court, and I'm only here for a few days. "

"But you are coming to my dinner-party?" said Mrs. Tempest. 

"That is a pleasure I cannot deny myself. "

"And you will come and see our church and schools?" said Mrs. Scobel. 

"I shall be more than pleased. I passed your pretty little church, Ithink, on my way here. There was a tin tea-ket--a bell ringing----"

"For vespers, " exclaimed Mrs. Scobel. 

The exploration of the house took a long time, conducted in thissomewhat desultory and dawdling manner; but the closing in of night andthe sound of the dinner-gong gave the signal for Captain Winstanley'sdeparture. 

Mrs. Tempest would have liked to ask him to dinner; but she had an ideathat Violet might make herself objectionable, and refrained from thisexercise of hospitality. He was coming to the great dinner. He wouldsee her dress with the feather trimming, which was really prettier thanWorth's masterpiece, or, at any rate, newer; though it only came fromMadame Theodore, of Bruton Street. Sustained by this comfortingreflection, she parted with him quite cheerfully. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

"He was worthy to be loved a Lifetime. "

Conrad Winstanley had come to the New Forest with his mind resolvedupon one of two things. He meant to marry Violet Tempest or her mother. If the case was quite hopeless with the daughter, he would contenthimself with winning the lesser prize; and though Vanity whispered thatthere was no woman living he might not win for himself if he chose tobe sufficiently patient and persevering, instinct told him that Violetfrankly detested him. 

"After all, " argued Worldly Wisdom, "the alternative is not to bedespised. The widow is somewhat rococo; an old-fashioned jewel kept incotton-wool, and brought out on occasions to shine with a factitiousbrilliancy, like old Dutch garnets backed with tinfoil; but she isstill pretty. She is ductile, amiable, and weak to a degree thatpromises a husband the sovereign dominion. Why break your heart forthis fair devil of a daughter, who looks capable, if offended, ofanything in the way of revenge, from a horsewhip to slow poison? Are apair of brown eyes and a coronal of red gold hair worth all this wastedpassion?"

"But the daughter is the greater catch, " urged Ambition. "The dowager'sjointure is well enough, and she has the Abbey House and gardens forher life, but Violet will be sole mistress of the estate when she comesof age. As Violet's husband, your position would be infinitely betterthan it could be as her stepfather. Unhappily, the cantankerous minxhas taken it into her head to dislike you. "

"Stay, " interjected the bland voice of Vanity; "may not this dislike beonly an assumption, a mask for some deeper feeling? There are girls whoshow their love in that way. Do not be in a hurry to commit yourself tothe mother until you have made yourself quite sure about the daughter. "

Mrs. Tempest's dinner-party was a success. It introduced CaptainWinstanley to all that was best in the surrounding society; foralthough in Switzerland he had seemed very familiar with the bestpeople in the Forest, in Hampshire he appeared almost a stranger tothem. It was generally admitted, however, that the Captain was anacquisition, and a person to be cultivated. He sang a French comic songalmost as well as Monsieur de Roseau, recited a short Yankee poem, which none of his audience had ever heard before, with telling force. He was at home upon every subject, from orchids to steam-ploughs, fromordnance to light literature. A man who sang so well, talked so well, looked so well, and behaved so well, could not be otherwise thanwelcome in county society. Before the evening was over, CaptainWinstanley had been offered three hunters for the next day's run, andhad been asked to write in four birthday-books. 

Violet did not honour him with so much as a look, after her one coldrecognition of his first appearance in the drawing-room. It was a partyof more than twenty people, and she was able to keep out of his waywithout obvious avoidance of him. He was stung, but had no right to beoffended. 

He took Mrs. Scobel in to dinner, and Mrs. Scobel played theaccompaniment of his song, being a clever little woman, able to turnher hand to any thing. He would have preferred to be told off to somemore important matron, but was not sorry to be taken under Mrs. Scobel's wing. She could give him the carte du pays, and would beuseful to him, no doubt, in the future; a social Iris, to fetch andcarry for him between Beechdale and the Abbey House. 

"Do you know that I am quite in love with your Forest?" he said to Mrs. Tempest, standing in front of the ottoman where that lady sat with twoof her particular friends; "so much so, that I am actually in treatyfor Captain Hawbuck's cottage, and mean to stay here till the end ofthe hunting. "

Everybody knew Captain Hawbuck's cottage, a verandahed box of a house, on the slope of the hill above Beechdale. 

"I'm afraid you'll find the drawing-room chimney smokes, " said amatter-of-fact lady in sea-green; "poor Mrs. Hawbuck was a martyr tothat chimney. "

"What does a bachelor want with a drawing-room? If there is onesitting-room in which I can burn a good fire, I shall be satisfied. Thestable is in very fair order. "

"The Hawbucks kept a pony-carriage, " assented the sea-green lady. 

"If Mrs. Hawbuck accepts my offer, I shall send for my horses nextweek, " said the Captain. 

Mrs. Tempest blushed. Her life had flowed in so gentle and placid acurrent, that the freshness of her soul had not worn off, and atnine-and-thirty she was able to blush. There was something sosignificant in Captain Winstanley's desire to establish himself atBeechdale, that she could not help feeling fluttered by the fact. Itmight be on Violet's account, of course, that he came; yet Violet andhe had never got on very well together. 

"Poor fellow!" she thought blandly, "if he for a moment supposes thatanything would tempt me to marry again, he is egregiously mistaken. "

And then she looked round the lovely old room, brightened by a crowd ofwell-dressed people, and thought that next to being Edward Tempest'swife, the best thing in life was to be Edward Tempest's widow. 

"Dear Edward!" she mused, "how strange that we should miss him solittle to-night. "

It had been with everyone as if the squire had never lived. Politenessexacted this ignoring of the past, no doubt; but the thing had been soeasily done. The noble presence, the jovial laugh, the friendly smilewere gone, and no one seemed conscious of the void--no one but Violet, who looked round the room once when conversation was liveliest, with apale indignant face, resenting this forgetfulness. 

"I wish papa's ghost would come in at that door and scare hishollow-hearted friends, " she said to herself; and she felt as if itwould hardly have been a surprise to her to see the door open slowlyand that familiar figure appear. 

"Well, Violet, " Mrs. Temple said sweetly, when the guests were gone, "how do you think it all went off?"

"It, " of course, meant the dinner-party. 

"I suppose, according to the nature of such things, it was all rightand proper, " Vixen answered coldly; "but I should think it must havebeen intensely painful to you, mamma. "

Mrs. Tempest sighed. She had always a large selection of sighs instock, suitable to every occasion. 

"I should have felt it much worse if I had sat in my old place atdinner, " she said; "but sitting at the middle of the table instead ofat the end made it less painful. And I really think it's better style. How did you like the new arrangement of the glasses?"

"I didn't notice anything new. "

"My dear Violet, you are frightfully unobservant. "

"No, I am not, " answered Vixen quickly. "My eyes are keen enough, believe me. "

Mrs. Tempest felt uncomfortable. She began to think that, after all, itmight be a comfortable thing to have a companion--as a fender betweenherself and Violet. A perpetually present Miss Jones or Smith wouldward off these unpleasantnesses. 

There are occasions, however, on which a position must be facedboldly--in proverbial phrase, the bull must be taken by the horns. Andhere, Mrs. Tempest felt, was a bull which must be so encountered. Sheknew that her poor little hands were too feeble for the office; but shetold herself that she must make the heroic attempt. 

"Violet, why have you such a rooted dislike to Captain Winstanley?"

"Why is my hair the colour it is, mamma, or why are my eyes browninstead of blue? If you could answer my question, I might be able toanswer yours. Nature made me what I am, and nature has implanted ahatred of Captain Winstanley in my mind. "

"Do you not think it wrong to hate anyone--the very word hate wasconsidered unladylike when I was a girl--without cause?"

"I have cause to hate him, good cause, sufficient cause. I hate allself-seekers and adventurers. "

"You have no right to call him one or the other. "

"Have I not? What brings him here, but the pursuit of his own interest?Why does he plant himself at our door as if he were come to besiege atown? Do you mean to say, mamma, that you can be so blind as not to seewhat he wants?"

"He has come for the hunting. "

"Yes, but not to hunt our foxes or our stags. He wants a rich wife, mamma. And he thinks that you or I will be foolish enough to marry him. "

"There would be nothing unnatural in his entertaining some idea of thatkind about you, " replied Mrs. Tempest, with a sudden assertion ofmatronly dignity. "But for him to think of me in that light would betoo absurd. I must be some years, perhaps four or five years, hissenior, to begin with. "

"Oh, he would forgive you that; he would not mind that. "

"And he ought to know that I should never dream of marrying again. "

"He ought, if he had any idea of what is right and noble in a woman, "answered Vixen. "But he has not. He has no ideas that do not begin andend in himself and his own advantage. He sees you here with a handsomehouse, a good income, and he thinks that he can persuade you to marryhim. "

"Violet, you must know that I shall never marry. "

"I hope I do know it. But the world ought to know it too. People oughtnot to be allowed to whisper, and smile, and look significant; as I sawsome of them do to-night when Captain Winstanley was hanging over yourchair. You ought not to encourage him, mamma. It is a treason againstmy father to have that man here. "

Here was a bull that required prompt and severe handling, but Mrs. Tempest felt her powers inadequate to the effort. 

"I am surprised at you, Violet!" she exclaimed; "as if I did not know, as well as you, what is due to my poor Edward; as if I should doanything to compromise my own dignity. Is it to encourage a man to askhim to a dinner-party, when he happens to be visiting in theneighbourhood? Can I forbid Captain Winstanley to take the Hawbucks'cottage?"

"No, you have gone too far already. You gave him too much encouragementin Switzerland, and at Brighton. He has attached himself to us, like alimpet to a rock. You will not easily get rid of him; unless you lethim see that you understand and despise him. "

"I see nothing despicable in him, and I am not going to insult him atyour bidding, " answered the widow, tremulous with anger. "I do notbelieve him to be a schemer or an adventurer. He is a gentleman bybirth, education, profession. It is a supreme insolence on your part tospeak of him as you do. What can you know of the world? How can youjudge and measure a man like Captain Winstanley? A girl like you, hardly out of the nursery! It is too absurd. And understand at once andfor ever, Violet, that I will not be hectored or lectured in thismanner, that I will not be dictated to, or taught what is good taste, in my own house. This is to be my own house, you know, as long as Ilive. "

"Yes; unless you give it a new master, " said Violet gravely. "Forgiveme if I have been too vehement, mamma. It is my love that is bold. Whomhave I in this world to love now, except you? And when I see you indanger--when I see the softness of your nature---- Dear mother, thereare some instincts that are stronger than reason. There are someantipathies which are implanted in us for warnings. Remember what ahappy life you led with my dear father--his goodness, his overflowinggenerosity, his noble heart. There is no man worthy to succeed him, tolive in his house. Dear mother, for pity's sake----"

She was kneeling at her mother's feet, clinging to her hands, her voicehalf-choked with sobs. Mrs. Tempest began to cry too. 

"My dearest Violet, how can you be so foolish? My love, don't cry. Itell you that I shall never marry again--never. Not if I were asked tobecome a countess. My heart is true to your dear father; it always willbe. I am almost sorry that I consented to these scarlet bows on mydress, but the feather trimming looked so heavy without them, andTheodore's eye for colour is perfect. My dear child, be assured I shallcarry his image with me to my grave. "

"Dear mother, that is all I ask. Be as happy as you can; but be true tohim. He was worthy to be loved for a lifetime; not to be put off withhalf a life, half a heart. "

CHAPTER XV. 

Lady Southminster's Ball. 

Captain Winstanley closed with Mrs. Hawbuck for the pretty littleverandah-surrounded cottage on the slope of the hill above Beechdale. Captain Hawbuck, a retired naval man, to whom the place had been verydear, was in his grave, and his wife was anxious to try if she and herhungry children could not live on less money in Belgium than they couldin England. The good old post-captain had improved and beautified theplace from a farm-labourer's cottage into a habitation which was thequintessence of picturesque inconvenience. Ceilings which you couldtouch with your hand; funny little fireplaces in angles of the rooms; acorkscrew staircase, which a stranger ascended or descended at peril oflife or limb; no kitchen worth mentioning, and stuffy little bedroomsunder the thatch. Seen from the outside the cottage was charming; andif the captain and his family could only have lived over the way, andlooked at it, they would have had full value for the money invested inits improvement. Small as the rooms were, however, and despite thatdark slander which hung over the chimneys, Captain Winstanley declaredthat the cottage would suit him admirably. 

"I like the situation, " he said, discussing his bargain in thecoffee-room at The Crown, Lyndhurst. 

"I should rather think you did!" cried Mr. Bell, the local surgeon. "Suits you down to the ground, doesn't it?"

Whereby it will be seen that there was already a certain opinion in theneighbourhood as to the Captain's motive for planting himself atBeechdale--so acute is a quiet little community of this kind indivining the intentions of a stranger. 

Captain Winstanley took up his quarters at Beechdale Cottage in lessthan a week after Mrs. Tempest's dinner-party. He sent for his horses, and began the business of hunting in real earnest. His two hunters wereunanimously pronounced screws; but it is astonishing how well a goodrider can get across country on a horse which other people call a screw. Nobody could deny Captain Winstanley's merits as a horseman. His costumeand appointments had all the finish of Melton Mowbray, and he was alwaysin the first flight. 

Before he had occupied Captain Hawbuck's cottage a month the new-comerhad made friends for himself in all directions. He was as much at homein the Forest as if he had been native and to the manner born. Hisstraight riding, his good looks, and agreeable manners won himeverybody's approval. There was nothing dissipated or Bohemian abouthim. His clothes never smelt of stale tobacco. He was as punctual atchurch every Sunday morning as if he had been a family man, bound toset a good example. He subscribed liberally to the hounds, and wasalways ready with those stray florins and half-crowns by which a manpurchases a cheap popularity among the horse-holding andragged-follower class. 

Having distinctly asserted her intention of remaining a widow toViolet, Mrs. Tempest allowed herself the privilege of being civil toCaptain Winstanley. He dropped in at afternoon tea at least twice aweek; he dined at the Abbey House whenever the Scobels or any otherintimate friends were there "in a quiet way. " He generally escortedMrs. Tempest and her daughter from church on Sunday morning, Violetpersistently loitering twenty yards or so behind them on the narrowwoodland path that led from Beechdale to the Abbey House. 

After walking home from church with Mrs. Tempest, it was only naturalthat the Captain should stop to luncheon, and after luncheon--theSabbath afternoon being, in a manner, a legitimate occasion fordawdling--it was equally natural for him to linger, looking at thegardens and greenhouses, or talking beside the drawing-room fire, tillthe appearance of the spitfire Queen Anne tea-kettle and Mrs. Tempest'sinfusion of orange pekoe. 

Sometimes the Scobels were present at these Sunday luncheons, sometimesnot. Violet was with her mother, of course, on these occasions; but, while bodily present, she contrived to maintain an attitude ofaloofness which would have driven a less resolute man than ConradWinstanley to absent himself. A man more sensitive to the opinions ofothers could hardly have existed in such an atmosphere of dislike; butCaptain Winstanley meant to live down Miss Tempest's aversion, or togive her double cause for hating him. 

"Why have you given up hunting, Miss Tempest?" he asked one Sundayafternoon, when they had gone the round of the stables, and Arion hadbeen fondled and admired--a horse as gentle as an Italian greyhound inhis stable, as fiery as a wild-cat out of it. 

"Because I have no one I care to hunt with, now papa is gone. "

"But here in the Forest, where everybody knows you, where you mighthave as many fathers as the Daughter of the Regiment----"

"Yes, I have many kind friends. But there is not one who could fill myfather's place--for an hour. "

"It is a pity, " said the Captain sympathetically. "You were so fond ofhunting, were you not?"

"Passionately. "

"Then it is a shame you should forego the pleasure. And you must findit very dull, I should think, riding alone in the forest. "

"Alone! I have my horse. "

"Surely he does not count as a companion. "

"Indeed he does. I wish for no better company than Arion, now papa isgone. "

"Violet is so eccentric!" Mrs. Tempest murmured gently. 

Captain Winstanley had taken Mrs. Hawbuck's cottage till the first ofMay. The end of April would see the last of the hunting, so thisarrangement seemed natural enough. He hunted in good earnest. There wasno pretence about him. It was only the extra knowing ones, the littleknot of choice spirits at The Crown, who saw some deeper motive than amere love of sport for his residence at Beechdale. These advanced mindshad contrived to find out all about Captain Winstanley by thistime--the date of his selling out, his ostensible and hidden reasonsfor leaving the army, the amount of his income, and the generalcomplexion of his character. There was not much to be advanced againsthim. No dark stories; only a leading notion that he was a man whowanted to improve his fortunes, and would not be over-scrupulous as tothe means. But as your over-scrupulous man is one in a thousand, thiswas ranking Captain Winstanley with the majority. 

The winter was over; there were primroses peeping out of the moss andbrambles, and a shy little dog-violet shining like a blue eye here andthere. The flaunting daffodils were yellow in every glade, and thegummy chestnut buds were beginning to swell. It was mid-March, and asyet there had been no announcement of home-coming from Roderick Vawdreyor the Dovedales. The Duke was said to have taken a fancy to the Romanstyle of fox-hunting; Lady Mabel was studying art; the Duchess wassuspected of a leaning to Romanism; and Roderick was dancing attendanceupon the family generally. 

"Why should he not stay there with them?" said Mr. Scobel, sipping hispekoe in a comfortable little circle of gossipers round Mrs. Tempest'sgipsy table. "He has very little else to do with his life. He is ayoung man utterly without views or purpose. He is one of our manyGallios. You could not rouse him to an interest in those stirringquestions that are agitating the Catholic Church to her veryfoundation. He has no mission. I have sounded him, and found him fullof a shallow good-nature. He would build a church if people asked him, and hardly know, when it was finished, whether he meant it for Jews orGentiles. "

Vixen sat in her corner and said nothing. It amused her--rather with ahalf-bitter sense of amusement--to hear them talk about Roderick. Hehad quite gone out of her life. It interested her to know what peoplethought of him in his new world. 

"If the Duke doesn't bring them all home very soon the Duchess will goover to Rome, " said Mrs. Scobel, with conviction. "She has beendrifting that way for ever so long. Ignatius isn't high enough for her. "

The Reverend Ignatius sighed. He hardly saw his way to ascending anyhigher. He had already, acting always in perfect good faith andconscientious desire for the right, made his pretty little churchobnoxious to many of the simple old Foresters, to whom a pair of brazencandlesticks on an altar were among the abominations of Baal, and acrucifix as hateful as the image of Ashtaroth; obstinate old people oflimited vision, who wanted Mr. Scobel to stick to what they called theold ways, and read the Liturgy as they had heard it when they werechildren. In the minds of these people, Mr. Scobel's self-devotion andhard service were as nothing, while he cut off the ten commandmentsfrom the Sunday morning service, and lighted his altar candles at theearly celebration. 

It was in this month of March that an event impended which caused aconsiderable flutter among the dancing population of the Forest. LordSouthminster's eldest daughter, Lady Almira Ringwood, was to marry SirPonto Jones, the rich ironmaster--an alliance of ancient aristocracyand modern wealth which was considered one of the grandest achievementsof the age, like the discovery of steam or the electric telegraph; andafter the marriage, which was to be quietly performed in the presenceof about a hundred and fifty blood relations, there was to be a ball, to which all the county families were bidden, with very little moredistinction or favouritism than in the good old fairy-tale times, whenthe king's herald went through the streets of the city to inviteeverybody, and only some stray Cinderella, cleaning boots and knives ina back kitchen, found herself unintentionally excluded. LadySouthminster drew the line at county families, naturally, but herkindly feelings allowed a wide margin for parsons, doctors, andmilitary men--and among these last Captain Winstanley received a card. 

Mrs. Scobel declared that this ball would be a grand thing for Violet. "You have never properly come out, you know, dear, " she said; "but atSouthminster you will be seen by everybody; and, as I daresay LadyEllangowan will take you under her wing, you'll be seen to the bestadvantage. "

"Do you think Lady Ellangowan's wing will make any difference--in me?"inquired Vixen. 

"It will make a great deal of difference in the Southminster set, "replied Mrs. Scobel, who considered herself an authority upon allsocial matters. 

She was a busy good-natured little woman, the chosen confidante of allher female friends. People were always appealing to her on small socialquestions, what they ought to do or to wear on such and such anoccasion. She knew the wardrobes of her friends as well as she knew herown. "I suppose you'll wear that lovely pink, " she would say whendiscussing an impending dinner-party. She gave judicious assistance inthe composition of a _menu_. "My love, everyone has pheasants at thistime of year. Ask your poulterer to send you guinea-fowls, they aremore _distingué_, " she would suggest. Or: "If you have dessert ices, let me recommend you coffee-cream. We had it last week at EllangowanPark. "

Vixen made no objection to the Southminster ball. She was young, andfond of waltzing. Whirling easily round to the swing of some Germanmelody, in a great room garlanded with flowers, was a temporarycessation of all earthly care, the idea of which was in no wiseunpleasant to her. She had enjoyed her waltzes even at thatcharity-ball at the Pavilion, to which she had gone so unwillingly. 

The March night was fine, but blustery, when Mrs. Tempest and herdaughter started for the Southminster ball. The stars were shining in awindy sky, the tall forest trees were tossing their heads, the brambleswere shivering, and a shrill shriek came up out of the woodland everynow and then like a human cry for help. 

Mrs Tempest had offered to take Mrs. Scobel and Captain Winstanley inher roomy carriage. Mr. Scobel was not going to the ball. All suchentertainments were an abhorrence to him; but this particular ball, being given in Lent, was more especially abhorrent. 

"I shouldn't think of going for my own amusement, " Mrs. Scobel told herhusband, "but I want to see Violet Tempest at her first local balldance. I want to see the impression she makes. I believe she will bethe belle of the ball. "

"That would mean the belle of South Hants, " said the parson. "She has abeautiful face for a painted window--there is such a glow of colour. "

"She is absolutely lovely, when she likes, " replied his wife; "but shehas a curious temper; and there is something very repellent about herwhen she does not like people. Strange, is it not, that she should notlike Captain Winstanley?"

"She would be a very noble girl under more spiritual influences, "sighed the Reverend Ignatius. "Her present surroundings are appallinglyearthly. Horses, dogs, a table loaded with meat in Lent and Advent, atotal ignoring of daily matins and even-song. It is sad to see those welike treading the broad path so blindly. I feel sorry, my dear, thatyou should go to this ball. "

"It is only on Violet's account, " repeated Mrs. Scobel. "Mrs. Tempestwill be thinking of nothing but her dress; there will be nobodyinterested in that poor girl. "

Urged thus, on purely benevolent grounds, Mr. Scobel could not withholdhis consent; more especially as he had acquired the habit of lettinghis wife do what she liked on most occasions--a marital custom noteasily broken through. So Mrs. Scobel, who was an economical littlewoman, "did up" her silver-gray silk dinner-dress with ten shillings'worth of black tulle and pink rosebuds, and felt she had made a successthat Madame Elise might have approved. Her faith in the silver-gray andthe rosebuds was just a little shaken by her first view of Mrs. Tempestand Violet; the widow in black velvet, rose-point, and scarlet--Spanishas a portrait by Velasquez; Violet in black and gold, with whitestephanotis in her hair. 

The drive was a long one, well over ten miles, along one of thosesplendid straight roads which distinguish the New Forest. Mrs. Tempestand Mrs. Scobel were in high spirits, and prattled agreeably all theway, only giving Captain Winstanley time to get a word in edgeways nowand then. Violet looked out of the window and held her peace. There wasalways a charm for her in that dark silent forest, those wavingbranches and flitting clouds, stars gleaming like lights on a stormysea. She was not much elated at the idea of the ball, and "that small, small, imperceptibly small talk" of her mother's and Mrs. Scobel's wasbeyond measure wearisome to her. 

"I hope we shall get there after the Ellangowans, " said Mrs. Scobel, when they had driven through the little town of Ringwood, and wereentering a land of level pastures and fertilising streams, which seemedwonderfully tame after the undulating forest; "it would be so muchnicer for Violet to be in the Ellangowan set from the first. "

"I beg to state that Miss Tempest has promised me the first waltz, "said Captain Winstanley. "I am not going to be ousted by any offshootof nobility in Lady Ellangowan's set. "

"Oh, of course, if Violet has promised---- What a lot of carriages! Iam afraid there'll be a block presently. "

There was every prospect of such a calamity. A confluence of vehicleshad poured into a narrow lane bounded on one side by a treacherouswater-meadow, on the other by a garden-wall. They all came to astandstill, as Mrs. Scobel had prophesied. For a quarter of an hourthere was no progress whatever, and a good deal of recrimination amongcoachmen, and then the rest of the journey had to be done at a walkingpace. 

The reward was worth the labour when, at the end of a long windingdrive, the carriage drew up before the Italian front of SouthminsterHouse; a white marble portico, long rows of tall windows brilliantlylighted, a vista of flowers, and statues, and lamps, and pictures, andvelvet hangings, seen through the open doorway. 

"Oh, it is too lovely!" cried Violet, fresh as a schoolgirl in this newdelight; "first the dark forest and then a house like this--it is likeFairyland. "

"And you are to be the queen of it--my queen, " said Conrad Winstanleyin a low voice. "I am to have the first waltz, remember that. If thePrince of Wales were my rival I would not give way. "

He detained her hand in his as she alighted from the carriage. Shesnatched it from him angrily. 

"I have a good mind not to dance at all, " she said. 

"Why not?"

"It is paying too dearly for the pleasure to be obliged to dance withyou. "

"In what school did you learn politeness, Miss Tempest?"

"If politeness means civility to people I despise, I have never learnedit, " answered Vixen. 

There was no time for further skirmishing. He had taken her cloak fromher, and handed it to the attendant nymph, and received a ticket; andnow they were drifting into the tea-room, where a row of ministeringfootmen were looking at the guests across a barricade of urns andteapots, with countenances that seemed to say, "If you want anything, you must ask for it. We are here under protest, and we very much wonderhow our people could ever have invited such rabble!"

"I always feel small in a tea-room when there are only met inattendance, " whispered Mr. Scobel, "they are so haughty. I would soonerask Gladstone or Disraeli to pour me out a cup of tea than one of thosesupercilious creatures. "

Lady Southminster was stationed in the Teniers room--a small apartmentat the beginning of the suite which ended in the picture-gallery orball-room. She was what Joe Gargery called a "fine figure of a woman, "in ruby velvet and diamonds, and received her guests with an indiscriminating cordiality which went far to heal the gaping wounds ofcounty politics. 

The Ellangowans had arrived, and Lady Ellangowan, who was full ofgood-nature, was quite ready to take Violet under her wing when Mrs. Scobel suggested that operation. 

"I can find her any number of partners, " she said. "Oh, there shegoes--off--already with Captain Winstanley. "

The Captain had lost no time in exacting his waltz. It was the third onthe programme, and the band were beginning to warm to their work Theywere playing a waltz by Offenbach--"_Les Traîneaux_"--with anaccompaniment of jingling sleigh-bells--music that had an almostmaddening effect on spirits already exhilarated. 

The long lofty picture-gallery made a magnificent ball-room--a polishedfloor of dark wood--a narrow line of light under the projectingcornice, the famous Paul Veronese, the world-renowned Rubens, theadorable Titian--ideal beauty looking down with art's eternaltranquillity upon the whisk and whirl of actual life--here a calmMadonna, contemplating, with deep unfathomable eyes, these briefephemera of a night--there Judith with a white muscular arm holding thetyrant's head aloft above the dancers--yonder Philip of Spain frowningon this Lenten festival. 

Violet and Captain Winstanley waltzed in a stern silence. She was vexedwith herself for her loss of temper just now. In his breast there was adeeper anger. "When would my day come?" he asked himself. "When shall Ibe able to bow this proud head, to bend this stubborn will?" It must besoon--he was tired of playing his submissive part--tired of holding hiscards hidden. 

They held on to the end of the waltz--the last clash of thesleigh-bells. 

"Who's that girl in black and gold?" asked a Guardsman of LadyEllangowan; "those two are the best dancers in the room--it's athousand to nothing on them. "

That final clash of the bells brought the Captain and his partner toanchor at the end of the gallery, which opened through an archway intoa spacious palm-house with a lofty dome. In the middle of this archway, looking at the dancers, stood a figure at sight of which VioletTempest's heart gave a great leap, and then stood still. 

It was Roderick Vawdrey. He was standing alone, listlesslycontemplating the ball-room, with much less life and expression in hisface than there was in the pictured faces on the walls. 

"That was a very nice waltz thanks, " said Vixen, giving the captain alittle curtsey. 

"Shall I take you back to Mrs. Tempest?"

Roderick had seen her by this time, and was coming towards her with asingularly grave and distant countenance, she thought; not at all likethe Rorie of old times. But of course that was over and done with. Shemust never call him Rorie any more, not even in her own thoughts. Asharp sudden memory thrilled her, as they stood face to face in thatbrilliant gallery--the memory of their last meeting in the darkenedroom on the day of her father's funeral. 

"How do you do?" said Roderick, with a gush of originality. "Your mammais here, I suppose. "

"Haven't you seen her?"

"No; we've only just come. "

"We, " no doubt, meant the Dovedale party, of which Mr. Vawdrey washenceforth a part. 

"I did not know you were to be here, " said Vixen, "or then that youwere in England. "

"We only came home yesterday, or I should have called at the AbbeyHouse. We have been coming home, or talking about it, for the lastthree weeks. A few days ago the Duchess took it into her head that sheought to be at Lady Almira's wedding--there's some kind ofrelationship, you know, between the Ashbournes and theSouthminsters--so we put on a spurt, and here we are. "

"I am very glad, " said Vixen, not knowing very well what to say; andthen seeing Captain Winstanley standing stiffly at her side, with anaggrieved expression of countenance, she faltered: "I beg your pardon;I don't think you have ever met Mr. Vawdrey. Captain Winstanley--Mr. Vawdrey. "

Both gentlemen acknowledged the introduction with the stiffest andchilliest of bows; and then the Captain offered Violet his arm, andshe, having no excuse for refusing it, submitted quietly to be takenaway from her old friend. Roderick made no attempt to detain her. 

The change in him could hardly have been more marked, Vixen thought. Yes, the old Rorie--playfellow, scapegoat, friend of the dear oldchildish days--was verily dead and gone. 

"Shall we go and look at the presents?" asked Captain Winstanley. 

"What presents?"

"Lady Almira's wedding presents. They are all laid out in the library. I hear they are very splendid. Everybody is crowding to see them. "

"I daresay mamma would like to go, and Mrs. Scobel, " suggested Vixen. 

"Then we will all go together. "

They found the two matrons side by side on a settee, under a lovelygirlish head by Greuze. They were both delighted at the idea of seeingthe presents. It was something to do. Mrs. Tempest had made up her mindto abjure even square dances this evening. There was somethingincongruous in widowhood and the Lancers; especially in one's ownneighbourhood. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Rorie asks a Question. 

The library was one of the finest rooms at Southminster. It was notlike the library at Althorpe--a collection for a nation to be proud of. There was no priceless Decameron, no Caxton Bible, no inestimable "Bookof Hours, " or early Venetian Virgil; but as a library of reference, alibrary for all purposes of culture or enjoyment, it left nothing to bedesired. It was a spacious and lofty room, lined from floor to ceilingwith exquisitely bound books; for, if not a collector of rare editions, Lord Southminster was at least a connoisseur of bindings. Creamyvellum, flowered with gold, antique brown calf, and russia in everyshade of crimson and brown, gave brightness to the shelves, while thesombre darkness of carved oak made a background for this variety ofcolour. 

Not a mortal in the crowded library this evening thought of looking atthe books. The room had been transformed into a bazaar. Two long tableswere loaded with the wedding gifts which rejoicing friends and aspiringacquaintances had lavished upon Lady Almira. Each gift was labelledwith the name of the giver; the exhibition was full of an intenselypersonal interest. Everybody wanted to see what everybody had given. Most of the people looking at the show had made their offerings, andwere anxious to see if their own particular contribution appeared toadvantage. 

Here Mrs. Scobel was in her element. She explained everything, expatiated upon the beauty and usefulness of everything. If she hadassisted at the purchase of all these gifts, or had actually chosenthem, she could not have been more familiar with their uses and merits. 

"You must look at the silver candelabra presented by Sir Ponto'sworkpeople, so much more sensible than a bracelet. I don't thinkGarrard--yes, it is Garrard--ever did anything better; so sweetlymythological--a goat and a dear little chubby boy, and ever so manysavage-looking persons with cymbals. "

"The education of Jupiter, perhaps, " suggested Captain Winstanley. 

"Of course. The savage persons must be teaching him music. Have youseen this liqueur cabinet, dear Mrs. Tempest? The most exquisite thing, from the servants at Southminster. Could anything be nicer?"

"Looks rather like a suggestion that Lady Almira may be given tocuraçoa on the quiet, " said the Captain. 

"And this lovely, lovely screen in crewels, by the Ladies Ringwood, after a picture by Alma Tadema, " continued Mrs. Scobel. "Was there everanything so perfect? And to think that our poor mothers worked staringroses and gigantic lilies in Berlin wool and glass beads, and imaginedthemselves artistic!"

The ladies went the round of the tables, in a crush of other ladies, all rapturous. The Louis Quatorze fans, the carved ivory, the Brusselspoint, the oxydised silver glove-boxes, and malachite blotting-books, the pearls, opals, ormolu; the antique tankards and candlesticks, Queen-Anne teapots; diamond stars, combs, tiaras; prayer-books, and"Christian Years. " The special presents which stood out from this chaosof common place were--a _rivière_ of diamonds from the Earl ofSouthminster, a cashmere shawl from Her Majesty, a basket of orchids, valued at five hundred guineas, from Lady Ellangowan, a pair ofpriceless crackle jars, a Sèvres dinner-service of the old_bleu-du-roi_, a set of knives of which the handles had all been takenfrom stags slaughtered by the Southminster hounds. 

"This is all very well for the wallflowers, " said Captain Winstanley toViolet, "but you and I are losing our dances. "

"I don't much care about dancing, " answered Vixen wearily. 

She had been looking at this gorgeous display of bracelets and teacups, silver-gilt dressing-cases, and ivory hairbrushes, without seeinganything. She was thinking of Roderick Vawdrey, and how odd a thing itwas that he should seem so utter a stranger to her. 

"He has gone up into the ducal circle, " she said to herself. "He istranslated. It is almost as if he had wings. He is certainly as faraway from me as if he were a bishop. "

They struggled back to the picture-gallery, and here Lady Ellangowantook possession of Violet, and got her distinguished partners for allthe dances till supper-time. She found herself receiving a graciouslittle nod from Lady Mabel Ashbourne in the ladies' chain. Neither thelapse of two years nor the experience of foreign travel had made anychange in the hope of the Dovedales. She was still the same sylph-likebeing, dressed in palest green, the colour of a duck's egg, withdiamonds in strictest moderation, and pearls that would have donehonour to a princess. 

"Do you think Lady Mabel Ashbourne very beautiful?" Vixen asked LadyEllangowan, curious to hear the opinion of experience and authority. 

"No; she's too shadowy for my taste, " replied her ladyship, who was thereverse of sylph-like. "Wasn't there someone in Greek mythology whofell in love with a cloud? Lady Mabel would just suit that sort ofperson. And then she is over-educated and conceited; sets up for amodern Lady Jane Grey, quotes Greek plays, I believe, and looksastounded if people don't understand her. She'll end by establishing afemale college, like Tennyson's princess. "

"Oh, but she is engaged to be married to Mr. Vawdrey. "

"Her cousin? Very foolish! That may go off by-and-by. First engagementsseldom come to anything. "

Violet thought herself a hateful creature for being inwardly gratefulto Lady Ellangowan for this speech. 

She had seen Roderick spinning round with his cousin. He was a goodwaltzer, but not a graceful one. He steered his way well, and went witha strong swing that covered a great deal of ground; but there was awant of finish. Lady Mabel looked as if she were being carried away bya maelstrom. And now people began to move towards the supper-rooms, ofwhich there were two, luxuriously arranged with numerous round tablesin the way that was still a novelty when "Lothair" was written. Thisgave more room for the dancers. The people for whom a ball meant asurfeit of perigord pie, truffled turkey, salmon _mayonnaise_, andearly strawberries, went for their first innings, meaning to return tothat happy hunting-ground as often as proved practicable. Violet wascarried off by a partner who was so anxious to take her to supper thatshe felt sure he was dying to get some for himself. 

Her cavalier found her a corner at a snug little table with threegorgeous matrons. She ate a cutlet and a teaspoonful of peas, tookthree sips from a glass of champagne, and wound up with somestrawberries, which tasted as if they had been taken by mistake out ofthe pickle-jar. 

"I'm afraid you haven't had a very good supper. " said her partner, whohad been comfortably wedged between two of the matrons, consumingmayonnaise and pâté to his heart's content. 

"Excellent, thanks. I shall be glad to make room for someone else. "Whereat the unfortunate young man was obliged to stand up, leaving thechoicest morsel of truffled goose-liver on his plate. 

The crowd in the picture-gallery was thinner when Violet went back. Inthe doorway she met Roderick Vawdrey. 

"Haven't you kept a single dance for me, Violet?" he asked. 

"You didn't ask me to keep one. "

"Didn't I? Perhaps I was afraid of Captain Winstanley's displeasure. Hewould have objected, no doubt. "

"Why should he object, unless I broke an engagement to him?"

"Would he not? Are you actually free to be asked by anyone? If I hadknown that two hours ago! And now, I suppose your programme is full. Yes, to the very last galop; for which, of course, you won't stop. Butthere's to be an extra waltz presently. You must give me that. "

She said neither yes nor no, and he put her hand through his arm andled her up the room. 

"Have you seen mamma?"

"Yes. She thinks I am grown. She forgets that I was one-and-twenty whenwe last met. That does not leave much margin for growing, unless a manwent on getting taller indefinitely, like Lord Southminster's palms. Hehad to take the roof off his palm-house last year, you know. What adreadful thing if I were to become a Norfolk giant--giants areindigenous to Norfolk, aren't they?--and were obliged to take the roofoff Briarwood. Have you seen the Duchess?"

"Only in the distance. I hardly know her at all, you know. "

"That's absurd. You ought to know her very well. You must be quiteintimate with her by-and-by, when we are all settled down assteady-going married people. "

The little gloved hand on his arm quivered ever so slightly. This was adistinct allusion to his approaching marriage. 

"Lovely room, isn't it? Just the right thing for a ball. How do youlike the Rubens? Very grand--a magnificent display ofcarmines--beautiful, if you are an admirer of Rubens. What adraughtsman! The Italian school rarely achieved that freedom of pencil. Isn't that Greuze enchanting? There is an innocence, a freshness, abouthis girlish faces that nobody has ever equalled. His women are notMadonnas, or Junos, or Helens--they are the incarnation of girlhood;girlhood without care or thought; girlhood in love with a kitten, orweeping over a wounded robin-redbreast. "

How abominably he rattled on. Was it the overflow of joyous spirits? Nodoubt. He was so pleased with life and fate, that he was obliged togive vent to his exuberance in this gush of commonplace. 

"You remind me of Miss Bates, in Jane Austen's 'Emma, '" said Vixen, laughing. 

The band struck up "_Trauriges Herz_, " a waltz like a wail, but with afine swing in it. 

"Now for the old three-time, " said Roderick; and the next minute theywere sailing smoothly over the polished floor, with all the fairpictured faces, the crimson draperies, the pensive Madonnas, Dutchboors, Italian temples, and hills, and skies, circling round them likethe figures in a kaleidoscope. 

"Do you remember our boy-and-girl waltzes in the hall at the AbbeyHouse?" asked Rorie. 

Happily for Vixen her face was so turned that he could not see thequiver on her lips, the sudden look of absolute pain that paled hercheeks. 

"I am not likely to forget any part of my childhood, " she answeredgravely. "It was the one happy period of my life. "

"You don't expect me to believe that the last two years have beenaltogether unhappy. "

"You may believe what you like. You who knew my father, ought toknow----"

"The dear Squire! do you think I am likely to undervalue him, or toforget your loss? No, Violet, no. But there are compensations. I heardof you at Brighton. You were very happy there, were you not?"

"I liked Brighton pretty well. And I had Arion there all the while. There are some capital rides on the Downs. "

"Yes, and you had agreeable friends there. "

"Yes, we knew a good many pleasant people, and went to a great manyconcerts. I heard all the good singers, and Madame Goddard ever so manytimes. "

They went on till the end of the waltz, and then walked slowly roundthe room, glancing at the pictures as they went by. The Duchess was notin sight. 

"Shall we go and look at the palms?" asked Roderick, when they came tothe archway at the end of the gallery. 

"If you like. "

"This was the roof that had to be taken off, you know. It is amagnificent dome, but I daresay the palms will outgrow it within LordSouthminster's time. "

It was like entering a jungle in the tropics; if one could fancy ajungle paved with encaustic tiles, and furnished with velvet-coveredottomans for the repose of weary sportsmen. 

There was only a subdued light, from lamps thinly sprinkled among theferns and flowers. There were four large groups of statuary, placedjudiciously, and under the central dome there was a fountain, where, half hidden by a veil of glittering spray, Neptune was wooing Tyro, under the aspect of a river-god, amongst bulrushes, lilies, andwater-plants. 

Violet and her companion looked at the tropical plants, and admired, with a delightful ignorance of the merits of these specimens. The tallshafts and the thick tufts of huge leaves were not Vixen's idea ofbeauty. 

"I like our beeches and oaks in the Forest ever so much better, " sheexclaimed. 

"Everything in the Forest is dear, " said Rorie. 

Vixen felt, with a curious choking sensation, that this was a goodopening for her to say something polite. She had always intended tocongratulate him, in a straightforward sisterly way, upon hisengagement to Lady Mabel. 

"I am so glad to hear you say that, " she began. "And how happy you mustbe to think that your fate is fixed here irrevocably; doubly fixed now;for you can have no interest to draw you away from us, as you might ifyou were to marry a stranger. Briarwood and Ashbourne united will makeyou the greatest among us. "

"I don't highly value that kind of greatness, Violet--a mere questionof acreage; but I am glad to think myself anchored for life on mynative soil. "

"And you will go into Parliament and legislate for us, and take carethat we are not disforested. They have taken away too much already, with their horrid enclosures. "

"The enclosures will make splendid pine-woods by-and-by. "

"Yes, when we are all dead and gone. "

"I don't know about Parliament. So long as my poor mother was living Ihad an incentive to turn senator, she was so eager for it. But now thatshe is gone, I don't feel strongly drawn that way. I suppose I shallsettle down into the approved pattern of country squire: breed fatcattle--the aristocratic form of cruelty to animals--spend the bestpart of my income upon agricultural machinery, talk about guano, likethe Duke, and lecture delinquents at quarter-sessions. "

"But Lady Mabel will not allow that. She will be ambitious for you. "

"I hope not. I can fancy no affliction greater than an ambitious wife. No. My poor mother left Mabel her orchids. Mabel will confine herambition to orchids and literature. I believe she writes poetry, andsome day she will be tempted to publish a small volume, I daresay. 'AEolian Echoes, ' or 'Harp Strings, ' or 'Broken Chords, ' 'ConsecutiveFifths, ' or something of that kind. "

"You believe!" exclaimed Vixen. "Surely you have read some of LadyMabel's poetry, or heard it read. She must have read some of her versesto you. "

"Never. She is too reserved, and I am too candid. It would be adangerous experiment. I should inevitably say something rude. Mabeladores Shelley and Browning; she reads Greek, too. Her poetry is sureto be unintelligible, and I should expose my obtuseness of intellect. Icouldn't even look as if I understood it. "

"If I were Lady Mabel, I think under such circumstances I should leaveoff writing poetry. "

"That would be quite absurd. Mabel has a hundred tastes which I do notshare with her. She is devoted to her garden and hot-houses. I hardlyknow one flower from another, except the forest wildlings. She detestshorses and dogs. I am never happier than when among them. She readsAEschylus as glibly as I can read a French newspaper. But she will makean admirable mistress for Briarwood. She has just that tranquilsuperiority which becomes the ruler of a large estate. You will seewhat cottages and schools we shall build. There will not be a weed inour allotment gardens, and our farm-labourers will get all the prizesat cottage flower-shows. "

"You will hunt, of course?"

"Naturally; don't you know that I am to have the hounds next year? Itwas all arranged a few days ago. Poor Mabel was strongly opposed to theplan. She thought it was the first stage on the road to ruin; but Ithink I convinced her that it was the natural thing for the owner ofBriarwood; and the Duke was warmly in favour of it. "

"The dear old kennels!" said Vixen, "I have never seen themsince--since I came home. I ride by the gate very often, but I havenever had the courage to go inside. The hounds wouldn't know me now. "

"You must renew your friendship with them. You will hunt, of course, next year?"

"No, I shall never hunt again!"

"Oh, nonsense; I hear that Captain Winstanley is a mighty Nimrod--quitea Leicestershire man. He will wish you to hunt. "

"What can Captain Winstanley have to do with it?" asked Vixen, turningsharply upon him. 

"A great deal, I should imagine, by next season. "

"I haven't the least idea what you mean. "

It was Roderick Vawdrey's turn to look astonished. He looked bothsurprised and angry. 

"How fond young ladies are of making mysteries about these things, " heexclaimed impatiently; "I suppose they think it enhances theirimportance. Have I made a mistake? Have my informants misled me? Isyour engagement to Captain Winstanley not to be talked about yet--onlyan understood thing among your own particular friends? Let me at leastbe allowed the privilege of intimate friendship. Let me be among thefirst to congratulate you. "

"What folly have you been listening to?" cried Vixen; "you, RoderickVawdrey, my old play-fellow--almost an adopted brother--to know me solittle. "

"What could I know of you to prevent my believing what I was told? Wasthere anything strange in the idea that you should be engaged toCaptain Winstanley? I heard that he was a universal favourite. "

"And did you think that I should like a universal favourite?"

"Why should you not? It seemed credible enough, and my informant waspositive; he saw you together at a picnic in Switzerland. It was lookedupon as a settled thing by all your friends. "

"By Captain Winstanley's friends, you mean. They may have looked uponit as a settled thing that he should marry someone with plenty ofmoney, and they may have thought that my money would be as useful asanyone else's. "

"Violet, are you mystifying me? are you trying to drive me crazy? or isthis the simple truth?"

"It is the simple truth. "

"You are not engaged to this man?--you never have been?--you don't carefor him, never have cared for him?"

"Never, never, never, never!" said Violet, with unmistakable emphasis. 

"Then I have been the most consummate----"

He did not finish his sentence, and Violet did not ask him to finishit. The ejaculation seemed involuntary. He sat staring at the palms, and said nothing for the next minute and a half, while Vixen unfurledher great black and gold fan, and looked at it admiringly, as if shehad never seen it before. 

"Do you really think those palms will break through the roof again inthe present Lord Southminster's time?" Roderick inquired presently, with intense interest. 

Vixen did not feel herself called upon to reply to a question so purelyspeculative. 

"I think I had better go and look for mamma and Mrs. Scobel, " she said;"they must have come back from the supper-room by this time. "

Roderick rose and offered her his arm. She was surprised to see howpale he looked when they came out of the dusk into the brilliant lightof the gallery. But in a heated room, and between two and three o'clockin the morning, a man may naturally be a little paler than usual. 

Roderick took Violet straight to the end of the room, where his quickeye had espied Mrs. Tempest in her striking black and scarlet costume. He said nothing more about the Duchess or Lady Mabel; and, indeed, tookViolet past the elder lady, who was sitting in one of the deep-setwindows with Lady Southminster, without attempting to bring about anyinterchange of civilities. 

"Captain Winstanley has been kind enough to go and look for thecarriage, Violet, " said Mrs. Tempest. "I told him we would join him inthe vestibule directly I could find you. Where have you been all thistime? You were not in the Lancers. Such a pretty set. Oh, here is Mrs. Scobel!" as the Vicar's wife approached them on her partner's arm, in apiteous state of dilapidation--not a bit of tulle putting left, and allher rosebuds crushed as flat as dandelions. 

"Such a delightful set!" she exclaimed gaspingly. 

"I'm afraid your dress has suffered, " said her partner. 

"Not in the least. " protested Mrs. Scobel, with the fortitude of thatladylike martyr to a clumsy carver, celebrated by Sydney Smith, who, splashed from head to foot, and with rills of brown gravy tricklingdown her countenance, vowed that not a drop had reached her. 

"This, " says the reverend wit, "I esteem the highest triumph ofcivilisation. "

"Your carriage will be the third, " the captain told Mrs. Tempest, whileRoderick was putting Violet's cloak round her in the vestibule; "thereare a good many people leaving already. "

Roderick went with them to the carriage door, and stayed in the porchtill they were gone. The last object Vixen saw under the Southminsterlamps was the pale grave face of her old playfellow. 

He went straight from the porch to the supper-room, not to find himselfa place at one of the snug little tables, but to go to the buffet andpour out a glass of brandy, which he drank at a draught. Yet, in ageneral way, there was no man more abstemious than Roderick Vawdrey. 

A quarter of an hour afterwards he was waltzing with LadyMabel--positively the last dance before their departure. 

"Roderick, " she said in an awe-stricken undertone, "I am going to saysomething very dreadful. Please forgive me in advance. "

"Certainly, " he said, with a somewhat apprehensive look. 

"Just now, when you were talking to me, I fancied you had been drinkingbrandy. "

"I had. "

"Absolute undiluted brandy!"

"Neat brandy, sometimes denominated 'short. '"

"Good heavens! were you ill?"

"I had had what people call 'a turn. '"

CHAPTER XVII. 

Where the Red King was slain. 

May had come. The red glow of the beech-branches had changed to atender green; the oaks were amber; the winding forest-paths, the deepinaccessible glades where the cattle led such a happy life, were bluewith dog-violets and golden with primroses. Whitsuntide was close athand, and good Mr. Scobel had given up his mind to church decoration, and the entertainment of his school-children with tea and buns in thatdelightful valley, where an iron monument, a little less artistic thana pillar post-office marks the spot where the Red King fell. 

Vixen, though not particularly fond of school-feasts, had promised toassist at this one. It was not to be a stiff or ceremonious affair. There was to be no bevy of young ladies, oppressively attentive totheir small charges, causing the children to drink scalding tea in aparoxysm of shyness. The whole thing was to be done in an easy andfriendly manner; with no aid but that of the school-mistress andmaster. The magnates of the land were to have no part in the festival. 

"The children enjoy themselves so much more when there are nofinely-dressed people making believe to wait upon them, " said Mrs. Scobel; "but I know they'll be delighted to have you, Violet. Theypositively adore you!"

"I'm sure I can't imagine why they should, " answered Violet truthfully. 

"Oh, but they do. They like to look at you. When you come into theschool-room they're all in a flutter; and they point at you awfully, don't they, Miss Pierson?" said Mrs. Scobel, appealing to theschool-mistress. 

"Yes, ma'am. I can't cure them of pointing, do what I will. "

"Oh, they are dear little children, " exclaimed Violet, "and I don'tcare how much they point at me if they really like me. They make mesuch nice little bob-curtsies when I meet them in the Forest, and theyall seem fond of Argus. I'm sure you have made them extremely polite, Miss Pierson. I shall be very pleased to come to your school-feast, Mrs. Scobel; and I'll tell our good old Trimmer to make no end ofcakes. "

"My dear Violet, pray don't think of putting Mrs. Trimmer to anytrouble. Your dear mamma might be angry. "

"Angry at my asking for some cakes for the school-children, after beingpapa's wife for seventeen years! That couldn't be. "

The school-feast was fixed, three weeks in advance, for the Wednesdayin Whitsun week, and during the interval there were many smallmeteorologists in Beechdale school intent upon the changes of the moon, and all those varied phenomena from which the rustic mind draws itsauguries of coming weather. The very crowing of early village cocks wasregarded suspiciously by the school children at this period; and eventhe harmless domestic pussy, sitting with his back to the fire, wasdeemed a cat of evil omen. 

It happened that the appointed Wednesday was a day on which Mrs. Tempest had chosen to invite a few friends in a quiet way to her seveno'clock dinner; among the few Captain Winstanley, who had taken Mrs. Hawbuck's cottage for an extended period of three months. Mrs. Tempesthad known all about the school-feast a fortnight before she gave herinvitations, but had forgotten the date at the moment when she arrangedher little dinner. Yet she felt offended that Violet should insist uponkeeping her engagement to the Scobels. 

"But, dear mamma, I am of no use to you at our parties, " pleaded Vixen;"if I were at all necessary to your comfort I would give up theschool-feast. "

"My dear Violet, it is not my comfort I am considering; but I cannothelp feeling annoyed that you should prefer to spend your evening witha herd of vulgar children--playing Oranges and Lemons, or Kiss in theRing, or some other ridiculous game, and getting yourself into a mostunbecoming perspiration--to a quiet home evening with a few friends. "

"You see, mamma, I know our quiet home evenings with a few friends sowell. I could tell you beforehand exactly what will happen, almost thevery words people will say--how your _jardinières_ will be admired, andhow the conversation will glance off from your ferns and pelargoniumsto Lady Ellangowan's orchids, and then drift back to your old china;after which the ladies will begin to talk about dress, and thewickedness of giving seven guineas for a summer bonnet, as Mrs Jones, or Green, or Robinson has just done; from which their talk will glideinsensibly to the iniquities of modern servants; and when those havebeen discussed exhaustively, one of the younger ladies will tell youthe plot of the last novel she has had from Mudie's, with an infinitenumber of you knows and you sees, and then perhaps CaptainWinstanley--he is coming, I suppose--will sing a French song, of whichthe company will understand about four words in every verse, and thenyou will show Mrs. Carteret your last piece of art needlework--"

"What nonsense you talk, Violet. However, if you prefer the children atStony Cross to the society of your mother and your mother's friends, you must take your own way. "

"And you will forgive me in advance, dear mamma?"

"My love, I have nothing to forgive. I only deplore a bent of mindwhich I can but think unladylike. "

Vixen was glad to be let off with so brief a lecture. In her heart ofhearts she was not at all sorry that her mother's friendly dinnershould fall on a day which she had promised to spend elsewhere. It wasa treat to escape the sameness of that polite entertainment. Yes, Captain Winstanley was to be there of course, and prolongedacquaintance had not lessened her dislike to that gentleman. She hadseen him frequently during his residence at the Hawbuck cottage, not ather mother's house only, but at all the best houses in theneighbourhood. He had done nothing to offend her. He had beenstudiously polite; and that was all. Not by one word had he remindedViolet of that moonlight walk in the Pavilion garden; not by so much asa glance or a sigh had he hinted at a hidden passion. So far she couldmake no complaint against him. But the attrition of frequentintercourse did not wear off the sharp edge of her dislike. 

Wednesday afternoon came, and any evil auguries that had been drawnfrom the noontide crowing of restless village cocks was set at naught, for the weather was peerless: a midsummer sky and golden sunlight shoneupon all things; upon white-walled cottages and orchards, and gardenswhere the pure lilies were beginning to blow, upon the yellow-green oakleaves and deepening bloom of the beech, and the long straight roadscleaving the heart of the Forest. 

Violet had arranged to drive Mr. And Mrs. Scobel in her pony-carriage. She was at the door of their snug little Vicarage at three o'clock; thevivacious Titmouse tossing his head and jingling his bit in a burst ofpettishness at the aggravating behaviour of the flies. 

Mrs. Scobel came fluttering out, with the Vicar behind her. Bothcarried baskets, and behind them came an old servant, who had been Mrs. Scobel's nurse, a woman with a figure like a hogshead of wine, and afunny little head at the top, carrying a third basket. 

"The buns and bread have gone straight from the village, " said theVicar's wife. "How well you are looking, Violet. I hope dear Mrs. Tempest was not very angry at your coming with us. "

"Dear Mrs. Tempest didn't care a straw, " Vixen answered, laughing. "Butshe thinks me wanting in dignity for liking to have a romp with theschool-children. "

All the baskets were in by this time, and Titmouse was in a paroxysm ofimpatience; so Mr. And Mrs. Scobel seated themselves quickly, and Vixengave her reins a little shake that meant Go, and off went the pony at apace which was rather like running away. 

The Vicar looked slightly uneasy. 

"Does he always go as fast as this?" he inquired. 

"Sometimes a good deal faster. He's an old fencer, you know, and hasn'tforgotten his jumping days. But of course I don't let him jump with thecarriage. "

"I should think not, " ejaculated the Vicar; "unless you wanted tocommit murder and suicide. Don't you think you could make him go alittle steadier? He's going rather like a dog with a tin kettle at histail, and if the kettle were to tip over----"

"Oh, he'll settle down presently, " said Vixen coolly. "I don't want tointerfere with him; it makes him ill-tempered. And if he were to taketo kicking----"

"If you'll pull him up, I think I'll get out and walk, " said Mr. Scobel, the back of whose head was on a level with the circle which thepony's hoofs would have been likely to describe in the event of kicking. 

"Oh, please don't!" cried Vixen. "If you do that I shall think you'veno confidence in my driving. "

She pulled Titmouse together, and coaxed him into an unobjectionabletrot; a trot which travelled over the ground very fast, without givingthe occupants of the carriage the uncomfortable sensation of sittingbehind a pony intent on getting to the sharp edge of the horizon andthrowing himself over. 

They were going up a long hill. Halfway up they came to the gate of thekennels. Violet looked at it with a curious half-reluctant glance thatexpressed the keenest pain. 

"Poor papa, " she sighed. "He never seemed happier than when he used totake me to see the hounds. "

"Mr. Vawdrey is to have them next year, " said Mrs. Scobel. "That seemsright and proper. He will be the biggest man in this part of thecountry when the Ashbourne and Briarwood estates are united. And theDuke cannot live very long--a man who gives his mind to eating anddrinking, and is laid up with the gout twice a year. "

"Do you know when they are to be married?" asked Vixen, with anunconcerned air. 

"At the end of this year, I am told. Lady Jane died last November. Theywould hardly have the wedding before a twelvemonth was over. Have youseen much of Mr. Vawdrey since he came back?"

"I believe I have seen him three times: once at Lady Southminster'sball; once when he came to call upon mamma; once at kettledrum atEllangowan, where he was in attendance upon Lady Mabel. He lookedrather like a little dog at the end of a string; he had just thatmeekly-obedient look, combined with an expression of not wanting to bethere, which you see in a dog. If I were engaged, I would not take my_fiancée_ to kettledrums. "

"Ah, Violet, when are you going to be engaged?" cried Mrs. Scobel, in aburst of playfulness. "Where is the man worthy of you?"

"Nowhere; unless Heaven would make me such a man as my father. "

"You and Mr. Vawdrey were such friends when you were girl and boy. Iused sometimes to fancy that childish friendship of yours would lead toa lasting attachment. "

"Did you? That was a great mistake. I am not half good enough for Mr. Vawdrey. I was well enough for a playfellow, but he wants somethingmuch nearer perfection in a wife. "

"But your tastes are so similar. "

"The very reason we should not care for each other. "

"'In joining contrasts lieth love's delight. ' That's what a poet hassaid, yet I can't quite believe that, Violet. "

"But you see the event proves the poet's axiom true. Here is my oldplayfellow, who cares for nothing but horses and hounds and a countrylife, devotedly attached to Lady Mabel Ashbourne, who reads Greek playswith as much enjoyment as other young ladies derive from a stirringnovel, and who hasn't an idea or an attitude that is not strictlyaesthetic. "

"Do you know, Violet, I am very much afraid that this marriage israther the result of calculation than of genuine affection?" said Mrs. Scobel solemnly. 

"Oh, no doubt it will be a grand thing to unite Ashbourne andBriarwood, but Roderick Vawdrey is too honourable to marry a girl hecould not love. I would never believe him capable of such baseness, "answered Violet, standing up for her old friend. 

Here they turned out of the Forest and drove through a peaceful colonyconsisting of half-a-dozen cottages, a rustic inn where reigned asupreme silence and sleepiness, and two or three houses in old-worldgardens. 

Vixen changed the conversation to buns and school-children, whichagreeable theme occupied them till Titmouse had walked up atremendously steep hill, the Vicar trudging through the dust besidehim; and then the deep green vale in which Rufus was slain lay smilingin the sunshine below their feet. 

Perhaps the panorama to be seen from the top of that hill is absolutelythe finest in the Forest--a vast champaign, stretching far away to thewhite walls, tiled roofs, and ancient abbey-church of Romsey; here aglimpse of winding water, there a humble village--nameless save for itsinhabitants--nestling among the trees, or basking in the broad sunshineof a common. 

At the top of the hill, Bates, the gray-headed groom, who had attendedViolet ever since her first pony-ride, took possession of Titmouse andthe chaise, while the baskets were handed over to a lad, who had beenon the watch for their arrival. Then they all went down the steep pathinto the valley, at the bottom of which the children were swarming in acluster, as thick as bees, while a pale flame and a cloud of whitesmoke went up from the midst of them like the fire beneath a sacrifice. This indicated the boiling of the kettle, in true gipsy fashion. 

For the next hour and a half tea-drinking was the all-absorbingbusiness with everybody. The boiling of the kettle was a grand featurein the entertainment. Cups and saucers were provided by a little colonyof civilised gipsies, who seem indigenous to the spot, and whose summerlife is devoted to assisting at picnics and tea-drinkings, tellingfortunes, and selling photographs. White cloths were spread upon theshort sweet turf, and piles of bread-and-butter, cake and buns, invitedthe attention of the flies. 

Presently arose the thrilling melody of a choral grace, with the sweetembellishment of a strong Hampshire accent. And then, with a swoop asof eagles on their quarry, the school-children came down upon themountains of bread-and-butter, and ate their way manfully to the bunsand cake. 

Violet had never been happier since her return to Hampshire than shefelt that sunny afternoon, as she moved quickly about, ministering tothese juvenile devourers. The sight of their somewhat bovinecontentment took her thoughts away from her own cares and losses; andpresently, when the banquet was concluded--a conclusion only arrived atby the total consumption of everything provided, whereby thehungry-eyed gipsy attendants sunk into despondency--Vixen constitutedherself Lord of Misrule, and led off a noisy procession in thetime-honoured game of Oranges and Lemons, which entertainment continuedtill the school-children were in a high fever. After this they had Kissin the Ring; Vixen only stipulating, before she began, that nobodyshould presume to drop the handkerchief before her. Then cameTouchwood--a game charmingly adapted to that wooded valley, where thetrees looked as if they had been planted at convenient distances onpurpose for this juvenile sport. 

"Oh, I am so tired, " cried Violet at last, when church clocks--all outof earshot in this deep valley--were striking eight, and the low sunwas golden on the silvery beech-boles, and the quiet half-hiddenwater-pools under the trees yonder; "I really don't think I can haveanything to do with the next game. "

"Oh, if you please, miss, " cried twenty shrill young voices, "oh, ifyou please, miss, we couldn't play without you--you're the best on us!"

This soothing flattery had its effect. 

"Oh, but I really don't think I can do more than start you, " sighedVixen, flushed and breathless, "what is it to be?"

"Blindman's Buff, " roared the boys. 

"Hunt the Slipper, " screamed the girls. 

"Oh, Blindman's Buff is best, " said Vixen. "This little wood is asplendid place for Blindman's Buff. But mind, I shall only start you. Now then, who's to be Blindman?"

Mr. Scobel volunteered. He had been a tranquil spectator of the sportshitherto; but this was the last game, and he felt that he ought to dosomething more than look on. Vixen blindfolded him, asked him the usualquestion about his father's stable, and then sent him spinning amongstthe moss-grown beeches, groping his way fearfully, with outstretchedarms, amidst shrillest laughter and noisest delight. 

He was not long blindfold, and had not had many bumps against the treesbefore he impounded the person of a fat and scant-of-breath scholar, agirl whose hard breathing would have betrayed her neighbourhood to thedullest ear. 

"That's Polly Sims, I know, " said the Vicar. 

It was Polly Sims, who was incontinently made as blind as Fortune orJustice, or any other of the deities who dispense benefits to man. Polly floundered about among the trees for a long time, making franticefforts to catch the empty air, panting like a human steam-engine, andnearly knocking out what small amount of brains she might possessagainst the gray branches, outstretched like the lean arms of Macbeth'sweird women across her path. Finally Polly Sims succeeded in catchingBobby Jones, whom she clutched with the tenacity of an octopus; andthen came the reign of Bobby Jones, who was an expert at the game, andwho kept the whole party on the _qui vive_ by his serpentine windingsand twistings among the stout old trunks. 

Presently there was a shrill yell of triumph. Bobby had caught MissTempest. 

"I know'd her by her musling gownd, and the sweet-smelling stuff uponher pocket-handkercher, " he roared. 

Violet submitted with a good grace. 

"I'm dreadfully tired, " she said, "and I'm sure I shan't catch anyone. "

The sun had been getting lower and lower. There were splashes of ruddylight on the smooth gray beech-boles, and that was all. Soon thesewould fade, and all would be gloom. The grove had an awful lookalready. One would expect to meet some ghostly Druid, or some witch ofeld, among the shadowy tracks left by the forest wildings. Vixen wentabout her work languidly. She was really tired, and was glad to thinkher day's labours were over. She went slowly in and out among thetrees, feeling her way with outstretched arms, her feet sinkingsometimes into deep drifts of last year's leaves, or glidingnoiselessly over the moss. The air was soft and cool and dewy, with aperfume of nameless wild flowers--a faint aromatic odour of herbs, which the wise women had gathered for medicinal uses in days of old, when your village sorceress was your safest doctor. Everywhere therewas the hush and coolness of fast-coming night. The children's voiceswere stilled. This last stage of the game was a thing of breathlessinterest. 

Vixen's footsteps drifted lower down into the wooded hollow; insensiblyshe was coming towards the edge of the treacherously green bog whichhas brought many a bold rider to grief in these districts, and stillshe had caught no one. She began to think that she had roamed ever sofar away, and was in danger of losing herself altogether, or at leastlosing everybody else, and being left by herself in the forestdarkness. The grassy hollow in which she was wandering had anatmosphere of solitude. 

She was on the point of taking off the handkerchief that Mr. Scobel hadbound so effectually across her eyes, when her outstretched handsclasped something--a substantial figure, distinctly human, clad inrough cloth. 

Before she had time to think who it was she had captured, a pair ofstrong arms clasped her; she was drawn to a broad chest; she felt aheart beating strong and fast against her shoulder, while lips thatseemed too familiar to offend kissed hers with all the passion of alover's kiss. 

"Don't be angry, " said a well-known voice; "I believe it's the rule ofthe game. If it isn't I'm sure it ought to be. "

A hand, at once strong and gentle, took off the handkerchief, and inthe soft woodland twilight she looked up at Roderick Vawdrey's face, looking down upon her with an expression which she presumed must mean abrotherly friendliness--the delight of an old friend at seeing herafter a long interval. 

She was not the less angry at that outrageous unwarrantable kiss. 

"It is not the rule of the game amongst civilised people; though itpossibly may be among plough-boys and servant-maids!" she exclaimedindignantly. "You are really a most ungentlemanlike person! I wonderLady Mabel Ashbourne has not taught you better manners. "

"Is that to be my only reward for saving you from plunging--at leastankle-deep--in the marshy ground yonder? But for me you would have beenperforming a boggy version of Ophelia by this time. "

"How did you come here?"

"I have been to Langley Brook for a day's fly-fishing, and was trampinghome across country in a savage humour at my poor sport, when I heardthe chatter of small voices, and presently came upon the Scobels andthe school-children. The juveniles were in a state of alarm at havinglost you. They had been playing the game in severe silence, and at aturn in the grove missed you altogether. Oh, here comes Scobel, withhis trencher on the back of his head. "

The Vicar came forward, rejoicing at sight of Violet's white gown. 

"My dear, what a turn you have given us!" he cried; "those sillychildren, to let you out of their sight! I don't think a wood is a goodplace for Blindman's Buff. "

"No more do I, " answered Vixen, very pale. 

"You look as if you had been frightened, too, " said the Vicar. 

"It did feel awfully lonely; not a sound, except the frogs croakingtheir vespers, and one dismal owl screaming in the distance. And howcold it has turned now the sun has gone down; and how ghostly thebeeches look in their green mantles; there is something awful in a woodat sunset. "

She ran on in an excited tone, masking her agitation under an unnaturalvivacity. Roderick watched her keenly. Mr. And Mrs. Scobel went back totheir business of getting the children together, and the pots, pans, andbaskets packed for the return-journey. The children were inclined to benoisy and insubordinate. They would have liked to make a night of it inthis woody hollow, or in the gorse-clothed heights up yonder by StonyCross. To home after such a festival, and be herded in small stuffycottages, was doubtless trying to free-born humanity, always more orless envious of the gipsies. 

"Shall we walk up the hill together?" Roderick asked Violet humbly, "while the Scobels follow with their flock?"

"I am going to drive Mr. And Mrs. Scobel, " replied Vixen curtly. 

"But here is your carriage?"

"I don t know. I rather think it was to meet us at the top of the hill. "

"Then let us go up together and find it--unless you hate me too much toendure my company for a quarter of an hour--or are too angry with mefor my impertinence just now. "

"It is not worth being serious about, " answered Vixen quietly, after alittle pause. "I was very angry at the moment, but after all--betweenyou and me--who were like brother and sister a few years ago, it can'tmatter very much. I daresay you may have kissed me in those days, though I have forgotten all about it. "

"I think I did--once or twice, " admitted Rorie with laudable gravity. 

"Then let your impertinence just now go down to the old account, whichwe will close, if you please, to-night. But, " seeing him drawing nearerher with a sudden eagerness, "mind, it is never to be repeated. I couldnot forgive that. "

"I would do much to escape your anger, " said Rorie softly. 

"The whole situation just now was too ridiculous, " pursued Vixen, witha spurious hilarity. "A young woman wandering blindfold in a wood allalone--it must have seemed very absurd. "

"It seemed very far from absurd--to me, " said Rorie. 

They were going slowly up the grassy hill, the short scanty herbagelooking gray in the dimness. Glow-worms were beginning to shine hereand there at the foot of the furze-bushes. A pale moon was rising abovethe broad expanse of wood and valley, which sank with gentleundulations to the distant plains, where the young corn was growing andthe cattle were grazing in a sober agricultural district. Here all waswild and beautiful--rich, yet barren. 

"I'm afraid when we met last--at Lady Southminster's ball--that Iforgot to congratulate you upon your engagement to your cousin, " saidViolet by-and-by, when they had walked a little way in perfect silence. 

She was trying to carry out an old determination. She had always meantto go up to him frankly, with outstretched hand, and wish him joy. Andshe fancied that at the ball she had said too little. She had not lethim understand that she was really glad. "Believe me, I am very gladthat you should marry someone close at home--that you should widen yourinfluence among us. "

"You are very kind, " answered Rorie, with exceeding coldness. "Isuppose all such engagements are subjects for congratulation, from aconventional point of view. My future wife is both amiable andaccomplished, as you know. I have reason to be very proud that she hasdone me so great an honour as to prefer me to many worthier suitors;but I am bound to tell you--as we once before spoke of this subject, atthe time of your dear father's death, and I then expressed myselfsomewhat strongly--I am bound to tell you that my engagement to Mabelwas made to please my poor mother. It was when we were all in Italytogether. My mother was dying. Mabel's goodness and devotion to her hadbeen beyond all praise; and my heart was drawn to her by affection, bygratitude; and I knew that it would make poor mother happy to see usirrevocably bound to each other--and so--the thing came about somehow, almost unawares, and I have every reason to be proud and happy thatfate should have favoured me so far above my deserts. "

"I am very glad that you are happy, " said Violet gently. 

After this there was a silence which lasted longer than the previousinterval in their talk. They were at the top of the ill before eitherof them spoke. 

Then Vixen laid her hand lightly upon her old playfellow's arm, andsaid, with extreme earnestness:

"You will go into Parliament by-and-by, no doubt, and have greatinfluence. Do not let them spoil the Forest. Do not let horridgrinding-down economists, for the sake of saving a few pounds orgaining a few pounds, alter and destroy scenes that are so beautifuland a delight to so many. England is a rich country, is she not? Surelyshe can afford to keep something for her painters and her poets, andeven for the humble holiday-folks who come to drink tea at Rufus'sstone. Don't let our Forest be altered, Rorie. Let all things be asthey were when we were children. "

"All that my voice and influence can do to keep them so shall be done, Violet, " he answered in tones as earnest. "I am glad that you haveasked me something to-night. I am glad, with all my heart, that youhave given me something to do for you. It shall be like a badge in myhelmet, by-and-by, when I enter the lists. I think I shall say: 'ForGod and for Violet, ' when I run a tilt against the economic devastatorswho want to clear our woods and cut off our commoners. "

He bent down and kissed her hand, as in token of knightly allegiance. He had just time to do it comfortably before Mr. And Mrs. Scobel, withthe children and their master and mistress, came marching up the hill, singing, with shrill glad voices, one of the harvest-home processionalhymns. 

 "All good gifts around us Are sent from heaven above, Then thank the Lord, oh thank the Lord, For all His love. "

"What a delicious night!" cried Mr. Scobel. "I think we ought all towalk home. It would be much nicer than being driven. "

This he said with a lively recollection of Titmouse's performances onthe journey out, and a lurking dread that he might behave a littleworse on the journey home. A lively animal of that kind, going home tohis stable, through the uncertain lights and shadows of woodland roads, and driven by such a charioteer as Violet Tempest, was not to bethought of without a shudder. 

"I think I had better walk, in any case, " said Mr. Scobel thoughtfully. "I shall be wanted to keep the children together. "

"Let us all walk home, " suggested Roderick. "We can go through theplantations. It will be very jolly in the moonlight. Bates can driveyour pony back, Violet. "

Vixen hesitated. 

"It's not more than four miles through the plantations, " said Roderick. 

"Do you think I am afraid of a long walk?"

"Of course not. You were a modern Atalanta three years ago. I don'tsuppose a winter in Paris and a season at Brighton have quite spoiledyou. "

"It shall be as you like, Mrs. Scobel, " said Vixen, appealing to theVicar's wife. 

"Oh, let us walk by all means, " replied Mrs. Scobel, divining herhusband's feelings with respect to Titmouse. 

"Then, you may drive the pony home, Bates, " said Violet; "and be sureyou give him a good supper. "

Titmouse went rattling down the hill at a pace that almost justifiedthe Vicar's objection to him. He gave a desperate shy in the hollow atsight of a shaggy donkey, with a swollen appearance about the head, suggestive, to the equine mind, of hobgoblins. Convulsed at thisappalling spectre. Titmouse stood on end for a second or two, and thentore violently off, swinging his carriage behind him, so that thegroom's figure swayed to and fro in the moonlight. 

"Thank God we're not sitting behind that brute!" ejaculated the Vicardevoutly. 

The pedestrians went off in the other direction, along the brow of thehill, by a long white road that crossed a wide sweep of heathy country, brown ridges and dark hollows, distant groups of firs standing blackagainst the moonlit sky, here and there a solitary yew that looked asif it were haunted--just such a landscape as that Scottish heath uponwhich Macbeth met the three weird women at set of sun, when the battlewas lost and won. Vixen and Rorie led the way; the procession ofschool-children followed, singing hymns as they went with a vocal powerthat gave no token of diminution. 

"Their singing is very melodious when the sharp edge is taken off bydistance, " said Rorie; and he and Violet walked at a pace which soonleft the children a good way behind them. 

Mellowed by a quarter of a mile or so of interesting space, the musiclent a charm to the tranquil, perfumed night. 

By-and-by they came to the gate of an enclosure which covered a largeextent of ground, and through which there was a near way to Beechdaleand the Abbey House. They walked along a grassy track through aplantation of young pines--a track which led them down into a green andmossy bottom, where the trees were old and beautiful, and the shadowsfell darker. The tall beech-trunks shone like silver, or like wonderfulfrozen trees in some region of eternal ice and snow. It was awilderness in which a stranger would incontinently lose himself; butevery foot of the way was familiar to Vixen and Rorie. They hadfollowed the hounds by these green ways, and ridden and rambled here inall seasons. 

For some time they walked almost in silence, enjoying the beauty of thenight, the stillness only broken by the distant chorus of childrensinging their pious strains--old hymn-tunes that Violet had known andloved all her life. 

"Doesn't it almost seem as if our old childish days had come back?"said Roderick by-and-by. "Don't you feel as if you were a little girlagain, Vixen, going for a ramble with me--fern-hunting orprimrose-gathering?"

"No, " answered Vixen firmly. "Nothing can ever bring the past back forme. I shall never forget that I had a father--the best and dearest--andthat I have lost him. "

"Dear Violet, " Roderick began, very gently, "life cannot be made up ofmourning for the dead. We may keep their images enshrined in our heartsfor ever, but we must not shut our youth from the sunshine. Think howfew years of youth God gives us; and if we waste those upon vainsorrow----"

"No one can say that I have wasted my youth, or shut myself from thesunshine. I go to kettle-drums and dancing-parties. My mother and Ihave taken pains to let the world see how happy we can be without papa. "

"The dear old Squire!" said Rorie tenderly; "I think he loved me. "

"I am sure he did, " answered Vixen. 

"Well, you and I seem to have entered upon a new life since last werode through these woods together. I daresay you are right, and that itis not possible to fancy oneself back in the past, even for a moment. Consciousness of the present hangs so heavily upon us. "

"Yes, " assented Vixen. 

They had come to the end of the enclosure, and stood leaning against agate, waiting for the arrival of the children. 

"And after all, perhaps, it is better to live in the present, and lookback at the past, as at an old picture which we shall sooner or laterturn with its face to the wall. "

"I like best to think of my old self as if it were someone else, " saidViolet. "I know there was a little girl whom her father called Vixen, who used to ride after the hounds, and roam about the Forest on herpony; and who was herself almost as wild as the Forest ponies. But Ican't associate her with this present me, " concluded Violet, pointingto herself with a half-scornful gesture. 

"And which is the better, do you think, " asked Rorie, "the wild Violetof the past, or the elegant exotic of the present?"

"I know which was the happier. "

"Ah, " sighed Rorie, "happiness is a habit we outgrow when we get out ofour teens. But you, at nineteen, ought to have a year or so to thegood. "

The children came in sight, tramping along the rutty green walk, singing lustily, Mr. Scobel walking at their head, and swinging hisstick in time with the tuneful choir. 

 "He only is the Maker Of all things near and far; He paints the wayside flower, He lights the evening star. "

END OF VOL. I. 

PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER. 

Transcriber's note: Typographical errors silently corrected:

volume 1 =XI. "It shall be Measure for Measure= replaced by =XI. "It shall be Measure for Measure"=

volume 1 chapter 1: =trainante= replaced by =traînante=

volume 1 chapter 4: =I I shan't be for two years= replaced by =I shan't be for two years=

volume 1 chapter 12: =with the orchid?= replaced by =with the orchid. =

volume 1 chapter 12: =hade made him sleepy= replaced by =had made him sleepy=

volume 1 chapter 13: =cat species. = replaced by cat =species. "=

volume 1 chapter 15: =Les Traineaux= replaced by =Les Traîneaux=

volume 1 chapter 17: =children together. = replaced by =children together. "=